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

81. If My Memory Serves Me

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I rested my head in Striker's lap amidst the bales of hay as I recovered from my intense (silent) orgasm. My head spun like a top for several minutes, but he waited quietly for me, brushing his fingers through my hair.

"How's your stomach?" he asked softly at one point.

"It stings a little," I answered honestly, "but I'm okay."

"Good." His hand travelled down to my face, his knuckles gently caressing my cheek. "I gotta get back soon."

I nodded, my eyes still closed, and as my dizziness faded, I slowly peeled them open to see Striker's glowing yellow eyes looking back at me. I giggled tiredly at him and said, "Y'know, I wasn't expecting that when we came to the festival today."

"Neither was I," he replied, slipping a finger underneath my chin. "But with how delicious you looked today and the way you were talkin', I just couldn't help myself."

"How do I look different compared to any other day?" I said skeptically.

He smirked down at me. "You don't."

My cheeks warmed, and I chuckled at his words. "Okay, Mr. Smooth Operator," I remarked, finally sitting up. "I guess we should go now."

"Yeah, it's about time for the next round to start." He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for me. "And feathers'll be wonderin' where you are."

Striker pulled me to my feet, where I leaned on him for a moment while I steadied myself. "Yeah, he probably will, huh? C'mon, let's get going, then."

"Hold on, darlin'."

I looked back to him, puzzled. "What is it?"

With an amused smirk tugging at his lips, he nodded down to my pants. "Your fly's still down."

I shyly turned back around and hurriedly zipped up my jeans before grumbling, "Okay, now let's go."

Striker chuckled, following me out from behind the huge bales of hay — but not before plucking a single straw out of one of the bales and sticking it between his teeth. We left the shelter of the underside of the bleachers and stopped near the wooden steps, where he loosely took my wrist and said, "You feel okay climbin' up those steps?"

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. I've done it twice already today."

He raised an eyebrow, but let it go and leaned down to plant a kiss on my lips, then paused when he noticed me recoil, the realization dawning on him.

"My bad, darlin," he said before changing directions and giving me a small peck on the cheek. "Almost forgot."

"It was only a few minutes ago," I argued, a playful grin on my face. "Your memory's getting bad, old man."

"Not so bad that I'll forget your end of the bargain, darlin'," he teased, then pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I'll see ya' later."

"See ya'." I watched him walk toward the other contestants gathering at the venue before ascending the steps to the top of the wooden bleachers. The very top was maybe twenty feet off the ground, but I was still winded by the time I reached the VIP booth, that familiar searing pain stinging in my gut. Stolas was already seated on the long white bench, and he turned his head to look at me when I entered the booth.

"Did you have a nice lunch, my dear?" he asked while opening his folding fan, then added dryly, "I'm sure Striker had a very nice meal as well, hm?"

I stiffened, my heart flipping in my chest, and my eyes darted away as I nervously reclaimed my seat next to him. "I-I don't know what you — you're talking about," I sputtered.