Page 52 of Striker’s Rebel

I cling to his shoulders.

“More.”

His eyes flash.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He pushes deeper.

I gasp and bury my face against his neck.

“Jesus.”

“Still good?”

I nod against him.

“Words, Rebel.”

“Yes.”

His hand slides beneath my hip, changing the angle as he presses forward again.

This time, when he sinks all the way inside me, the fullness is almost overwhelming.

I make a broken sound against his shoulder.

Striker stops.

He’s shaking.

That realization cuts through everything else.

This huge, terrifying man is holding himself completely still because of me.

I lift my head.

His eyes meet mine.

“Fuck, June.”

My pulse kicks harder.

He brushes the hair back from my face.

“You okay?”

I take a breath.

Then another.

The stretch settles, leaving a deep ache that isn’t exactly pain anymore.

I move my hips beneath him.

His jaw tightens.