“Keep begging.”
“Please let me come.”
“Hold on a little longer.” I still my movements completely, watching frustration and need war across her features.
A few moments later, she closes her eyes and exhales her surrender.
That’s it. “Good girl.” I resume the punishing rhythm, feeling my own release building at the base of my spine. “Now come for me. Come all over my cock.”
She explodes with a cry that’s part pleasure, part surrender, her pussy milking me as she falls apart in my arms.
The overwhelming sensation triggers my own release, and I follow her over the edge, filling the condom with pulses of heat that seem to go on forever.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. I pull out carefully and dispose of the condom, then gather her against my side.
“You okay?” I murmur into her hair.
“More than okay.” Her voice is soft, sated. “That was...”
“Just the beginning.”
She tilts her head to look at me, and I see something shift in her expression. “Oh?” A spark of mischief is there that makes my cock twitch with renewed interest.
Without breaking eye contact, she deliberately loosens her grip on the headboard and lets her hands fall to her sides.
The challenge in her gaze is unmistakable.
Damn. Could she be any more perfect? I fucking love a challenge.
Game on, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve unleashed.
“Now you’re really in trouble…” I smile, slow and predatory. “Sweetheart.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lyra
Have I lost my mind?
The thought ricochets through me as Stryker’s smile turns slow and predatory, his dark eyes locking onto mine like he’s already won whatever game we’ve started. Trouble. That’s what he promised, and my body betrays me, a shiver racing down my spine that’s equal parts fear and anticipation.
This man—this Hawkeye agent who could unravel everything I’ve hidden—has me naked, exposed, and craving more. It’s dangerous, this pull toward him, like stepping into a vault knowing the alarm’s about to scream. But God, the thrill of it, the edge I’ve danced on my whole life, makes me want to lean in instead of run.
He doesn’t waste time. He slides his hand up my thigh, firm and possessive, guiding me over his lap with that effortless strength that makes my pulse stutter. I brace myself on the mattress, my cheeks burning as he positions me, my ass in the air, vulnerable and waiting. The cabin’s warmth presses against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his palm resting on the curve of my bottom, teasing, not yet striking.
“You know why we’re here,” he murmurs, his voice that gravel-over-velvet rumble that vibrates through me. With his free hand, he strokes my back, soothing, almost tender, lulling me into a false sense of safety. “You let go of that headboard without permission. That’s defiance, Allie.”
I squirm, not sure if it’s to escape or to beg for more. “I was just?—”
His first swat lands, light but deliberate, a sharp sting that blooms into warmth. I gasp, my body jerking forward, but he holds me steady, his grip unyielding on my hip. It’s not pain, not really—more like a spark that ignites something deeper, something I’ve never admitted to wanting. Another swat follows, slower this time, his palm cupping me afterward, rubbing the heat in circles that make me bite my lip to stifle a moan.
He pauses, his hand stilling, and I feel his gaze on me, assessing. “You need a safe word, sweetheart. Something to stop everything if it’s too much.”
I want to protest that I won’t need one, don’t want one.
I can take anything that Stryker can dish out. And if I can’t, I’ll lay him out flat.
“Having one increases trust.”
