A coil of tension wound tighter and tighter in my lower belly, and with every swirl of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers, it came closer and closer to snapping. Looking down at the man between my legs, all muscles and tattoos and unconditional love, I shattered, his name torn from my throat as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He continued working every aftershock until I was limp and gasping.
After, he kissed his way back up my body, and I could taste myself on his lips when our mouths met. The intimacy of it sent fresh heat spiraling through me.
“Wait,” I managed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Your turn.”
His eyes darkened. “Faith?—”
“Sit on the edge of the bed.”
He hesitated. I could tell that in his mind, this was all supposed to be about my satisfaction. But I wanted to give it right back to him, so I was thrilled when he obeyed. I loved the hunger in his eyes as he watched me slide to my knees.
For a moment, I just looked at him—this powerful man who’d fought for me, believed in me, loved me despite everything. My hands shook as I worked his belt free, then his zipper.
When I freed him, he hissed in a breath.
His head fell back as I licked him base to tip, wetting him thoroughly before taking him into my mouth. The groan that rumbled from his chest sent liquid heat straight to my core.
I found my rhythm, taking him deeper with each pass, using my hand where my mouth couldn’t reach. His fingers tangled in my hair, and the rough, desperate sounds he made filled me with a sense of power.
“Warrior,” he groaned. “Fuck, that feels incredible.”
I hummed around him, and his hips jerked. I could feel him swelling, his thighs going rigid beneath my hands. When I glanced up through my lashes, his expression was pure need.
Suddenly, he pulled me up. “Need to be inside you.”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, turning us so my backwas on the mattress, my legs open as he knelt in front of me. Not missionary, but rather, pulling my hips up off the blanket, lining himself up at my entrance.
He pushed inside me in one smooth thrust, and we both groaned. “Fuck, Faith. You feel … you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”
At this angle, Ryker was on his knees, my hips off the bed, and he could watch himself drive into me over and over. As he did, I loved that he didn’t keep it gentle. I loved that with every thrust, he drove deeper, harder, like he was trying to take his anger out on our bodies.
He set a rhythm that had my back arching even higher off the mattress. Every stroke hit that perfect spot inside me while his thumb ground against my sensitive flesh with each movement.
“Mine,” he growled against my throat. “Say it again, Faith. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yours,” I gasped, nails clawing at the comforter. “And you’re mine.”
“Fuck yes, I am.” His pace increased, each thrust punctuated by promises.
This wasn’t just sex. It was a vow.
I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and I forced my eyes open to meet his. The intensity there nearly undid me. “Want to watch you come apart.”
His thumb started working even harder, circling that bundle of nerves. Pressing. Stroking. All while his gaze remained locked on mine, reading the tempo of my body, the parting of my lips.
Tension coiled in my lower belly, ready to snap.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice rough with restraint.
“Ryker, I’m going to …”
“I know, Warrior. I can feel you. So tight around me. So perfect.” His thumb pressed harder, circled faster. “Come for me. Show me how free you are when you let go.”
Then, with our eyes still locked, I broke. Pleasure rippedthrough me in waves, my body clenching around him as he grunted and pushed and thrust harder and deeper inside of me. Through it all, I kept my eyes locked on his—watching him watch me, seeing myself reflected in his gaze. Not broken. Not damaged.
Loved.
