6. Chapter 6
June
I wrap my hand around him, and my fingers don’t come close to meeting.
Oh, hell.
Seeing him was one thing. Actually holding him is another.
He’s hot and hard in my palm, and the first twitch against my fingers makes me look up at him.
Striker’s jaw is clenched.
Apparently, I’m not the only one affected here.
That helps more than it should.
“Like this?” I ask.
His hand closes around mine, showing me how to move.
“Yeah.”
I stroke him once, awkwardly at first, then again with a little more confidence.
His eyes close for half a second.
Well.
That is interesting.
I do it again.
A rough sound comes from his chest.
My nervousness takes a sudden hit.
“You like that.”
His eyes open.
“Keep going and find out.”
There he is.
I tighten my hand slightly and stroke him again, watching his face this time. There is something incredibly satisfying about seeing some of that relentless Striker control crack because of me.
Then he catches my wrist.
“Enough.”
I blink. “I thought you liked it.”
“Too fucking much.”
Before I can feel too pleased with myself, he moves between my thighs and gently pushes my knees wider.
My confidence disappears just as quickly as it arrived.
This is happening.
Really happening.
Striker settles over me, his weight braced on his arms, and the size of him suddenly feels a lot more intimidating from this angle.
He sees it on my face.
“June.”
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t ask if you were fine.”
Of course he didn’t.
His hand slides along my thigh.
“You still want this?”
I look at him. At the man who has stopped every single time I hesitated, even when I didn’t say a word.
“Yes.”
His gaze stays on mine.
“Sure?”
“Yes, Striker.”
He bends and kisses me.
“Then I’ve got you.”
The head of his cock presses against me, slick and hot, and my breath catches. He moves against me first, teasing my clit until anticipation twists low and tight in my stomach.
My hips lift without permission.
His mouth curves.
“Impatient?”
“You’ve been torturing me for what feels like an hour.”
“Wasn’t torture.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Rebel.”
I grab the back of his neck. “Braxton.”
That wipes the amusement right off his face.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He kisses me hard, then pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
“Tell me you want me.”
The roughness in his voice sends another shiver through me.
“I want you.”
His eyes darken.
“Say it.”
“I want you inside me.”
That does it.
He presses forward.
The first stretch steals my breath.
My fingers dig into his arms as my body fights the unfamiliar pressure.
“Striker.”
He stops immediately.
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes open.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Barely.”
I would argue if there were enough air in my lungs.
He stays exactly where he is, giving me time to adjust while his thumb moves over my clit.
The sharpness eases little by little.
Underneath it comes something else.
Fullness.
Heat.
The strange, overwhelming awareness that Striker is inside me.
I shift experimentally.
His entire body goes rigid.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
His eyes narrow.
Oh.
I do it again.
“June.”
There’s a warning in my name now.
I probably shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.
“Thought you wanted me to relax.”
A low growl leaves him.
“Little fucking troublemaker.”
Then he moves.
Slowly at first, giving my body time to accept more of him. The stretch still burns, but every time he pulls back and presses forward again, the sting fades a little further beneath the pleasure.
I cling to his shoulders.
“More.”
His eyes flash.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He pushes deeper.
I gasp and bury my face against his neck.
“Jesus.”
“Still good?”
I nod against him.
“Words, Rebel.”
“Yes.”
His hand slides beneath my hip, changing the angle as he presses forward again.
This time, when he sinks all the way inside me, the fullness is almost overwhelming.
I make a broken sound against his shoulder.
Striker stops.
He’s shaking.
That realization cuts through everything else.
This huge, terrifying man is holding himself completely still because of me.
I lift my head.
His eyes meet mine.
“Fuck, June.”
My pulse kicks harder.
He brushes the hair back from my face.
“You okay?”
I take a breath.
Then another.
The stretch settles, leaving a deep ache that isn’t exactly pain anymore.
I move my hips beneath him.
His jaw tightens.
“That answer you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then move.”
His mouth crashes onto mine.
The first thrust makes me gasp into the kiss.
The next feels better.
By the third, I’m starting to understand.
“Oh.”
His forehead drops against mine.
“There she is.”
“Don’t start.”
He thrusts again and hits something deep inside me that turns the rest of the sentence into a moan.
His mouth curves.
“Lost your train of thought?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
I kiss him because that’s becoming my solution to everything.
His rhythm builds, each thrust harder than the last. The ache disappears beneath heat and friction until I’m wrapping my legs around him and pulling him closer instead of wondering how he could possibly fit.
“Striker.”
“Yeah.”
“Again.”
Something feral flashes across his face.
He gives me exactly what I ask for.
His hips drive into mine, and suddenly there is nothing careful about him except the way one hand stays cradled behind my head, protecting me from the floor while the rest of him comes apart over me.
The contrast makes my head spin.
My nails bite into his shoulders.
“God. Right there.”
“Feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“It feels good.”
“Better.”
He drives into me again.
The pressure starts building frighteningly fast.
I know that feeling now.
“Striker.”
“I know.”
His hand slips between us, his fingers finding my clit.
I jerk.
“Oh, God.”
“Come for me.”
I shake my head even though I have no idea why.
His eyes lock on mine.
“June.”
My entire body tightens.
“Come on my cock, little rebel.”
That destroys me.
The orgasm hits hard enough to rip his name out of me. My body locks around him, pleasure crashing through me while I cling to his shoulders and forget every coherent thought I have ever had.
Striker swears.
His rhythm breaks.
Then he drives deep and goes rigid above me with a rough groan, his face buried against my neck.
For several seconds, neither of us moves.
I can hear his breathing.
Mine isn’t any better.
His weight settles carefully over me, supported enough that he isn’t crushing me, and somehow that makes me smile.
Striker lifts his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow.
I laugh softly.
“Apparently I survived.”
His mouth twitches.
“Barely.”
I smack his shoulder.
He catches my hand and presses it to the floor beside my head before kissing me.
When he finally pulls back, the smugness is gone.
He looks at me in a way that makes my chest feel strangely tight.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“You good?”
I’m naked on his rug, my legs still wrapped around him, and I’m fairly certain I’ve forgotten how walking works.
I smile.
“Ask me again when I can feel my legs.”
That gets a real laugh out of him.
And I decide I like that sound almost as much as he likes mine.
Striker kisses me once before pulling away. The loss of his body leaves me suddenly aware of everything. The rug beneath my back. The soreness between my thighs. The fact that I am completely naked in a man’s living room after doing several things I had never done before today.
He stands and reaches for me.
“I can walk.”
He ignores that and lifts me into his arms.
I should probably argue harder, but my head drops against his shoulder instead.
So much for independence.
He carries me into the bathroom, turns on the shower, and steps beneath the water with me. There is no teasing this time. He washes me carefully, his hands gentler between my thighs, then rinses shampoo from my hair while I stand there and let him.
That might be stranger than the sex.
I’m used to taking care of myself. What I’m not used to is someone doing small things for me before I think to ask.
When we’re clean, he wraps me in a towel, dries himself, then pulls a T-shirt from a drawer and hands it to me.
I put it on.
It falls halfway down my thighs.
His gaze moves over my face.
“You good?”
“Very.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Very?”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Little late for that.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, and the look he gives me makes something warm settle behind my ribs.
Later, I’m curled against his chest in his bed, one of his arms wrapped around my waist.