He walked me backward until my spine met the wall, the cool surface a shock against my overheated skin. His lips blazed a trail from my mouth to my jaw to my throat, each kiss a small detonation. “You have no idea how hard it’s been to stay away from you,” he murmured against my pulse point, and I felt the words vibrate through my entire body. “From this.”
His fingers worked the buttons of my shirt with single-minded determination. His damaged knuckles made him clumsy, and he cursed softly when the second button wouldn’t cooperate.
“Let me help,” I said.
“Hurry.” The possessiveness in his voice should have scared me. Instead, it lit me up from the inside, every nerve ending suddenly electric.
Yes.The word pulsed through my veins.More.
I helped strip away the ruined fabric, savoring the raw hunger that darkened his eyes as my shirt hit the floor. His pupils were blown wide, completely black. He stood there for a moment, just looking at me like he was memorizing every inch of exposed skin.
“You’re killing me,” he said, voice wrecked. “Do you know that? Every time you walk into a room, every time you look at me with those eyes that see too much, every time you pretend you don’t need anyone—you’re killing me.”
“Good,” I breathed, reaching behind my back for my bra clasp. “You’ve been killing me since day one.”
His lips found my collarbone, and I was liquid fire, molten need. When my bra fell away, he pulled back just to look at me, and the tenderness in his eyes made my knees weak.
“Beautiful,” he said, like the word was pulled from him against his will. “So fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at you.”
Then his mouth was on my breast, and I gasped as he swirled his tongue around my nipple, his hand kneading, worshipping. My back arched off the wall, offering myself to him, and he took everything I gave with a greed that matched my own. His uninjured hand traveled lower, breaching the waistband of my pants, slipping beneath fabric.
“Please,” I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for. Just more. Just him. Just this feeling of being wanted, needed, chosen.
Ryker groaned against my breast, the vibration shooting straight to my core like lightning finding ground. “The sounds you make,” he said, lifting his head to watch my face as his fingers inched closer to where I needed them to be. “Going to dream about these sounds.”
His fingers trailed even lower, slipping beneath my panties.
“Already wet for me,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Been thinking about me, Warrior? Been imagining this?”
“Every night,” I admitted, past the point of hiding anythingfrom him. At least anything about this. “Every damn night since I met you.”
His fingers slipped through my slickness, and we both groaned. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me what you imagined.”
“Your hands,” I gasped as he found that bundle of nerves that made stars explode behind my eyelids. “Your mouth. You pressing me against surfaces and making me forget my own name.”
“We can do better than that,” he promised, circling with devastating precision. “Going to make you forget everything except how it feels to be mine.”
His fingers moved around and around, gathering slickness and circling that bundle of nerves until my vision began to go static at the edges. All while his mouth painted masterpieces across my skin.
“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” he confessed between kisses. “Want to take you apart piece by piece. Want to learn every sound you make, every way you shake, every spot that makes you melt.”
The space between my thighs pulsed like a second heartbeat, and tension coiled in my lower belly. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against me like he might disappear if I let go. Like this might be a dream I’d wake up from, alone again, unwanted again.
“You like that, Warrior?”
“Yes.” The word came out breathless, desperate. “God, yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised, and something about the way he said it made me believe he wasn’t just talking about this moment.
He kissed his way up my chest, jaw, and mouth while his fingers maintained their maddening rhythm, varying pressure in ways that made my knees threaten to buckle. His injured hand braced against the wall beside my head, and I turned to press a kiss to his damaged knuckles. He shuddered, his rhythm faltering for just a second.
“You undo me,” he said against my mouth. “Completely fucking undo me.”
The wave built higher, higher, until my legs started to shake. Every muscle in my body pulled tight, reaching for something just out of reach, something only he could give me.
Sensing my body’s surrender, Ryker pulled back just enough to lock eyes with me. I stared back, drowning in the intensity of his gaze. In his eyes, I saw myself reflected—not the persona I’d perfected, not the foster kid, not the accused. Just Faith. Just his.
“Come for me, Warrior.”
