Page 54 of Striker’s Rebel

“It feels good.”

“Better.”

He drives into me again.

The pressure starts building frighteningly fast.

I know that feeling now.

“Striker.”

“I know.”

His hand slips between us, his fingers finding my clit.

I jerk.

“Oh, God.”

“Come for me.”

I shake my head even though I have no idea why.

His eyes lock on mine.

“June.”

My entire body tightens.

“Come on my cock, little rebel.”

That destroys me.

The orgasm hits hard enough to rip his name out of me. My body locks around him, pleasure crashing through me while I cling to his shoulders and forget every coherent thought I have ever had.

Striker swears.

His rhythm breaks.

Then he drives deep and goes rigid above me with a rough groan, his face buried against my neck.

For several seconds, neither of us moves.

I can hear his breathing.

Mine isn’t any better.

His weight settles carefully over me, supported enough that he isn’t crushing me, and somehow that makes me smile.

Striker lifts his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow.

I laugh softly.