Page 50 of Striker

“Good girl,” he praises as I lean over the sink, parting my thighs slightly.

My focus shifts from his reflection to my face in the mirror, and I see myself. The streaks of tears through the dirt on my cheeks. The thin cut on my swollen lip. My hair tangled, wild, leaves and twigs stuck in the ends. My eyes wide, but hard. I look untamed. Like some feral creature they plucked from the woods. That’s what I feel like inside, too. Uncaged. Unlocked. They pulled something from me, some shadowy thing that lived in my heart and now it’s free. Free to be this woman who’s bending over the sink, spreading her legs so Striker can see the marks they made and the slickness between my thighs.

I’m still so wet. Needy. That one orgasm was not enough to tame the wild feeling coursing through my limbs. I need more. Want more.

A fleeting thought flashes in my mind. Striker pulling himself free. Driving into me hard. Fast. Deep. Until this tightness in my chest is released and I feel like myself again. Until this feral woman in the mirror quiets her silent scream for more.

“So wet and pretty,” Striker says, grabbing my focus. He slowly lowers himself, until he's kneeling, his palms skimming down my thighs to my ankles. "Lift." I raise my foot and he unties the boot and pulls it off, then the other and set them aside. I gasp, finger's gripping the sink edge, when he grabs both my ass cheeks and spreads me until I’m completely exposed. Air leaves my lungs as he kneads my ass gently, rumbling moans of approval behind me, his thumb skimming over the wetness at my opening, then up to the tightness of my rear. I still, then melt as he presses lightly to the hole there. Warm lips touch my skin. “So beautiful.”

I clench my teeth, biting back the need clawing in my belly so I don’t whimper at his touch. When he finally lets me go, Irelax and turn around to face him as he stands upright. Taking my hand, he leads me to the tub. I sink down into the water, my ass raw and my pussy sore, drawing my knees up to my chest.

He pushes up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms. I stare at the thin white scars running along his skin like tiny claw marks under the dusting of brown hair as he uses the cloth to wash my face, rubbing away the dirt.

“What are those from?”

His eyes drop to his forearm. “From the darkness.”

Darkness. Like where she was created. That wild woman in the mirror. I wonder if my time here will leave me with thin white scars. Maybe not on my flesh. Maybe only in places that can’t be seen.

“Princess.”

My eyes collide with his. I wonder how many times he’s said my pet name.

“Why Princess?” I whisper.

“You’ve lived in a gilded castle with a man who calls himself a king.”

“With a man who is creating an empire,” I snap, my anger fizzling as fast as it heated my chest.

“Your father is creating something, but it’s not an empire,” Striker says. “He’s a miserable, greedy man who’s cruel and depraved.”

I let his words sink to the bottom of the water, too heavy for me to deal with right now. I’m already weighed down with too much, including my own thoughts.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I don’t know why I do. Maybe because they took intimate parts of me and I want something back.

“Striker,” he says quietly.

“Just Striker?” I ask.

He drags the cloth over my collarbone, then says, “Just Striker.”

“Who were you before you were Striker?”

“I was a boy who lived in darkness,” he says.

When he moves the cloth over my lips, my heart skips. Aches. His tenderness has returned, like that night in the club when he was brutally rough, but everything he did to me was edged with a sweet tenderness that made my heart hurt. Made me crave more. Like right now.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper as he drags the cloth over my shoulder, then down my back. I don’t understand any of this. Why I’m here. Why Cora is here. What they’re doing.

“You will soon,” Striker says and swipes at my cheek. I hadn’t realized a tear had slipped out.

“If he’s so bad, why don’t you just kill him?” I ask.Or us.

Striker’s hand stills, eyes darting from the cloth to mine.

“If we killed Rune, he’d no longer feel pain.”

He’d no longer feel the fear of not knowing where we are. Viper said Rune has no clue where to find us. That’s why he hasn’t come. If they simply killed my father, Reaper wouldn’t be able to draw out his revenge.

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