Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

16. Show Me

Author's Note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content and strong themes that may not be suitable for some readers. Readers 18+ only. Proceed with caution (and maybe a wet floor sign).

-----

"Then show me," I muttered, drawing my lips to his. "Ease my suffering."

Striker brought his lips down on mine, kissing me a little harder. He leaned over me from the side, not yet completely on top of me. His free hand found my waist, wandering down to my hip as he slowly lowered his frame onto mine. My entire right side was open — I could have easily crawled out from under him if I'd wanted.

But I didn't. I wanted his affection. I wanted to feel the soft touch of his lips over every inch of me.

I wanted him.

I returned the kiss with more force, pulling his head down toward me by the back of his neck. I tugged at his shirt to guide him closer, and he obliged, shifting so that he was now hovering directly over my frame. His knees rested on the afghan on either side of me, pinning down my legs. I felt his hand squeeze my hip, his nails lightly digging into my skin through my clothes.

I parted my lips, and he slowly slipped his long tongue inside. Our tongues battled briefly before Striker pulled away again to continue kissing my jaw. Wanting nothing in the way of his touch, I clumsily untied the knot in the red bandana and let it fall from my neck. Striker noticed and brought his lips to the side of my neck, careful not to touch the sizeable bruise covering the front of my throat. He started to use his teeth, lightly grazing them across my skin.

My hands grabbed his waist, clutching fistfuls of his shirt. I unbuttoned his vest and yanked the hem of his shirt out of the waistband of his pants. Once his shirt was untucked, I slid my hands underneath and pressed them to his bare torso, my fingertips traveling down to his hips. Striker let out a hot, shuddered breath against my skin, sending chills down my spine. He began to apply a bit more pressure, peppering my neck and collarbone with open-mouthed kisses.

I sighed into the crook of his neck as I reached up to unbutton his shirt. I opened his shirt and slipped my hands under his wife beater. As if reading my mind, Striker shrugged off the button-up and tossed it to the side. His hands glided up my bare waist to my bra, pressing firmly to my ribs. I waited for him to rip off my clothes and stare at me with wild, hungry eyes like he'd done the night we met. I lay there under him, fully expecting him to take me with reckless abandon.

But he didn't. He seemed to be waiting for me to initiate. Waiting until I wanted to move forward.

Waiting until I was ready.

I wanted to cry at his gift. I pulled his wife beater up over his head and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him hard. He seemed a bit taken aback by this, but was clearly undeterred. He hooked his fingers under my tank top and pulled the hem up to my chest. I slid off my tank top and left it next to his discarded clothes. Slowly, I reached behind me to unhook my bra.

Striker looked down at my hands, then back at me, and it was then I realized that I was shaking. He loosened his hold on me.

"You're tremblin'," he murmured.

I mentally cursed my terrible nerves. "I-I'm okay," I muttered.

He frowned, unconvinced. "Do you wanna stop?"

My heart clenched at the earnestness in his voice. I didn't hear a single sliver of lust when he spoke.

"No," I answered. "I want to. I just . . . I'm just nervous. It's been a long time since I've. . ."