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

25. Scrambled

At some point during the night, I roused from my slumber to find myself cocooned in Striker's arms, his lips pressed against my forehead. His embrace kept my naked body warm when the blanket had fallen down to my hips, and his steady, rhythmic breathing eventually lulled me back to sleep.

I finally awoke the next morning to an empty bed. The sunshine peeked in through the blinds of my window, pooling on the bed and warming my frame. I blinked repeatedly to adjust my eyes to the bright light and sat up. I was still naked, and I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders as I climbed out of bed.

On my desk chair near the foot of the bed I noticed the clothes Striker and I had discarded in our passion the night before. His wife beater and jeans were missing, but his black button-up was folded neatly and placed in the seat, along with my bra and panties. My sundress had been loosely folded lengthwise and hung over the back of the chair, and both of our pairs of shoes sat on the floor underneath it.

I heard someone stirring from down the hall as I pulled on my panties. A wave of relief calmed my anxious gut, and I briefly scolded myself for being so quick to jump to conclusions — again. My eyes fell to the black button-up sitting in the chair, a small smirk tugging at my lips. I tossed the blanket on the bed and slipped on the shirt, fastening the buttons and stepping into the hallway.

At the end of the hall was my living room, which was empty; the noise I'd heard was coming from the kitchen. Turning the corner to enter the kitchen, I saw Striker standing in front of the stove, his back to me. He was clad in his blue jeans and black wife beater, and appeared to be cooking something on the burner.

My feet left the carpet and made a light slapping sound as they stepped onto the linoleum tiles. Striker finally turned his head around to me, apparently having just noticed my presence. His reptilian eyes looked me over, an eyebrow raising slightly at the sight of his button-up covering my frame. A half-smile crossed his face. "Mornin', darlin'."

My fingers played with the hem of the button-up, and I walked toward him slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Makin' breakfast," he replied, flipping over something in the pan on the stovetop. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled," I said after a moment. I looked at the half-cooked omelet in the pan. Striker must have found my spice cabinet, because I could smell the delicious aroma of the seasonings he had used. The delectable scent combined with the sizzling sound the omelet made caused my mouth to water.

A few minutes passed, and Striker removed the pan from the heat and transferred the now finished omelet to one of my good serving dishes. I bit my lip, mentally telling myself to calm down — he didn't know they were my fine china.

Striker placed the hot pan on a potholder on the countertop and stepped in front of me. He leaned on the counter behind me, his other hand sliding up my bare thigh. He eyed my frame for a moment before looking up at my face. I saw his pupils dilate, and he smirked, a low chuckle escaping his throat.

"Y'know what you wearin' that does to me, darlin'?" he purred, his gravelly voice rumbling in his chest.

My face began to burn, and I backed into the kitchen counter. Striker's hand slipped under the hem of the button-up to my hip, his fingers squeezing my flesh. He grabbed my ass and lifted me up onto the countertop before pressing himself to me. He wove his fingers through my hair and kissed me roughly — until my stomach began to growl so loud the neighbors could hear it.

Striker pulled away and blinked at me, then let out a light laugh. "You are hungry," he said, stepping away from me and returning to the stove. "Alright. How many eggs you want?"

"I can make mine," I asserted as I hopped off the counter. "You should eat yours before it gets cold."

"Nah, I got it." He cracked two eggs in a bowl and briefly whisked them with a fork, nodding behind us toward my small dining table. "Just sit tight. It'll be done in a minute."