Page 57 of Striker

Leaving here isn’t an option.

So I don’t even bother thinking about it. Instead, I do my best to keep my mind busy, which is why I’m so grateful for the library. Curling up with a book is a good escape since an actual escape is out of the question.

When I step through the doorway to the library, I freeze, my entire body flushing with heat.

His back is to me, but his mask is off, letting me see black hair. It’s shaved at the sides, but long enough to be slicked back over his head. The long, thick column of his neck reveals black ink vines snaking up out of his tight black shirt, twisting around more flowers, then climbing up toward his skull.

As Reaper covers his head with his mask, adjusting it as he turns around to face me, I notice the small book in his hand. But then his gaze collides with mine, making my toes curl, and my mind blanks.

His black eyes slide down to my lips, then to my boots and back up again. How is it that every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s seeing parts I didn’t know existed. Like the darker part that craves his hands on me. That got soaking wet as he spanked me. As he completely controlled me.

I clear my throat, desperately wanting to run from his intrusive gaze, but I lift my chin and say, “You left the door open again.”

He makes a rumbling sound in his chest, running his thumb over the top of the book as he lowers his hand to his side, staring at me with that intense glare. When his eyes snap back to my face, I’m reminded that he kidnapped me. Chased me. Held me down and…

My clit throbs.

I need to go home.

I lick my lips, feeling the little cut that lingers, trying to recenter my scrambled brain. “You have to close the door hard for the latch to catch. Or just lock it.”

“Look who suddenly wants me to lock doors,” he says, walking lazily toward me. My eyes eat him up, his black pants and long sleeve shirt. The way his pants tug at the crotch. The slow, predatory way he moves. God. Everything he does is arrogant. Graceful. Beautiful. He taps the little book to his thigh, drawing my eyes. “Worried you maybe tempted to run again?”

I hate that my face turns red, but I refuse to look away and I refuse to be embarrassed about what he drew out of me. It was just my body responding to the adrenaline.

Except I liked it. A bit too much.

My eyes fall to the floor and I focus on why I’m here. The library is full of the classics and I’ve been reading Jane Austin each night. Taking a deep breath to calm the heat in my cheeks, I set my eyes on the book shelves lining the walls, refusing to let him rattle me.

“I think you get off on hurting people,” I say, walking around him to get to the shelf to return the book I took last night and pick a new one, all too aware of his closeness. He’s still several feet away, but even that’s not far enough.

He chuckles darkly. “I think you got off, Kitten. Not me.”

I turn, my boot catching on the worn wood floor to glare at him, the little knife tucked between the boot and my sock reminding me I can fight back. Fisting my hands, I resist the urge to lunge at him. I want to rip that mask off and shove it in his arrogant mouth because I know he’s smirking. Again.

The words nearly spill out in a scream. That he held me down and forced it out of me, but I bite my lip, remembering how I begged him for it.

“I think,” he says, creeping closer, moving between me and the door, “that you liked me being rough with you. I think you liked it so much, you want it again. And again.”

Ignoring the zing his words send through me, I inch around him so I’m not so trapped, but he darts in front of me, blocking my exit from the room.

“Then maybe even again. And again. There are four of us willing to please.”

“Is that what that was?” I ask. “Pleasing me?”

“Oh, Kitten, the moans you made sounded a lot like pleasure.”

“More like anger,” I snap, my cheeks flaming again. “I never wanted you to touch me. You’re a liar. You said you’d not hurt me.”

“I lie?” Reaper bolts forward. My back hits the bookshelf as he braces his arms on either side of me, the leather-bound book hitting the shelf next to my head, trapping me.

This is the first I’ve been this close to him face to face. He’s fucking huge. Not just in size, but sheer muscle. Every encounter I’ve had with him has been at a distance, or from behind me, where I can’t fully see him. Feel him, certainly. Even from Breaker’s lap I didn’t capture his size, but standing in front of him, pinned to the bookcase with his body, his hands at either side of my head, I am fully aware of how huge he is. My head barely reaches his shoulder.

“I’m not the liar,” he says. “You begged me to touch you, Kitten. From your hands and knees with your mouth full of dirt, and your cunt soaking wet, youbeggedme. Just like our perfect needy slut you pretend you don’t crave to be.”

“I don’t crave you,” I hiss, heart in my throat.

He dips his head, his mouth near my ear. “I can’t wait to drown all those pretty lies with my cum.”

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