Page 74 of Striker’s Rebel

Then he adds another.

The stretch makes me tense for half a second before my body adjusts, already wet enough that there’s nothing painful about it.

Just pressure.

Friction.

Way too much of both.

His eyes stay on my face.

“You like that?”

I could lie.

There would be absolutely no point.

“Yes.”

His thumb circles my clit again.

My breath catches.

“Say it again.”

I glare at him.

He does it harder.

“Yes.”

“Better.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And you’re soaking my hand.”

My face burns.

Striker grins.

I hate him.

I also push my hips against his fingers.

Which weakens my position considerably.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Please stop talking.”

“No.”

His fingers move faster.

I grab his shoulder.

The pressure winds tighter inside me, every curl of his fingers hitting exactly where I need it while his thumb keeps working my clit.