Page 72 of Striker

Chapter 28

Delilah

“Close your eyes,” heorders in a low, gravelly voice that sends shivers down my spine. His thumb and forefinger pinch harder and my body instinctively curves into his, craving to be as close to him as possible, tucking my face close to his.

He mutters out a curse, but doesn’t let me go. Doesn’t remove his hand or stop touching me. It’s like he can’t help himself any more than I can ignore the desire that courses through me in his presence. I know I shouldn’t want him, any of them, not after what they did, but every fiber of my being craves his touch.

“Princess.” The word sounds desperate, like a plea. “Close your eyes.”

Without hesitation, I obey, not caring that he’s the reason I’m here, ignoring the logical part of my mind that screams at me to resist, to fight back. Shove him off me. Stop him from touching me.

But right now, he sounds like that man in the bathroom, who groaned at the sight of me, spread me open.

There’s a part of me that wants him to do that now.

Force me to my knees. Hold me down.

Force me to admit I want him.

“Keep them closed,” he whispers. “Keep your hands still. Promise me, Princess.”

“I promise,” I say, knowing I’m careening toward ruin, but the way he’s touching me makes me want to fall, lose myself completely, stay here in this fantasy. Where I no longer have to work numbers and hide my father’s actions. Where I live in a huge mansion with four men and my best friend and I don’t have to be anything or anyone but me.

The woman who likes it rough. Who’s heart pounds with excitement at the possibility of danger.

Who desperately wants the man holding her to kiss her like he did that night when she was allowed to be out of control and reckless.

When I feel hot breath brush my skin, my heart leaps. Then warm lips meet my forehead, and I gasp at the shock of his flesh against mine, and I realize he’s removed his mask. Arching into him, my skin’s suddenly sizzling like a live wire, electric and charged with the thrill of his lips on me again.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You feel so good.”

Before I can stop myself, I nod. He does.

My breath leaves in a rush as his lips skim down to my cheek, hair tickling my face as he moves lower. The need to open my eyes, lift my hands and run my fingers all over him is so strong that my fingers curl into his forearms and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. He must sense it because he grips my hand and tugs it behind my back—a silent reminder to not move. I give him my other hand so he can keep it still because I don’t trust myself to keep my word and not touch him.

His lips glide softly over my cheek once more, his chest rising and falling in sync with mine. Desperate for the taste of his mouth, the feel of his lips against mine, I turn my face towards him, but he denies me, pressing his cheek to mine. Rough stubble grazes me gently as his jawline trails along my cheek. A fresh, citrusy scent envelops me, a hint of lemon and clean soap overwhelming my senses as his kisses trail down to my neck. Tenderly brushing my hair aside with his free hand, he moves aside my sweater to place a delicate kiss on my collarbone. He’s so much taller than me he curls over me, enveloping me in his warmth and clean smell. I throw my head back, head dizzy, craving his touch, more of his lips.

We don’t say anything, we just stand like this, his mouth moving over me, silently taking tiny fragments, particles of me with him every time he removes his mouth from my flesh. But then his warm lips will land some place new, behind my ear, on my jaw, and it feels like he’s giving me something back.

“Someday, you’ll understand we’re what’s best for you,” Striker whispers into the skin behind my ear. “You’ll surrender and give yourself over.”

My breath bursts from my lungs. I bite my lip, trying not to open my eyes. Trying not to give into what my body craves. What he knows I already want. Him.

Them.

“That’s the day you’ll give in and let me make love to you. Let me feel your skin against mine. Feel you wrapped around me so tight as you scream my name,” he breathes. “Then you’ll be mine—ours—as much as hers.”

When he lets me go, I stumble, turning around, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly, tears form, and place my hands on the cold stone archway. My chest deflates when I hear him back away.

That felt a lot like a goodbye.

It’s not until I catch my breath and the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel fades that I dare turn around.

Midafternoon light slants across the garden, the shadows of the pillars lining the path straight black lines across his back. I blink, the world and all its colors overly saturated. Like how I feel. Too bright. My hands remembering too much. My skin too hot, too alive.

I watch his back as he crosses the lawn, walks up the stairs, and shuts the front door behind him, wondering if he seeks retaliation like Reaper or if what he wants is something that can’t be found in revenge.

Chapter 29

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