Page 26 of Striker's Yield

Autumn

“Time to wake up, Mama,” Striker murmurs and presses a kiss to my shoulder.

“I don’t wanna,” I mumble and curl deeper into the pillow.

Yesterday evening and late into the early morning hours, Striker spent more than just a little amount of time inside me. It was as if he’d been insatiable, unconcerned with the time we spent on the floor in the living room.

After the first round, he stopped long enough to start a fire. He then took his time, ignoring my pleas for him to sink inside me all over again. He’d gone down on me, and what he’d done with his mouth there should be illegal. It was amazing, and before he slid back inside, he made me scream for him. The orgasm he drew out of me with just his mouth was unbelievable. Though the way he used his fingers and then when he used his cock again . . . words don’t even describe how off the charts it was.

Striker finally let me fall asleep, more like I passed out on him, sometime after two a.m.

“If you’re going to get to the café on time, you’ll wanna get up,” he says and nips my ear. “If you don’t, that’s fine. They can handle things and I’ll just slide right back inside you.”

I moan as I feel him pressing into my entrance, but not fully sliding inside, just the tip. “Hmm, you’re incorrigible.”

“No, I’m just horny and like the feel of my woman’s pussy. All tight and drenching wet, ready and waiting to be filled,” he states, sliding deeper inside me from behind. “How about I fuck you, then I’ll take you to the café?”

“That would be good,” I breathe and push back into him, taking him deeper.

“Good”, he says and pulls out. He rolls me to my back, throws my knees up and over his shoulders, and slams inside me.

With quick, wild thrusts, Striker moves inside me, not stopping for anything. Not even when I started screaming his name, my release surging through me.

Striker keeps thrusting, pumping inside me, filling me with his release. If I weren’t on birth control, I’d be worried about him not using a condom. But he told me last night during one of the momentary breaks where he simply held me in his arms, trailing his fingers along my spine, that he was clean and there wasn’t a time he didn’t use a condom. He didn’t want a barrier between us. I’d taken the opportunity to let him in on the little fact regarding birth control.

My release flows through me, and I cry out, the pleasure washing through my veins, leaving me unable even to have a notion of comprehending anything else. Striker joins me moments later, driving inside my pussy, filling me, coating my walls with his cum.

Striker collapses over me, and I gladly take his weight. Even though taking his weight means he’s squishing me. I so prefer it to being left in the cold.

“Now, you gotta get ready for work, and all I want us to do is stay like this.”

“Hmm, sounds good, but I do need to get into the café,” I say and glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. At the seeing the time, I let out a slight scream. “Oh my God, I’m late. If I don’t get there soon, there won’t be any goods ready for the morning rush.”

“What time do you typically have to be there when you aren’t going in two, three in the morning?” he asks, cocking a brow.

“We open at six-thirty, so the latest is five so I can make sure everything is good to go,” I tell him and shove at his shoulder. “Now, let me up. I’ve got to get a shower. You have to take me to my apartment. Then I have to get to the café.”

Striker grins, dips forward, and claims my lips. “You shower, and I’ll get the bag out of the living room Brass dropped off for me yesterday before he headed to the clubhouse.”

“What bag?”

“The bag I packed for you,” he states like I should have known this when I didn’t.

Then again, I left him alone in my apartment for a while yesterday while I’d showered and got ready.

“You packed me a bag?” I blink, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, granted, I didn’t grab any of your personal shit that you took forever in the bathroom using,” he says and pulls out of me, leaving me achingly empty.

“Well, then, I still need to go by my apartment. I can’t go to work without makeup on. I look hideous and blotchy without it.”

“You shittin’ me?” he asks, cocking a brow and staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Um, no,” I answer.

“Mama, you don’t need that shit to look good,” he says, shaking his head. He surprises me when he takes my hand and rolls out of the bed, taking me with him. He walks to the bathroom and drags me in front of him. Only then does he let my hand go. But he does it in order to plant his hands on my hips, forcing me to face the mirror.

God, no. I don’t need to face the mirror. I don’t need to see what I look like.

---