Page 58 of Striker

“Good luck getting your dick past my teeth.”

The asshole laughs.He pushes off the bookshelf and backs away. When he’s a few feet from me, I take in a shaky breath, hoping he can’t see the way my hands shake or how I press my thighs together to relieve the pressure blooming there.

I point to the small leather-bound book in his hand. “So you’re a sadist that reads the bible.”

His gaze falls to the book like he forgot he was holding it. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens to the page marked with the ribbon, running one finger down the thin paper, forcing me to remember that same hand trailing between my legs.

I shove the memory away. “Do you read the bible after masturbating and flog yourself as punishment for your sins?”

“If I flogged myself after every sin, my skin would be flayed open and raw, never able to heal.” Reaper flips the page, not bothering to look up as he folds himself into a large wingback chair. “And that would be a masochist. They like pain. Sadists inflict.”

“So you’re just a sadomasochist.”

His eyes flicker up to me then back to the bible. “Such a sweet pet name for me, Kitten.”

I glower at him. If I could see his mouth, I know I’d catch his lip pulling up into a grin.

“You seemed to enjoy my tendencies every time you’ve earned them.”

I say nothing because we both know he’s right.

“My father always said that every man needs God,” Reaper says, flipping the page again. “Whether it be to atone for our sins or beg for his forgiveness at the end.”

“You chose forgiveness, I see.”

I get that glare he’s so good at. Then he presses a finger to the page and reads, “‘Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet.’”

“Samson and Delilah,” I say, recognizing the quote easily. My mother was obsessed with the story. The day they took us flashes through my mind. “The text.” He flips another page, ignoring me. “You sent me the quote from the movie.”

He still doesn’t answer and I bite my lip, forcing myself not to ask why. Why send me a text message, quoting my mother’s favorite movie right before he took us?

Reaper flips to another page like I’m not even in the room.

I take in a breath, all too aware that I have to tread carefully with men like him. “I was named after Delilah.”

His black eyes slide up to mine. “You were named after a traitor. Fitting.”

“My mother named me after a woman smart enough to take down the world’s strongest man.”

“With deceit,” Reaper says, snapping the bible closed. He stands and stalks across the room, placing it on the shelf with all the other bibles from various religions. I peel my eyes from his ass to his broad shoulders as he says, “And she wasn’t powerful. She was resourceful and greedy.”

“Sounds like somemenI know,” I snap.

Reaper turns to face me. “Samson possessed physical strength, that’s it. He was morally weak, weak minded, and kept secrets.”

“Sounds like someoneelseI know.”

I swear he’s smirking.

“Is that why you hate me?” I ask. “Because you think I’m a traitorous, deceitful woman?”

I can feel his anger from across the room. Reaper stalks forward, and I stumble back, the intense gleam in his eyes putting me on high alert. My back hits the wall and his hand is at my throat, gripping just under my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

My body arches into him.

I don’t know what they’re doing to me. I know this is wicked. Wrong. I’m not supposed to want their hands on me. Want them to touch me. Everywhere. Something was created. A rift was torn open, or a change in the tides occurred and we’re being swept out to sea, and I don’t think any of us can stop it. Or wants to. But something happened that night in the club, then again in the woods between us all, and I know they feel it. He feels it right now.

“I don’t hate you, Kitten,” he says so softly that my body melts against him.

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