Page 81 of The Scout

I bit my lip, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

His hand slid lower, gripping my thigh, dragging me closer. “Tell me.”

I tilted my chin up, my voice turning teasing. “Just … Sasha and Pia. How they’d probably be my bridesmaids if I ever got married.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Oh?” he murmured, his fingers digging into my skin.

I smirked. “Mm-hm.”

Something dark flared in his gaze. Possessive. Predatory. He rolled on top of me in one fluid motion, pinning me beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

“You like saying things to get me worked up, don’t you?” His voice was rough, low.

I grinned. “Maybe.”

I absolutely did like saying things to get him worked up. It had become my guilty pleasure.

He growled, his mouth crashing against mine, his hands dragging down my body.

And then there were no more words. Only the sound of our bodies moving together, the sharp, breathless moans he pulled from me, the way heworshipped me like he was trying to brand himself into my skin.

Like he was already planning on making me his forever.

I barely had time to catch my breath before Ryker’s hand was sliding down my thigh, gripping, squeezing, dragging me closer. His mouth was at my ear, his voice dark, rough, full of something I didn’t quite understand but wanted more than anything.

“You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to let it go.”

A slow, wicked thrill curled in my stomach. “Like what?”

His teeth scraped the delicate shell of my ear, sending a shiver straight through me. “Bridesmaids,” he murmured. “Marriage.” His hand slid lower, between my legs, his fingers stroking through my slick heat, teasing, taunting. “You in a wedding dress.”

I gasped as his fingers pressed deeper, my back arching against him. “Ryker?—”

He growled, flipping me onto my stomach in one quick motion, his palm pressing between my shoulder blades, keeping me down, holding me exactly where he wanted me.

The weight of him was intoxicating.

“You wanna know what that thought does to me?” His voice was thick, hungry. His free hand skimmed down my spine, slow, deliberate. “The thought of you in white. Just for me.” His fingers hooked under my hips, tilting me up, positioning me.

I moaned as he dragged the thick head of his cock through my wetness, teasing my entrance, letting me feel just how hard he was.

“Or maybe just a veil,” he rasped. “Nothing else.”

I whimpered, my body trembling, aching, desperate for him. “Ryker, please?—”

He thrust inside me in one deep, punishing stroke, stretching me wide, filling me completely. I cried out, my fingers clutching at the sheets, my body molding to his perfectly as he drove himself deeper, pressing his chest to my back, his breath hot against my neck.

“Never gonna get enough of you,” he murmured against my skin, his hips rolling in slow, devastating thrusts. “Never.”

I gasped as he shifted slightly, angling just right, hitting that spot that made me see stars. “Oh, God?—”

He gripped my hips, pulling me back onto him, setting a brutal rhythm that had my body spiraling, my legs shaking, pleasure coiling hot and tight inside me.

“You like that?” His voice was thick, wrecked. “Like knowing you’re mine?”

“Yes,” I moaned, my body clenching around him, desperate for more.

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