Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Autumn
I should’ve seen it coming. I mean, I knew it was, and yet I allowed myself to be sucked in. I’m a fool for thinking . . .
You know what? Nope. I’m not gonna go down that rabbit hole. I’m going to put it due to me being a momentary idiot and thinking I could live in a pretend world, or well, a moment in time where I wasn’t me, and he wasn’t him.
Maybe it was the fact that I’d been able to slip back into a dreamless sleep next to him after the nightmare I’d woken up to. Or that he held me, helped me, was just there for me when I needed someone, and no one has ever done that before.
But seeing that woman wrap herself around Striker was the slap in the face I needed to wake me up. She’d been everything in looks that I’m not. Beautiful hair, flawless skin, nothing out of proportion. She even had a great rack—nothing over the top.
Me, I’m not like that. Sure, I’m not ugly to look at. I know this, but when I look in the mirror, I see my flaws. I know my breasts are too big. My ass isn’t that big, but it’s big enough to make it hard to find jeans to fit just right. Finding leggings that don’t show a camel toe, yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m average at best. When I see myself in the mirror, I judge my appearance. I always have.
Then again, these days, I avoid looking at myself. Earlier, though, I chanced a look in the mirror after my shower, trying to see what he sees in me, but I couldn’t.
Thankfully, Lila let me ride with her out of there when she’d been leaving to do something for Kenny. She saw what happened and didn’t fuss about it. I was grateful she hadn’t gone in her brother’s defense either. She just left me be. I sat silent, just listening to the music, and didn’t even pay attention to her talking on the phone.
I probably should’ve because, after her quick trip into the store, she was going to take me home. Unfortunately, she didn’t take me to my home, but rather hers. To make matters worse, Striker was standing there like he’d been waiting.
Great. Just freaking great .
He opens my door before I can say a word, reaches in, unbuckles my seatbelt, grabs my arm, and pulls me out of the car.
“Get back to the clubhouse, Lila,” he orders, slamming the car door closed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, yanking away from him. Well, trying to, that is.
Striker doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, he pivots and spins me in his arms until I’m plastered to his side as he walks up to the porch and into the house. He must have been here long enough to unlock the house.
Once we clear the door, he uses his foot to kick the door shut. Only then does he let me go. Still, it was only to turn and use his body to press mine against the solid oak door.
“You left,” he grinds out, lowering his face until his nose is brushing mine and his hands grip either side of my waist. “You fucked up, leaving instead of talking to me. Fucked up thinking I’d want some bitch when all I want is you and have since the other day when I finally kissed you. Fucked up not confronting the situation rather than running.”
Oh my. . .
Did he just say . . .
No way. Nope. I’m not about to let him talk to me like that .
“Who says I wanted to confront anything?” I snap, planting my hands on his chest, and shove with all my might.
Granted, Striker doesn’t budge. Of course, he doesn’t because he’s like a brick wall with his muscles and build. He probably eats more than just his Wheaties to get to be like is. He probably eats baby cows whole when no one is looking. Or, at the very least, pumps cars for weights because no man should have muscles like him.
“For the past few days, all you’ve done was tell me what I’m going to do and make decisions for me.” I shove him again, even knowing it’s pointless. “You aren’t the boss of me. You’re not my father, brother, or?—”
“I’m your man is what I am,” he interrupts. “I’m not making decisions for you, Autumn. What I’m doing is making it so you don’t end up killing yourself from sheer exhaustion. You’re working yourself to the grave in hope to run from the nightmares that fuck with you instead of taking life for what it is.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what’s in my head,” I protest, not wanting his words to get to me. I can’t. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He can’t. No one can. They don’t understand.
“I don’t. You’re right. I don’t know what’s in your head. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Doesn’t mean I don’t have friends who know. Doesn’t mean I didn’t see friends in the military succumb to demons. Everyone deals with grief differently. No one is the same, but losing someone, a friend, a brother, a sister, a wife, husband, mother, father it’s all filled with pain. It’s how you handle that pain that speaks volumes.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head in denial. I can’t deal with this.
“You’re not alone in dealing with pain, Autumn. You don’t have to talk to me about the grief, but you need to talk to someone. My suggestion, Izzy.” I open my eyes at this, surprised by his words. He must see my confusion because he continues. “She lost her brother years ago. The pain fucked with her head. Don’t know the full story, but Twister told me he caught her playing Russian roulette in her car one night after following her. She was one bullet away from taking her own life because of that pain.”
I didn’t know that. Izzy didn’t say anything when I told them about Avery. Though, I didn’t tell them how she died.
“You can’t do it alone, Mama,” Striker says, gentling his voice. “You need someone in your corner to pull your head out of your ass, so you’ll see straight. That’s me. The rest of it, you’ll have to do yourself, but I’m gonna be there to make sure you don’t sink and hit rock bottom.”
“You can’t do that.” I don’t think I could handle him doing that. What happens when he wakes up and realizes I’m not what he wants? Not when he can have a beautiful woman like the one at the clubhouse. “Just let me go.”
“Mama, I ain’t about to let you go,” he says, lowering his mouth to mine. His tongue surging inside past my lips, stroking alongside mine.
Striker wraps one arm firmly around my waist, and the other goes to my rear curving around along my cheeks. I find myself being moved, to where I’m not sure. All I can focus on is Striker kissing me. His body’s warmth and his closeness are making it hard to think.
I thought he might be heading for his room or even the couch, but he doesn’t. Instead, I find myself being lowered to the floor, his body coming with mine. The moment my back meets the carpet, I know exactly where I am in the house. He’s laid me down in front of the fireplace. A spot I looked at last night thinking about him just like this.
Everything seems to move fast. Striker removes my clothes, and I do the same with his. The need to touch him was nearly overwhelming. He doesn’t bother with any foreplay, and I’m thankful for that. My mind is a whirlwind as it is. The very thought of feeling him inside me excites me—more than I care to admit. The very idea scares me just as much.
Just as I thought Striker would slide inside me, he draws away, planting kisses across my jaw and down my neck. He moves farther, peppering his way to one of my breasts.
Shear, unadulterated lust wraps itself around me the instant his mouth latches on my breast, his tongue swirls and curls around my nipple. He uses his fingers to pinch and toy with the other. The feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I love it. It’s completely intoxicating. If someone had told me Striker would be so good, feel so good, I might have jumped his bones weeks, no, months ago. More like the first time I ever saw him.
A whimper of protest leaves my lips when he leaves my breast. Only to moan when he switches to the other, giving it the same treatment while pinching and tugging on the one he left.
His free hand moves between my thighs and cups my pussy. A groan vibrates from him and sends tendrils throughout my entire body.
There’s no way to keep quiet when he starts moving his fingers. First, one slides inside while he uses his thumb to circle my clit. Oh God. It feels good, and I want more. So much more .
“Striker,” I call his name, arching closer, needing . . . I’m not even sure.
“I’ve got you, Mama,” he says and flicks my nipple once more. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make us both feel good.”
“Do that now,” I demand, somewhat panting.
Striker chuckles and presses a kiss to the center of my chest, right between my breasts.
“Patience,” he says and sinks a second finger inside me.
“Screw patience. Fuck me, Striker, please,” I plead, staring into his eyes, seeing them flash even darker with lust.
“Fuck,” he grinds out. He removes his fingers, lines himself up, and plunges forward, sinking partially in. He draws back and drives deeper.
My body arches, taking even more of him. He’s big, massive, and he fills me in ways I’ve never been filled before. Striker’s hips move, and he surges inside me, taking me deep. Taking me hard. I dig my nails into his shoulders, doing everything I can to stay grounded, but he’s got other plans. I see it in his eyes.
The only noise that fills the room are my moans of pleasure, mixing with his groans of approval. That and our breathing as it becomes heavy.
Striker moves inside me in such a smooth rhythm, hitting just the right spot that when it hits me, it hits hard and fast. I’d say I didn’t see it coming, but I did. I knew it was coming, and it was beautiful. It was such a wonderful feeling, and tears spring from my eyes. It gets even better when Striker’s groans deepen, his cock twitches inside me, and he finds his release.
He doesn’t stop moving exactly, but he slows his movements until his cock stops twitching. Only then does he still inside me and lowers himself enough to brush his lips against mine. “Don’t think we’re done, Mama, we’re just getting started.”