Page 111 of Surrender to Me
Behind me, he inhales sharply, the sound raw and reverent. His fingers brush over the curve of my ass, feather-light, tracing the places he spanked last night. “Jesus, Allie. You’re perfect.” His voice is rough, thick with something that sounds like awe. “No bruises. No red marks. Just…flawless.”
A pang of disappointment twists in my chest, sharp and unexpected. I wanted the marks. I wanted the proof that he was there, that he claimed me. What the hell is wrong with me, wanting something like that? Still, the absence of them feels like a loss, a reminder that this is temporary, that I’m already fading from his skin as much as he is from mine.
His hand slides lower, between my legs, and I jerk at the unexpected contact. “Stryker.”
He doesn’t stop.
Instead, he glides his fingers through the slick heat already gathering there. His motions are slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing me. “Still wet for me.”
His words send a fresh wave of arousal crashing through me. My knees buckle slightly, and I tighten my grip on my ankles.
He continues, stroking me with purpose now, circling my clit, dipping inside me, curling just right.
My breath comes in shallow pants, my body trembling under his touch. He knows exactly what I need, exactly how to unravel me, and he does it with a patience that feels like worship.
Deep inside, my pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in my belly, spreading outward in hot, pulsing waves. I bite my lip to keep from moaning, but the sound escapes anyway, raw and desperate.
But Stryker doesn’t let up. His fingers are relentless, and he uses his free hand to hold my hip steady, grounding me as my climax begins to build. “Oh, Stryker.” Once more, I’m lost in him.
“Come for me.”
The orgasm hits me hard, a white-hot surge that leaves me shaking, my legs barely able to hold me up.
I sag forward, tears pricking at my eyes, both hot and unwelcome.
I want to stay here. I want to stay bent over for him in this cabin, with him, forever.
I remind myself that, even if Remy weren’t coming, even if the world weren’t closing in, we’d end up apart anyway.
He’s law and order. I’m chaos and secrets.
This was always going to end. Better now, before the hurt gets worse. But God, why does it hurt so damn bad?
Gently he straightens me, his hands warm on my waist as he pulls my underwear and sweatpants back up, smoothing them into place.
He turns me to face him, his eyes searching mine, dark and unreadable. “Anything wrong?”
I blink hard, forcing the tears back. “I’m fine. It’s just…” I tuck back my hair in show. “It was in my eyes. Stinging me.”
For a long moment, he studies me. Then he wipes his thumb across my cheek, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the set of his jaw, the flicker of doubt in his gaze. But he nods once, accepting it because he has to, because I’ve given him no choice.
After touching my lying mouth, he asks if I’m hungry.
Even though I’m not, life on the run has taught me a lot. Eat when I can. Catch some shut eye whenever possible. “Yeah.”
He moves to the stove, pulls bacon from the fridge, starts the pan sizzling.
Comfortable with him in a way I have never been with anyone else, I make a chai while he cooks.
And then, voyeur that I am, I lean against the counter and watch the way his shoulders move under the flannel, the way he cooks scrambled eggs and still manages to flip each strip of bacon with precision.
“Mind making some toast?”
“Happy to.” Probably better than continuing to stare at him morosely.
Within five minutes, the food is plated.
