Page 66 of Game Over

His body presses against mine, hard and unyielding. I’m trapped between Ryker and the tree, the bark rough against my back even through the thin robe. I can feel every inch of him, the heat radiating through his clothes.

“I could hear your breathing,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Could smell your fear... and your fucking desperation.”

He yanks my robe open in one swift motion, the fabric parting easily. Cool night air rushes across my exposed skin, raising goosebumps everywhere it touches. I should feel shame, should cover myself, but his gaze holds me still.

His hands grip my waist, fingers digging into my flesh as he lifts me effortlessly against the tree. My back scrapes against the bark, but the pain only heightens everything I feel. My legs part instinctively as he positions himself between them, pinning me in place.

“I’ve been dying for this,” he growls, his forehead pressing against mine. “Every second you were up in that tree was torture.”

His breathing is ragged, matching my own. One of his hands slides up to cup my face, the gesture almost tender compared to the need in his eyes.

The sound of his zipper cuts through the night air. My body trembles with anticipation as his hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider. There’s no hesitation, no gentle easing—just the blunt pressure of him positioning himself against me before he thrusts forward in one powerful motion.

I cry out, the sound echoing through the empty forest. My back scrapes against the rough bark as he fills me completely, stretching me in ways I’ve only fantasized about.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze through the eyeholes of that mask. Behind it, his eyes burn with an intensity that steals my breath—wild, possessive, ravenous. The mask keeps our faces apart, prevents our lips from meeting, and makes everything more intense.

His hips slam against me in a punishing rhythm. There’s nothing meticulous about this—none of the measured movements I’ve come to expect from him. This is Ryker coming undone. This is him losing himself completely.

My nails dig into his shoulders as he pounds into me against the tree. Each thrust forces small gasps from my throat. The forest spins around us, but all I can focus on is the fire building inside me, the delicious friction of his cock, the way his fingers bruise my skin.

“You feel that?” Ryker growls against my ear, his voice ragged and desperate. “This is what you’ve been doing to me for years—every fucking headshot, every victory dance, every goddamn laugh through my headset.”

My head falls back against the tree as another moan escapes me. “God—Ryker—I never knew?—”

“But you wanted it,” he pants, adjusting his angle until I scream. “Tell me you wanted this too. That it wasn’t just me going crazy.”

I can’t lie—not with him buried inside me, not with my body betraying every secret I’ve ever kept. “Yes,” I gasp. “I used to—fuck—I’d touch myself after our gaming sessions. Thinking about your voice. Wondering.”

His rhythm falters. “Goddammit, Mischief. If I’d known?—”

“What?” I challenge, finding my voice despite the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. “You’d have kidnapped me sooner?”

He slams into me harder, making me see stars. “I’d have made you mine two years ago.”

“I’m not yours,” I pant, even as my body clenches around him. “This doesn’t make me yours.”

Ryker laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “Your mouth says no while your cunt says yes. Which should I believe?”

His hands grip my hips tighter as he drives into me, my back scraping against the tree bark with each thrust. I want to hate this, but every moan that escapes my lips is impossible to stop.

“Fuck—you feel so good wrapped around me,” he growls, voice strained and gritty. “Tell me nobody’s ever made you feel like this.”

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but he slows his pace torturously until I’m whimpering.

“If you don’t fucking tell me that nobody has made you feel like this, I’ll find the bastard who did and gut him,” he threatens.

“Nobody,” I gasp as he rewards me with a deep thrust. “Nobody’s ever—Jesus Christ—filled me like you do.”

“That’s because nobody knows what you need like I do.”

“You don’t know me,” I challenge, even as my nails dig crescents into his shoulders.

“I know exactly when to touch you,” his fingers slide between us, circling my clit with maddening precision. “Exactly how to make you fall apart.”

My head falls back against the tree. “That’s—that’s just biology. It’s the human body’s reflex to stimuli.”

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