Page 49 of Striker’s Rebel

“Like this?” I ask.

His hand closes around mine, showing me how to move.

“Yeah.”

I stroke him once, awkwardly at first, then again with a little more confidence.

His eyes close for half a second.

Well.

That is interesting.

I do it again.

A rough sound comes from his chest.

My nervousness takes a sudden hit.

“You like that.”

His eyes open.

“Keep going and find out.”

There he is.

I tighten my hand slightly and stroke him again, watching his face this time. There is something incredibly satisfying about seeing some of that relentless Striker control crack because of me.

Then he catches my wrist.

“Enough.”

I blink. “I thought you liked it.”

“Too fucking much.”

Before I can feel too pleased with myself, he moves between my thighs and gently pushes my knees wider.

My confidence disappears just as quickly as it arrived.

This is happening.

Really happening.

Striker settles over me, his weight braced on his arms, and the size of him suddenly feels a lot more intimidating from this angle.

He sees it on my face.

“June.”

“I’m fine.”

“Didn’t ask if you were fine.”

Of course he didn’t.

His hand slides along my thigh.