Page 55 of Game Over

“No, I can’t—” I gasp, trying to squirm away.

“You can. You will.” His voice is iron wrapped in velvet. “Let go for me.”

His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work that spot relentlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, different from a regular orgasm—more intense, more frightening.

“Ryker, I?—”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let it happen.”

The pressure becomes unbearable. I’m climbing too high, too fast. My thighs tremble uncontrollably around his hand.

“That’s it,” he urges, fingers working faster. “Give it to me.”

The release crashes through me like a tidal wave, my back arching. I feel the wetness gush around his fingers, soaking the sheets beneath me. The intensity makes me cry out, tears springing to my eyes.

“Fuck yes,” Ryker groans, his fingers still coaxing more from me. “So fucking beautiful.”

I collapse back against the mattress, trembling. My body feels wrung out, used in the most delicious way possible.

I’m still trembling from the intensity of my release when Ryker begins a slow journey up my body. His lips press against my inner thigh, leaving a wet mark that cools in the air. My muscles twitch beneath his touch, sensitive and needy.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs against my hip bone, his tongue tracing the curve.

Every kiss feels like he’s marking territory, claiming another inch of me. His stubble scratches lightly against my stomach as he moves higher, the contrast between his rough face and soft lips sending shivers across my skin.

My breathing hasn’t even steadied when his mouth finds the underside of my breast. I arch instinctively, offering myself to him without conscious thought.

“Ryker,” I whimper, my voice ragged.

He pauses at my collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The slight pain makes me gasp, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to me rather than pushing him away.

When his face finally hovers above mine, I see a vulnerability in his eyes. For a moment, the carefully curated facade slips. I remember how he froze yesterday when our lips first met—how his entire body went rigid with uncertainty.

The knowledge sits heavy between us: I’m the first person he’s ever kissed.

This man who’s controlled every aspect of my capture, who’s mapped my body like a territory to conquer, who’s pushed me to heights of pleasure I’ve never known—has never felt another’s lips against his own until mine.

The revelation makes me feel powerful and terrified simultaneously.

His eyes search mine, seeking permission despite everything between us. I give the slightest nod, and he lowers his mouth to mine.

The kiss is achingly gentle. His lips carefully move, learning my responses rather than forcing them from me. When his tongue traces the seam of my mouth, I taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes me moan against his lips, my hands sliding up his back.

He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring every sensation, cataloging my reactions for future reference.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling away just as I lose myself in him. His attention makes my lips feel swollen and tender, and I find myself leaning forward, chasing his mouth instinctively.

Ryker’s eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. There’s a gentleness there that doesn’t match the man who kidnapped me, who built a maze to hunt me through. It’s jarring and confusing, this dichotomy.

“You should grab a shower,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “I’ll have breakfast waiting when you’re done.”

My body still thrums with aftershocks of pleasure, making it hard to focus on his words. I blink up at him, trying to process the sudden shift.

“Before level five starts,” he adds.

Level five.

The reminder slams me back to reality. This isn’t normal. This isn’t a romantic morning between lovers. This is a game—his game—with rules I don’t understand and consequences I can’t predict.

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