Page 29 of Striker

I bite my lip, the images he just planted, taking over all thought.

Reaper loosens his grip on the belt looped around my wrists, and I feel his hand land on my waist. My breath sucks in when it slips down, his fingers dipping into my dress, feeling the curve of my hips, then slide lower to my thigh. Gathering the thin fabric, he lifts my dress slowly, the silk slipping over my skin until it’s bunched at my waist and my ass is exposed. A warm, calloused hand glides over my hip and he squeezes it roughly. Possessively.

I bite my lip to stop the sound I want to make from slipping out. My breath rattles from my lungs on a slow exhale as his warm fingers dig into my skin. I don’t know what I was expecting. I knew damn well that escaping was going to be impossible, but wanted one of them in here. I want answers.

“Why do you want revenge on my father?” I ask, tensing, waiting for his harsh words or his rough hands, but he gives me neither.

Nails dig into my flesh for a second, then leave. “He took something important from me.”

So they took something important from Rune. Me. Cora.

“What?” I ask “What did he take?”

I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll tell me, but I am surprised when he lets go of my arms. I’m even more shocked when I feel both his hands drag down my outer thighs, fingertips skittering along my skin delicately like butterfly wings. The softness of his touch sends a slick heat between my legs and my heart picks up pace. He didn’t touch me like this before. He didn’t really touch me at all.

I curl my fingers around the leather belt binding my wrists, needing something to hold on to as I sense him kneeling behind me, his hot breath fanning over my cold flesh. His hands, his breath, feel like fire lancing over my flesh.

Reaper’s fucked me, come inside me, but never really touched me. The way his hands slip up my thigh, lightly movingover my ass, feels more intimate than when he was fucking me over the back of that couch.

His fingers outline the dimples in my lower back so gently, my breathing stops entirely.

The need to see him, know what his eyes look like as he touches me this way, if that brutal gleam has left, if they’re a softer black like satin sheets or still hard as ice, makes me want to sit up, but I know if I try he’ll pin me back down and whatever this is, whatever gentleness he’s feeding me will stop. And I don’t know if I want it to.

When he hooks a finger under the waistband of my panties, I clench my jaw to stop a whimper from escaping. Then he gathers the material in a fist and yanks up, tugging it between my ass cheeks. I cry out at the sting, at his sudden roughness, of the feeling of the fabric drawn tightly over my pussy.

“Are you wet for me, little Kitten?” he rasps. “I know your pussy remembers me.”

Then there’s warm flesh and hot breaths on my skin, and his nose slides down my ass crack. I gasp at the intrusion and then grit my teeth when he yanks me up higher, forcing me on my tiptoes. Reaper’s fist presses harder into my lower back, my hips angling upward for him. His nose dips lower and I feel him press it into the fabric outlining my pussy. And then he breathes in deeply.

My chest heats, my hands releasing the leather and splaying out at the sensation of his nose on me. Of him gathering my scent into his chest. Everything in me pulses as he rubs his nose over me again, like he’s savoring the wetness and smell and heat of my cunt.

“Fucking pervert,” I bite out, even as I tilt my hips to meet him, silently cursing my body and the fabric that’s keeping us separated.

“I am,” he rasps. “And so are you. You’re soaked.”

I cry out when he presses his mouth to my pussy, a low groan escaping him with a hot breath. His teeth scrape over me. Then he bites. I hiss at the sting of pain, mixed with feral pleasure that bite zings through me.

“I need you to be a good girl,” he grates out, forehead hitting my ass, rocking back and forth, his breath fanning over my heated flesh. “I’m not a nice man, Kitten. And I have a long memory. If you cross me, I’ll make you pay.”

The gravelly way he says it makes me believe him. Reaper stands, letting my underwear go, and backs away. I arch my back, pressing my face further into the mattress, fighting the urge to turn my head to look at him. If I do, I could identify him, and I know they’d never allow that.

He undoes the belt, slowly unwrapping it from around my wrists. “Next time you seek my attention, be prepared for the consequences.”

Gripping the edge of the bed, I slide to my knees as the door clicks shut. I spin, my eyes landing on the doorknob, waiting for the grating sound of the lock sliding into place.

But it never comes.

Chapter 12

Striker

15 Years Ago

September

Age 15

“Hurry!” Viper whispers, lookingover his shoulder.

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