“I believe you said I owe you a debt, Stryker.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stryker
Fuck me six ways to Sunday.
This, gorgeous, hesitant, feisty, independent woman brings me to my knees. “Indeed you do.” The words roll out of me, low and rough, scraping against the quiet of the cabin.
My cock, still half hard from the shower, surges fully awake, straining against the soft fabric of my sweatpants. The air between us crackles, thick with the scent of pine from the fire, the faint sweetness of cocoa lingering on her breath, and the unmistakable musk of her arousal.
I marvel at her courage. She’s spent her life running, hiding behind what I’m sure is an alias and lies. Now she stands here, offering herself up, daring me to take what she owes.
It’s not just bravery—it’s trust, raw and unpolished, and it ignites a fierce need in me.
My chest tightens with a possessive heat, an undeniable urge to claim every inch of her, body and soul. The way she’s looking at me—blue eyes wide but unflinching, her lips parted just enough to show the tip of her tongue—makes my blood pound.
I’m pleased—God, am I pleased—but more than that, I’m turned on in a way that’s almost painful. My erection throbs in time with every heartbeat.
The bedroom is warm, but the living room’s closer to the fire, and I want her surrounded by heat, by the glow of the flames, when I exact this punishment.
I want to see every flush on her skin, every tremor in her thighs, as I push her past her limits. “Come with me.” I extend my hand toward her. Slowly she closes the distance between us and accepts.
Perfect.
The contact sends a jolt through me. Her scent—clean skin, a hint of my soap, and that underlying sweetness that’s all her—wraps around me.
Our footsteps are almost silent on the hardwood, and the faint spitting and hissing of the fire are the only sounds besides the storm’s relentless howl outside.
The smell of burning pine fills the air as I reluctantly release my hold on her. “Just stand right there. Don’t move.”
I grab the thick blanket we used earlier and spread it out in front of the fire. Then I toss a pillow on top, my motions deliberate, giving her time to anticipate what’s coming.
Surely she has to be remembering the way I exposed every part of her earlier.
Is she regretting her words to me? Or is she excited to see what I have in store for her this time?
My intention is to give her everything she wants. And more.
I want her to remember this experience and replay it for years.
Turning to face her, I sweep my gaze down her luscious body. “Please strip for me, Allie. Take your time so that I can enjoy the show. And it’s your job to be sure that that happens. I want your focus on me, my pleasure. Your every action should be oriented with that in mind. Stay out of your head and give me what I desire.” My voice is rough and husky, more so than I intend.
The idea of her giving herself to me is intoxicating as hell.
I keep my eyes locked on hers, watching for any flicker of doubt, offering silent reassurance. “Then kneel up, exactly as you were before.”
When she doesn’t move instantly, I ask, “You remember the details, right?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the buttons on her shirt, and she fumbles with the first one.
I don’t offer any help.
When she’s finally finished, she slips the flannel from her shoulders, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet.
Her pants follow, sliding down her hips, revealing the smooth curve of her thighs.
