Page 82 of Revenge Saints
“I come in peace. Promise.” She chuckles.
I exhale hard. “Fuck. Sorry.” I lower the gun and set it back on my lap.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispers. “Or rest.”
Her eyes stay locked on the floor, quiet, but her chest is rising fast. I notice the way her nipples press against the shirt.
Our girl’s still buzzing. That adrenaline’s curdled into something darker.
I spread my legs again and reach for her hand, pulling her into the space between them.
I lick my lips, lean back on the couch, eyes dragging over every inch of her.
“Take your shirt off.”
Her gaze snaps to mine.
“What?” she asks, cheeks flushing.
I smirk slowly. “Take your fucking shirt off.”
I bring the gun to the hem of the fabric, lifting it slightly. She gasps.
“Now, Aspen.”
She bites her bottom lip. Hesitates a beat. Then pulls the shirt up, slowly.
Bruises mark her legs. The bandage is still on her thigh. Her breasts are full, nipples like perfect arrows aimed right at me.
And fuck, do I want to bite down until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine.
I palm my dick through my jeans, the ache impossible to ignore, and her eyes drop to it like theycan’tlook away. I smirk.
“You’re making me hard as fuck.”
She gives me a look, half amused, half wicked.
“Come closer.”
I spread my legs wider, giving her space to step in. When she does, I raise the gun and trail it softly along the outside of her thigh. Her skin jumps beneath the touch, goosebumps rising like she’s trying not to react butfailing.
“Ryker…” she breathes.
But I’m not looking at her face. My eyes are locked on that perfect body, still carrying marks from the fight, from the road, from us. All I can think about is her taste… how fucking tight she is.
I drag the barrel up slowly, tracing the line of her stomach. Her breath hitches. When I reach her breast, I circle the tip of the gun around her nipple.
She gasps, her body trembling like a live wire.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Max was right. You’re fucking breathtaking.”
She lets out a soft whimper when I press the gun right against her nipple, just enough to make her feel it. She flinches, stepping back.
I react instantly. The gun snaps up. “Don’t fucking move.”
Her eyes meet mine. There’s trust there; she knows I wouldn’t hurt her, but beneath that trust is something else. Shelikesthe fear. The tension. The edge.
She nods once. Then steps forward again.
