9. Chapter 9
June
I wake up with Striker wrapped around me.
His chest is pressed against my back, one heavy arm banded around my waist, his thigh tangled with mine beneath the sheets. He’s warm everywhere, the kind of solid heat that makes getting out of bed feel like a deeply unreasonable suggestion.
For a few seconds, I stay exactly where I am.
Mostly because moving would require effort.
Partly because I like this far too much.
I shift against him, trying to find my phone without disturbing the human wall behind me.
His arm tightens immediately.
“Where you going?”
His voice is wrecked with sleep, low and rough against the back of my neck.
I smile into the pillow. “Nowhere.”
“Good.”
His mouth brushes my shoulder.
“You weren’t even awake.”
“Awake enough to know you were trying to escape.”
“I moved two inches.”
“Too far.”
A laugh slips out of me.
I turn carefully in his arms, and Striker loosens his hold just enough to let me before pulling me back against him.
His hair is a mess. Stubble shadows his jaw. His green eyes are barely open, and somehow the bastard still looks unfairly good.
Nobody deserves that kind of face before coffee.
“Morning,” he says.
“Hi.”
His hand slides beneath the sheet and settles against my bare waist.
Then his eyes drop to my mouth.
Oh.
I know that look now.
My stomach tightens.
“Don’t.”
His eyes come back to mine. “Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know.”
His thumb moves over my skin.
“Can’t help my face.”
“You absolutely can.”
“Don’t want to.”
He kisses me.
It starts lazy, warm with sleep, his mouth moving over mine like neither of us has anywhere else to be.
Then I curl my fingers into his hair.
His hand tightens against my waist.
Lazy disappears.
The kiss deepens, his body shifting closer until I can feel exactly how awake he is now.
I smile against his mouth.
“There you are.”
He pulls back barely an inch.
“There who is?”
“The man who keeps looking at me like he wants to devour me.”
His eyes sharpen.
“Just looking?”
My pulse jumps.
“You’re impossible.”
“Keep talking.”
His mouth moves along my jaw and down my throat, stubble scraping over my skin. I tilt my head without even thinking about it, giving him better access, and the low sound he makes sends heat straight through me.
One broad palm slides up my ribs and closes over my breast.
There.
That’s what I was waiting for.
His thumb brushes over my nipple, slow enough to make my breath catch, and his mouth curves against my neck.
“You’re smug.”
“I’m busy.”
“You can be both.”
“Usually am.”
He does it again, firmer this time, and my back arches beneath his hand.
Striker lifts his head.
That look in his eyes is dark, satisfied, and completely focused on me.
I reach for his cock because suddenly I need to wipe some of that confidence off his face.
The reaction is immediate.
His whole body tightens, and his breath leaves him in a rough exhale when my fingers close around him.
For one perfect second, all that control slips.
And I did it.
I stroke him again just to make sure.
His forehead drops against mine.
“June.”
I grin. “What?”
“You know what.”
“I’m learning.”
“You’re learning too fucking fast.”
“That sounds suspiciously like praise.”
His mouth comes down on mine before I can enjoy the victory.
The kiss turns rougher, his hand gripping my hip as he pulls me closer. I’m already breathless when he suddenly slows.
His gaze searches mine.
“You sore?”
“A little.”
The heat in his face changes immediately.
I know exactly where his brain is going.
“Don’t.”
One eyebrow lifts.
“Don’t what?”
“Decide for me.”
“I’m asking.”
“And I’m answering. A little.”
His eyes stay on mine.
“You tell me if anything hurts.”
“I will.”
“June.”
“I said I will.”
“You don’t lie because you think I’ll stop.”
I narrow my eyes. “Keep bossing me around and I’m going to bite you.”
His mouth curves.
“Promise?”
God.
This man.
I drag him back down and kiss him.
His hand slips between my thighs, and the first touch steals whatever comeback I had left.
He knows exactly what that does to me now.
Which feels deeply unfair considering I only figured it out myself yesterday.
His fingers find me wet and already swollen for him, and I gasp when one slides inside.
Striker pauses just long enough to look at me.
“Still good?”
“Yes.”
He curls his finger and hits the spot he found yesterday.
My hips jerk.
His mouth twitches.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Maybe.”
His thumb moves over my clit.
Whatever I was going to say vanishes.
He does it again while his finger works inside me, slow and steady, and my thighs fall wider around his hand.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m fucking thrilled.”
I laugh, but the sound breaks when he curls his finger again.
Then he adds another.
The stretch makes me tense for half a second before my body adjusts, already wet enough that there’s nothing painful about it.
Just pressure.
Friction.
Way too much of both.
His eyes stay on my face.
“You like that?”
I could lie.
There would be absolutely no point.
“Yes.”
His thumb circles my clit again.
My breath catches.
“Say it again.”
I glare at him.
He does it harder.
“Yes.”
“Better.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“And you’re soaking my hand.”
My face burns.
Striker grins.
I hate him.
I also push my hips against his fingers.
Which weakens my position considerably.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Please stop talking.”
“No.”
His fingers move faster.
I grab his shoulder.
The pressure winds tighter inside me, every curl of his fingers hitting exactly where I need it while his thumb keeps working my clit.
“Striker.”
His mouth brushes mine.
“What do you need?”
“More.”
He gives it to me.
No teasing this time.
His fingers thrust deeper and faster, his thumb moving with enough pressure that my legs start to shake.
I stop caring about being quiet.
My body tightens around his fingers.
He feels it.
“Come for me.”
The command goes straight through me.
I break hard, grabbing his shoulders as the orgasm tears through me. Striker keeps his hand exactly where it is, drawing it out until I’m shaking beneath him and trying to catch my breath.
“Jesus.”
His mouth brushes my cheek.
“Morning.”
I laugh weakly. “I hate you.”
“Liar.”
Probably.
Before I can answer, he shifts between my legs.
His cock presses against me, hard and hot, and apparently my body has learned absolutely nothing about restraint.
I wrap my hand around him again.
Striker groans.
“June.”
“What?”
“You keep doing that, this is gonna be over before it starts.”
That shuts me up.
Mostly because I’m ridiculously pleased with myself.
He rubs the head of his cock against me, and my breath catches.
“Striker.”
“I know.”
He pushes inside slowly.
Even after everything he just did, the stretch makes me suck in a breath.
He stops.
Immediately.
“Still okay?”
“Yes.”
His eyes stay on mine.
I roll my hips against him.
“Move.”
His jaw tightens.
“Bossy little thing.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah.”
Then he pushes deeper.
Slow enough that I feel every inch until he’s buried inside me and neither of us is talking anymore.
For a few seconds, he stays there.
His forehead presses against mine.
He starts to move.
The first few thrusts are slow, giving my body time to adjust, but the soreness from yesterday fades fast beneath everything else.
Soon all I feel is him.
The drag of his cock inside me.
His weight over me.
His hands holding me exactly where he wants me.
I dig my nails into his shoulders.
“Harder.”
His eyes flash.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
That’s all he needs.
His hips drive forward harder, and the next thrust punches the breath out of me.
“Fuck.”
“Too much?”
“No.”
I pull him closer.
“Again.”
A rough sound leaves him.
He does.
The bed shifts beneath us as his pace builds, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. I cling to him, no longer even pretending I’m capable of being quiet.
Striker’s mouth finds mine.
“Look at me.”
I do.
Big mistake.
His eyes are locked on mine, all that control barely holding together while he fucks me.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
His hand slides between us.
My eyes widen.
“You cannot be serious.”
His mouth curves.
“What?”
“I just came.”
“Didn’t ask.”
His fingers find my clit.
I make a sound I will absolutely deny later.
Striker laughs against my mouth.
“Asshole.”
“Keep saying it.”
“I hate you.”
“Keep lying.”
He moves harder, his fingers staying exactly where I need them.
The pleasure builds again before I’m ready for it.
My thighs tighten around his hips.
“Striker.”
“I know.”
The arrogance should irritate me.
Instead, my whole body clenches around him.
His rhythm falters.
“Fuck, June.”
That gets me.
Seeing him lose control because of me.
Hearing it in his voice.
I tighten around him again deliberately.
His eyes narrow.
“Little fucking menace.”
I grin.
Then he drives into me harder and wipes the grin right off my face.
The second orgasm hits faster than the first. I bite into his shoulder.
Striker curses, his hand gripping my hip as his control finally breaks.
His last few thrusts turn rough and uneven before his body goes rigid over mine.
Then he collapses against me, breathing hard.
For several seconds, neither of us moves.
I’m not sure I could if I tried.
Eventually Striker lifts his head.
“You bite hard.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Tragic.”
His mouth curves.
“You good?”
I stretch carefully beneath him.
I’m definitely going to feel this later.
Worth it.
“Yes.”
I push lightly at his shoulder, and he catches my hand before I can pull it back.
Then he turns his head and presses a kiss into my palm.
And somehow that nearly ruins me more than everything that came before it.
My smile fades.
Striker’s fingers stay loosely wrapped around mine.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
I shake my head and tuck myself against his chest before he can look too closely.
His arm comes around me automatically.
No hesitation.
No thought.
Like this is simply where I go now.
Dangerous man.
Dangerous fucking man.
Later, I’m wearing one of Striker’s shirts while he pulls on his jeans.
My phone rings.
Eliana.
I answer immediately.
“Hey.”
“June.”
Something in her voice has me sitting up.
“What happened?”
A shaky breath.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
My stomach drops.
“Eliana.”
“Jamie came home.”
Striker turns toward me.
Then she says the words I’ve been afraid of.
“He hit me.”
I’m already reaching for my clothes.
“Is he there?”
“No. He left.”
“Lock the door. We’re coming.”
Striker grabs his phone and calls Grim while I pull on my jeans.
His expression hardens almost immediately.
“Riot saw him leave?”
A pause.
“Keep him on Jamie. We’re getting Eliana out.”
He hangs up.
“Riot was watching him?”
“Outside. Saw Jamie go in and come back out twenty minutes later. Took off pissed.”
Striker reaches for his truck keys.
“I’ll have Grim call McKenna. She can meet us at the shelter.”
I look at him. “You’re coming with me?”
His expression says the question is ridiculous.
Right.
By the time we get to Eliana’s place, I’m ready to tear Jamie apart myself.
Then she opens the door.
Her lip is split, and bruising covers one side of her face.
My anger disappears beneath something worse.
“Oh, Ellie.”
She starts crying when I pull her against me.
“I should’ve listened.”
“We can talk about that later.”
“I said horrible things to you.”
“You’re still my sister.” I pull back and look at her. “Pack a bag.”
This time, she does.
No defending him.
No excuses.
Twenty minutes later, McKenna is waiting outside the shelter.
Eliana looks at the building, then at me.
“You really think I should stay here?”
“For now.”
She swallows and nods.
Before she follows McKenna inside, she hugs me hard.
“You are my family.”
My throat burns.
“You’re mine too.”
She holds on for another second, then lets McKenna take her inside.
I watch the door close behind them.
Striker comes up beside me.
“She’s safe.”
I nod.
His phone rings.
“Yeah.”
He listens for a few seconds.
His expression changes.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Keep eyes on it. I’m coming.”
He hangs up.
“What happened?”
“Club found something.”
The liquor.
Striker filled me in last night. Jamie and his friends were stealing specific cases before they reached Red Den, and the trail led from a storage unit to a company handling a Defense Foundation dinner.
They still didn’t know why.
“Something new?”
“Looks like it.”
Striker takes my hand.
“You’ll stay at the cabin.”
“And you’re going to the clubhouse?”
“Yeah.”
Normally, the order would irritate me on principle.
Today, I don’t argue.
“Fine.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “That easy?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
The corner of his mouth moves.
At the cabin, Striker pulls the truck in beside the house and kills the engine.
He comes inside with me.
“Lock the door.”
“I know.”
“Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
“I know.”
“June.”
I look up at him.
“What?”
“Humor me.”
I sigh.
“Fine.”
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“I’ll be back.”
“Soon.”
“I will.”
He kisses me once, then heads back outside.
A second later, I hear the bike start.
I lock the door and stand there listening until the sound disappears down the road.