Page 40 of The Scout

I couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. My entire world had narrowed to this moment, to this man, to the way he was unraveling me.

His fingers moved inside me—deep, skilled, knowing, teasing out every ounce of tension, every ounce of resistance, until all that was left was want.

“Ryker—” My voice was a breathless plea, the syllables breaking apart as a fresh wave of pleasure coiled tight in my belly.

He swallowed the sound with a kiss, his mouth bruising, relentless, his tongue sweeping inside to taste every desperate sound I tried to make. The rhythm of his hand matched the slow, punishing drag of his lips, each stroke pushing me closer, winding me tighter.

I shuddered, my head falling back against the rough brick, the contrast between its cool surface and his burning touch making me feel fevered, untethered, on the brink of something I had never felt before.

He was too much. Too much heat, too much power, too much knowing. He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew exactly how to keep me dangling over the edge, how to make me crave more, how to make me fall apart just for him.

I clung to him, thighs trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers curled just right, stroking that devastatingly sensitive spot inside me with a precision that made me see stars.

Tighter. Tighter.

Higher. Higher.

I was so close. So damn close.

I was seconds away. So close I could taste it, my entire body straining toward release, every muscle in me coiling, clenching, reaching?—

And then?—

A deep, wicked chuckle against my throat.

A slow, deliberate retreat of his fingers.

And the sudden, agonizing loss of contact.

He stopped. He didn’t let me finish.

The loss was violent, a sharp, aching emptiness that left me gasping, reaching for him, my body desperate for more.

“Ryker,” I choked out, my voice shaking with need, frustration, fury—but the bastard was already stepping back, leaving me panting, wrecked, and trembling against the wall.

His hand, the one that had just been inside me, rose to my mouth, his fingers glistening with the evidence of just how badly I had wanted him. Of how badly I still did.

I was still shaking, my thighs pressed together for any relief, when I saw it.

The guilt in his eyes.

Something was wrong. This wasn’t just about jealousy. This wasn’t just about us. Something else had brought him here tonight.

“Tell me.”

14

RYKER

Iwas too fucking turned on for this.

The scent of her was still in my lungs, warm and clean, something just beneath the surface that made my blood run hotter than it should. My fingers still tingled from the way I’d touched her, but it didn’t matter. I could still feel the heat of her skin, still see the way her breath caught when she realized what I was doing.

And now I had to break her world apart.

Fuck.

At least she let me lead her back inside and to a table. Enough time for me to gather the right words. I clenched my jaw, forcing my mind back into focus as I scanned the dimly lit club. The music pulsed through the air, a steady, throbbing rhythm that matched the uneasy tension twisting in my gut. Isabel sat across from me in the booth, shifting in her seat, her fingers tapping against the side of her glass. She was still flushed, still slightly breathless from whatever had just passed between us, but she didn’t know.

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