Page 71 of Striker’s Rebel

“You absolutely can.”

“Don’t want to.”

He kisses me.

It starts lazy, warm with sleep, his mouth moving over mine like neither of us has anywhere else to be.

Then I curl my fingers into his hair.

His hand tightens against my waist.

Lazy disappears.

The kiss deepens, his body shifting closer until I can feel exactly how awake he is now.

I smile against his mouth.

“There you are.”

He pulls back barely an inch.

“There who is?”

“The man who keeps looking at me like he wants to devour me.”

His eyes sharpen.

“Just looking?”

My pulse jumps.

“You’re impossible.”

“Keep talking.”

His mouth moves along my jaw and down my throat, stubble scraping over my skin. I tilt my head without even thinking about it, giving him better access, and the low sound he makes sends heat straight through me.

One broad palm slides up my ribs and closes over my breast.

There.

That’s what I was waiting for.

His thumb brushes over my nipple, slow enough to make my breath catch, and his mouth curves against my neck.

“You’re smug.”

“I’m busy.”

“You can be both.”

“Usually am.”

He does it again, firmer this time, and my back arches beneath his hand.

Striker lifts his head.

That look in his eyes is dark, satisfied, and completely focused on me.