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

104. Decompression Session

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I let out a heavy sigh as I unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside, immediately kicking off my shoes and dropping my backpack on the floor. I emptied my scrub pockets and began to remove my pants when I saw Striker emerge from the kitchen and approach me. He stepped forward and reached for me until I held out a hand to stop him.

"Nope. Don't touch me. I'm gross."

He retracted his hands and raised an eyebrow. "Pfft, can't be that bad, darlin'."

I looked up at him and said flatly, "Honey, if the body produces it, I got it on me tonight."

Striker blinked, his expression going blank as he responded with a simple, "Oh."

"Yeah," I said with an emphatic nod, then turned to head to the bathroom. "It was kind of a bad night."

He raised his hands and stepped out of my way. "Alright, darlin'," he relented while he watched me slip off my pants and socks and walk past him. "Well, go hop in the shower and clean up so I can help you unwind."

I sighed tiredly and looked back at him. "Y'know, I could really go for that, but I just don't know if I'm gonna have the energy for it right now."

"That's alright," he assured me. "You can just lay back and relax — I can take care of everything."

I perked up slightly, flashing him a pair of doe eyes. "I can be a pillow princess?" I said innocently.

Striker smirked. "Darlin', you can be whatever the fuck you want."

A tired but excited smile tugged at my lips, and I finished shedding my clothes and tossed them in the washer on my way down the short hallway. I heard a whistle come from behind me as I stepped into the bathroom, then poked my head out the doorway to look at him.

Striker stood leaning on the back of the couch with his arms crossed and remarked, "You're makin' it real hard to keep my hands off o' you right now, darlin'."

I grinned, sticking my tongue out at him before closing the bathroom door and preparing for a shower. After scrubbing off the grime from the previous night, I climbed out of the shower, dried myself off, and quickly changed the dressing on my shrinking belly wound. I smiled to myself at how little gauze I had to use — I hardly had to even pack it now.

When I finished in the bathroom, I headed into the kitchen to find Striker leaning against the counter eating what appeared to be scrambled eggs directly out of the pan. His eyes travelled up to me when I stepped onto the linoleum tiles, slowly looking me up and down. He swallowed his bite and set the pan on the counter, his lips curling into a smirk.

"You wearin' anything under that?" he remarked.

I glanced down at the oversized t-shirt covering my body, flashing him a coy smile. "Yes, I am, as a matter of fact," I retorted playfully. "I have underwear on."

"But no bra, obviously," he countered, approaching me and lightly pinching my nipple over my t-shirt. "I knew it — they were starin' at me through your shirt. I didn't think it was that cold in here."

I giggled in amusement and leaned into his touch, prompting him to slowly knead my breast in his fingers.

"So," he murmured in my ear, "you decide yet?"

I smiled mischievously, snaking my arms around his neck. "Pamper me."

Striker mirrored my expression before grabbing hold of my legs and hauling them up to his hips, holding me by the rear as he staggered out of the kitchen toward the bedroom. He bent forward and laid me down on the bed, his hands slithering under my shirt to feel up my waist.