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

125. Lasso

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"Mary, I know what I'm gonna do tomorrow and the next day and next year and the year after that. I'm shaking the dust of this crummy little town off my feet, and I'm gonna see the world! Italy, Greece, the Parthenon, the Coliseum—then I'm coming back here and go to college and see what they know—and then I'm gonna build things. I'm gonna build airfields, I'm gonna build skyscrapers a hundred stories high, I'm gonna build bridges a mile long—"

"You really do know most o' this movie by heart, don't you?"

I rolled onto my back and grinned at Striker, who was looking down at me with a humored smirk. "I grew up watching this movie every year," I replied, resting my head back on his lap to view the TV screen. "And I always liked this scene in particular."

"That so?" he said.

"Yeah." I watched George and Mary walk down the sidewalk singing off-key, my smile widening as I muttered the characters' lines:

"What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word, and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. . ."

I heard Striker chuckle above me, his fingers lazily combing through my hair.

"I'll take it," said Mary onscreen. "And then what? "

"Well then, you can swallow it," I said softly with George. "And it'll all dissolve, see? And the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair, and . . . Am I talking too much? "

"Yes, darlin'," Striker quipped, causing me to giggle.

"Sorry," I said, looking back up at him.

"Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?! " shouted the man onscreen, earning a toothy grin from Striker.

"Why don't I?" he mused, lightly pressing his thumb to my bottom lip.

His words brought a smirk to my face, and I blindly grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table and lowered the volume. "Why don't you?"

Striker's grin widened as he wove his fingers through my hair and lifted my head and shoulders, planting his lips on mine. He kissed me slowly, his hand wandering under my shirt and feeling my bare waist.

I pushed myself up to meet him, inching closer to him until he guided me to straddle his lap. His hands pushed up the hem of my t-shirt and explored my body, squeezing and scratching my flesh. He cupped one of my bare breasts in his palm, pinching my nipple between his fingers while his other hand slipped underneath my bottoms and grabbed my ass.

I mewled at his touch, pulling away to kiss and nibble at his neck. A low bellow rumbled in Striker's chest at my actions, and his grip on me tightened, the growing bulge in his pants throbbing against my groin.

"Shit, woman," he growled before suddenly holding me by the rear and standing from the couch. He started down the hallway to the bedroom, but stopped just outside the door and pinned me against the wall. "You know what that kinda shit does to me?"

"No," I said playfully. "What does it do?"

He flashed me a mischievous smirk and pushed me further into the wall, grinding his hips into mine. He nodded toward the living room and answered, "Makes me wanna use that fuckin' rope I got in there."

"Oh, really?" I teased.

He pulled me away from the wall and staggered into the bedroom, plopping me down on the mattress before promptly turning on his heel and walking back out. He returned a few seconds later with the length of rope he carried on his hip when he worked, and he leaned closer to me and draped the lasso around my sitting frame, pulling it snug over my arms and chest.