Page 157 of Breaker

I woke up to Striker in my bed this morning. My heart ached with hurt, Reaper’s absence stung harshly, but the pain eased when Striker’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pressed that mischievous smirk to my lips, weaving his fingers in my hair. When he slid between my thighs tenderly stroking deep into me, thunder rolling in the distance, and rain pelting the window, warmth unfolded inside my heart and for those few moments, I was okay.

But when his skin left mine and the cold morning air seeped through the lust, I was reminded that Reaper left me. Heleftme after giving me those moments with him. After sharing such intense intimacy, Reaper waited until I was sleep and left me to wake scrambled and brimming with want. Desperate for more of him. Aching to be held.

Messy.He left me feeling messy.

I may not look messy, but I feel messy on the inside.

Since it was still raining, Striker and I skipped out on our morning run, and I pulled on a dress and found my green knitted sweater, my favorite fuzzy socks and headed downstairs. Instead of letting me have breakfast and maybe a day off, Striker appeared out of nowhere, and drug me to the large empty room where we’ve been training. Then he walked away. A few secondslater Reaper sauntered in, all arrogance and sex, and handed me my training knife.

“Where’s Viper?” I ask, glancing over to the large window overlooking the drive so I don’t get distracted by Reaper’s tight shirt and pants and the undeniable heat in his gaze. Thunder rumbles in the distance, drops of rain turning the world blurry and gray.

“Not in here as you can see,” Reaper says, pointing to the wood floor with his own training knife. I breathe out slowly, telling myself not to move closer. Not to press my body to his like a feral creature in heat. That was we shared last night was left in those moments. I’m starting to realize that is the only time I will get that part of him. When I submit myself fully and let him drink it from me.

My eyes flicker over to him as I tell myself these things. He’s wearing his same long sleeved black shirt and fatigues. Same black leather boots. Same smirking skull mask with the melting jaw.

The only difference is I know how that body beneath his clothes feels pressed to mine, flesh to flesh. How his bare chest feels moving in over me as he thrust into me. How those warm soft lips I can’t see feel between my thighs and pressed to mine.

“Kitten.” Reaper’s grumbling purr makes my eyes snap up to his. “Stop worrying about Viper and worry about my knife slitting your throat.”

“I’m tired,” I say.

The dark, hungry look flashing in his black eyes says everything he’s not.

I let out a puff of air, eyes dropping to the floor, my skin flushing. It’s absurd that I feel shy with him this morning, and the feeling creates a rush of anger to roil through my veins. Being vulnerable is difficult, especially since I’ve trained from an early age to be hard. Focused. Never allowing anyone too closebecause I saw what happened to the people I cared about. My mother. Boyfriends I attempted to have. The only people I was allowed to love were under my roof.

And now they are gone. Ripped from me like Reaper ripped my heart from me last night.

He taps my hand holding the knife and steps away, positioning his body like he’s going to attack me.

I drop my knife and cross my arms over my chest.

“Kitten,” he growls, but I shake my head.

Messy, scrambled and confused, yes, but not about how I feel. About why he’s so hot and cold. Why he can’t just give in the way he constantly expects me to give in, the way he forces me to give all of myself to him.

“Don’t be a naughty girl,” Reaper says, his dark tone entirely too sexy. “You know what happens when you don’t follow my order.”

“I get a spanking,” I say, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He may have ripped my submission, my fucking truth out of me, last night, but I’ll be damned if he thinks he has control over me. “And if I’m good, I’ll be rewarded.”

His eyes narrow even more, like he waiting for me to say more.

He needs me, I tell myself, even though my heart is racing at the thought of upsetting him. After last night, I don’t want to break the fragile bond we’ve created. I have a feeling it will hurt too much.

But, taking a chance, I lean in and whisper, “If you, Reaper, give me answers you get a sweet kitty to play with.”

His eyes drop to my mouth.

“Tell me the plan,” I say. “I want to know what you expect me to do.”

“No.” His tone is hard, but I swear he’s smirking.

“I’m not training, or shooting, or doing anything until you tell me what you plan.”

Reaper takes a step back, running a hand over his mask, like he does when he’s irritated. I’m shocked when his hand drops and he says, “Fine.”

Oh. Okay. My shoulders ease. I had expected a fight. Or to be carried off and tied up somewhere for being defiant.

“Come with me,” he says, stalking from the room, not bothering to look back because he knows I’ll follow. I practically run behind him to keep up with his long legs as he walks through the house. When we reach the kitchen and he stops in front of the basement door, my heart stutters.

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