Page 51 of Striker’s Rebel

My fingers dig into his arms as my body fights the unfamiliar pressure.

“Striker.”

He stops immediately.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes open.

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Barely.”

I would argue if there were enough air in my lungs.

He stays exactly where he is, giving me time to adjust while his thumb moves over my clit.

The sharpness eases little by little.

Underneath it comes something else.

Fullness.

Heat.

The strange, overwhelming awareness that Striker is inside me.

I shift experimentally.

His entire body goes rigid.

“Careful.”

“Why?”

His eyes narrow.

Oh.

I do it again.

“June.”

There’s a warning in my name now.

I probably shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.

“Thought you wanted me to relax.”

A low growl leaves him.

“Little fucking troublemaker.”

Then he moves.

Slowly at first, giving my body time to accept more of him. The stretch still burns, but every time he pulls back and presses forward again, the sting fades a little further beneath the pleasure.