Page 21 of Gatling
“Quiet,” he bit out, stepping fully into the room.
Ryker didn’t turn on the light as he approached the bed. When he sank onto a corner of the mattress, the only sound in the room was the whisper of fabric as he peeled the sheets from my body. Cool air washed over me. I swallowed hard, stomach roiling with anticipation.
Ryker curled his callused fingers around my ankle, smoothing his thumb along my calf. My leggings were thin enough to feel the heat and pressure of every movement, every touch.
“Tell me to stop,” he said. “I’ll walk away right now.”
We couldn’t see much of each other in the dark. But I shook my head. I had no intention of saying a word.
Ryker reached up and hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings. Peeled them down. I bit the inside of my cheek, terrified to breathe for fear it would shatter this perfect moment. After years of crushing on him, my fantasies were finally coming true.
Tugging my leggings and panties down, Ryker pushed my thighs apart.
“I get too caught up in my head,” he said. “Remembering things I wish I could forget. The things I’ve done. The blood on my hands. The lives I’ve taken, as a hunter, as a soldier, as a biker. As a man.”
I could feel the intensity of him. His hot breath on my bare legs. The press of his shoulders between my thighs, spreading me open for him.
“When I’m with you, I think of other things,” he added, so quietly that I almost missed it. “Better things.”
“Like what?” I asked in a shaky voice.
He paused for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer.
“You,” he whispered.
I blinked in surprise. Settling deeper into the mattress, I threaded my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to where I needed him the most.
I knew what he wasn’t saying.
One night. That’s all we would get. One night, forever our secret.
And we would never speak about it again.
Ryker would never kiss me in the daylight, especially not in front of my brother.
He would never take me on dates or call me his girlfriend, let alone his wife. He probably thought he wasn’t good enough for me—too damaged, too broken, too old.
I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted him.
“Ryker,” I pleaded.
Then his mouth wasthere—hot, wet, andso heavenlythat I could cry from the pleasure of it. He swirled his tongue over my clit, dipping into my pussy for a tantalizing moment.
He guided my legs over his shoulders. My trembling thighs bracketed his head. I felt the bruising pressure of his fingertips, digging into the plush flesh of my hips. I wished I could see him. I wished I could watch and commit every inch of him to memory.
My orgasm coiled tight and hot in my belly, threatening to snap. I writhed, mindlessly working my hips against Ryker’s tongue with desperation.
“Fuck—I’mso close—” I whined.
Ryker pulled away. His heat was gone. His mouth…his hands…
The breath rushed out of me in a huff.
“Patience, sunshine,” Ryker said quietly. “I’m not abandoning you.”
He stood up, stripping off his clothes. The clank of his belt buckle cut through the stillness, followed by the crinkle of a condom packet and the snap of rubber.
Then Ryker returned to his position between my thighs, covering his body with mine. The hard flex of his muscles slotted with the softer, rounded curves of my body. His searing hot skin made my brain go blank in the best possible way. And his stiff cock dug into my hip.
