I open my eyes. Striker is propped on one elbow, his other hand on my hip under the sheet.
“Hi.”
“Hi, gorgeous.”
“You watched me sleep.”
“I did.”
“That's creepy.”
“I know.”
I push my face into his chest, laughing.
“You crashed out, princess.”
“You wore me out.”
“Good.”
“I’m sore. Are you sore?”
He laughs, a low rumble against me. “You’re speaking to a former cage fighter. I’m not sore.”
“Smug.”
“It’s honest.”
I run my hand down his chest, across his stomach. He is hard against my thigh under the sheet. The moment my fingers reach the edge of his cock, his breath catches.
I keep going.
His hand slides up my back, but I push him onto his back. He is almost a foot taller than me, but he goes down like a felled tree, because he’s decided to let me have this.
“I'm in charge this time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I pull off the t-shirt he gave me to sleep in and his eyes go dark. I push the sheet down. I bend and put my mouth on his hardness as his hand fists in my hair. He groans and pulls me back up.
“Bethany… I’m not going to last six seconds. I want you on me. Right now."
I lower myself onto him slowly. He fills me completely and I have to stop with him halfway in to take a breath. He reaches up and cups my cheek, his thumb on my lower lip.
“Take your time, princess.”
When he’s finally inside me, I start to move, finding my own rhythm. Long lifts off him, slow sinks back down. His hands rest on my hips, guiding without controlling, his eyes locked on mine.
Leaning back, I put my hands on his thighs behind me and roll my hips. The angle is perfect. I gasp out his name without meaning to.
His hands come up to my breasts, cupping them, his fingers gently pinching my nipples. Then one hand slides between us, working me with two fingers as I move. I come hard, my pussy pulsing around his hard length. He comes inside me a moment after, saying my name. Then I lower myself onto his chest withhim still inside me, as he wraps both arms around me, and we stay there.
We come downstairs eventually and Striker makes coffee, setting it in front of me.
“I need to run something past you.”
“What?”
