Page 77 of Striker’s Rebel

His hips drive forward harder, and the next thrust punches the breath out of me.

“Fuck.”

“Too much?”

“No.”

I pull him closer.

“Again.”

A rough sound leaves him.

He does.

The bed shifts beneath us as his pace builds, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. I cling to him, no longer even pretending I’m capable of being quiet.

Striker’s mouth finds mine.

“Look at me.”

I do.

Big mistake.

His eyes are locked on mine, all that control barely holding together while he fucks me.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

His hand slides between us.

My eyes widen.

“You cannot be serious.”

His mouth curves.

“What?”

“I just came.”

“Didn’t ask.”

His fingers find my clit.

I make a sound I will absolutely deny later.

Striker laughs against my mouth.

“Asshole.”

“Keep saying it.”

“I hate you.”

“Keep lying.”