Page 76 of The Scout

I tightened my legs around his waist, slowing his movements, tilting my hips so I could feel him deeper, savoring every inch of him. His breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his forehead pressed against mine, his muscles coiled and trembling.

“Isabel.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together.

I ran my hands over his back, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my palms, the tension in his shoulders, the way his body fought against slowing down. He wanted totake me hard. I could feel it in the way he gripped me, in the way his fingers pressed into my hips like he was anchoring himself.

But I wanted him tofeelthis. To know that I was here with him. Not just his to claim, but his in a way that went beyond sex, beyond dominance and control.

I cupped his face, guiding his mouth to mine, kissing him softly, deeply, the way I had never kissed any man before. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, something raw and unguarded, and I felt it—his restraint slipping, his walls cracking.

He needed this just as much as I did.

I moved against him, slow, deliberate, my body rolling in time with his, keeping the rhythm unhurried, forcing him to stay in the moment. His breathing turned ragged, his hands flexing on my skin, his control fraying with every pass of my lips against his, with every whisper of my fingertips tracing his jaw, his neck, the scars along his ribs.

His forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You’re killing me,” he rasped.

I smiled, tightening around him, loving the way his body shuddered in response. “Good.”

His gaze snapped to mine, something dark and devastating swimming in the depths of his eyes. Beneath the hunger, beneath the raw need, there was something else.

Something fragile.

Something I wasn’t sure he had ever let anyone see.

Understanding.

That was what he wanted more than anything. Not just submission, not just pleasure—understanding. Someone who saw him for who he really was, past the hard edges and the violence, past the scars and thecontrol. Someone who didn’t fear him, but wanted himanyway.

I smoothed my hands down his chest, letting my nails graze his skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms. “Ryker.”

His name was a whisper, a promise, a vow.

His breath hitched at the way I said his name, like he could hear all the things I wasn’t saying. Like he knew that in this moment, there was no one else. There never had been. Not like this.

I traced my fingers along the strong lines of his chest, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, the quiet tremor in his muscles as I touched him with nothing but reverence.

“I understand you,” I whispered, my voice steady, certain. “You think you have to be this impenetrable force, this unshakable, untouchable man. But I see you, Ryker.” My fingertips skimmed along the side of his face, brushing over the sharp edge of his jaw. “The real you.”

His body was still inside me, still warm and solid, but he wasn’t moving. He was just watching me, his eyes unreadable, his breathing slow and measured, as if he was afraid of breaking whatever this was.

“I like what I see,” I continued softly, running my hands down his back, feeling the ridges of old scars, the carved strength of the man who had carried the weight of so much for so long. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his grip tightening ever so slightly on my hips.

“You don’t have to protect me from you,” I murmured. “Because I want this. I want you. And I’m honored, Ryker.” I swallowed, holding his gaze, letting him feel the truth of my words. “Honored to beprotected by you. Cherished by you.” My voice dropped to a whisper, my hands sliding up his arms, locking behind his neck. “Worshiped by you.”

Something inside him broke.

A ragged sound escaped his throat—half growl, half exhale—before his lips crashed against mine. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t consuming or desperate or punishing. It was something else entirely. Something raw. Something real.

His mouth moved over mine like he was claiming more than just my body—like he was taking my words, taking my belief in him, taking the thing he had never let himself have.

I didn’t have the words to tell him everything I was feeling, to tell him that he wasn’t just a man I was falling for, but a man I respected, a man I trusted, a man I would follow anywhere.

So I showed him.

I kissed him again, slow and reverent, tasting the heat of him, feeling the way he trembled beneath my touch. And then I moved, guiding him deeper, rocking against him in a way that made his breath hitch, in a way that made him lose himself completely.

“Fuck, Isabel,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips as he finally let go, as he let himself have me.

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