Page 54 of Game Over

My eyes fly open. Ryker stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing with hunger.

Heat rushes to my face. I try to pull my hand away, but he makes a sound—sharp, disapproving.

“I didn’t say you could stop.” His voice drops an octave, rumbling through me. “Keep going.”

My fingers freeze. Despite the embarrassment burning through me, my body throbs beneath my touch, desperate for release.

“I—”

“Finish what you started.” He steps closer, towering over me. “Come for me, Kira. Now.”

The command in his voice triggers me. My fingers resume their rhythm faster now. I should feel shame with his eyes devouring every inch of me, but power surges through my veins.

I’m performing for him. And fuck—I like it.

The intensity builds faster than before. My breath comes in short gasps, and my legs tremble as I climb higher.

“That’s it.” His voice wraps around me like a warm caress. “Let me see you fall apart.”

I’m balanced on the knife’s edge, my entire body coiled tight.

“Ryker—” I whimper, so close I can taste it.

His name escapes my lips like a prayer, and a feral spark ignites in Ryker’s eyes.

A deep growl rumbles from his chest. Before I can react, he lunges forward, ripping the sheets away from my body. The cool air hits my heated skin, but I barely notice because Ryker’s dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“Mine,” he snarls, gripping my thighs and spreading them wider.

My fingers still hover between my legs, wet and trembling. He grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away and pinning it beside my hip.

“You started something that belongs to me.” His breath is hot against my inner thigh. “Only I get to make you come, understand?”

I can’t form words, just nod frantically, desperate for him to touch me.

“Who gets to make you come, baby?” His tongue darts out, so close to where I need him, but not close enough.

“Only you,” I gasp.

The first stroke of his tongue sends electricity shooting up my spine. My hips buck instinctively, but his strong hands hold me in place, fingers digging into my flesh.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against me. “I’ve imagined waking up and eating you every fucking morning for over two years.”

His mouth devours me with devastating precision like he’s studied exactly how to take me apart. Each lick and suck is calibrated to drive me wild.

“That’s it,” he murmurs between strokes of his tongue. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my tongue.”

I’m so close, teetering on the edge, my entire body trembling with need.

His tongue laps at me skilfully, but suddenly, he pulls back. My body protests the loss, hips chasing his mouth.

“You remember what happened last time?” he asks, eyes locked with mine as he slides two fingers through my wetness.

I know exactly what he means. When it happened, I was horrified, the sudden gush of wetness shocking me.

“I want to see it again,” he growls, curling his fingers inside me.

His fingers find that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. He presses upward, the pressure building instantly.

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