Page 17 of Reaper
My thighs part automatically, making room for the sheer size of him as he steps between my knees.
"Fuuuuuuck." The groan rips out of his chest, rough and entirely starved. "Been wanting to do this for days."
A breathless, nervous laugh escapes my throat. "Days?"
"Yes." His hands slide up my sides. "You know when."
The memory of the creek hits me like a physical blow. The cold water. The absolute exposure. The knowledge that he had been watching me through the scope of a sniper rifle while I stripped bare.
"When I watched you take that plunge in the creek." His dark eyes lock onto mine, the predatory hunger in them completely unmasked. "I've been hard ever since."
A violent, liquid heat floods my core. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, meeting the challenge in his stare.
"Show me."
His mouth crashes back down on mine. He grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head in one savage, fluid motion before tossing it into the dark. The freezing mountain air bites at my bare skin for exactly a second before the crushing heat of his chest blankets me.
His mouth drops to my neck. He bites down on the sensitive curve of my throat, scraping his teeth over my racing pulse before soothing the sting with a rough swipe of his tongue. I arch into him, a ragged, shameless sound ripping out of my chest.
I spent my entire adult life building walls. Constructing a flawless, impenetrable armor of professionalism and cold logic so no man would ever underestimate me.
Wyatt shatters every single barrier I have in less than sixty seconds.
His large, calloused hands map the curves of my body, rough and possessive. I have spent the last fourteen months auditing dark money and avoiding human contact. My entire existence has been reduced to logic and survival. But here, trapped between the massive thighs of an elite operator, all of that intellect shatters.
He doesn't treat me like glass. He treats me like I belong to him. Like I have always belonged to him. The physical dominance of his touch sends liquid fire straight to my core.
I reach for the heavy zipper of his tactical jacket. I need it off. I need the weapon stripped down to the man beneath.
He pulls back, his chest heaving, giving me room to work. I drag the zipper down, shoving the heavy canvas off his broad shoulders. He tosses the jacket aside, followed immediately by his black t-shirt.
The pale glow of the LED lantern cuts across his chest and abdomen. Thick slabs of muscle, a harsh dusting of dark hair, and jagged, silver scars. It is the body of a man who has lived his entire adult life on the edge of a blade. It is a terrifying canvas of violence.
I flatten my palms against his bare chest, absorbing the heat of him. His heart hammers a frantic, violent rhythm against my skin. The unstoppable pulse of a killer who has finally found his weakness.
He grabs my ankles, tossing my shoes to the floorboards. His knuckles graze my stomach as he undoes the button of my jeans. The rasp of the zipper is deafening in the quiet cabin. He drags the denim down my legs and throws it into the dark, his hands heavy and completely impatient.
He doesn't waste time on reverence.
He steps back to shed his own gear, but the predatory hunger in his dark eyes completely fractures his control. He is too starved to manage it himself. I reach for his belt, my fingersquick and desperate as I undo the heavy tactical buckle. I drag his zipper down and push the thick canvas open.
I free him, wrapping my hand around the heavy, blistering heat of his shaft.
A harsh, guttural groan rips out of his chest. His hands immediately clamp over my hips, stopping me before the sheer friction breaks him completely.
He shoves his pants down his thighs. He doesn't even bother kicking off his heavy combat boots. The absolute, violent urgency in his movements makes my breath catch. He needs to be inside me right now.
He steps squarely between my knees. His massive hands grip my waist, and he lifts me completely off the edge of the table.
My hands brace against his broad shoulders. His chest heaves under my palms, his skin searing hot against mine in the freezing cabin air. I clamp my legs tightly around his waist, locking my ankles behind his back and position myself directly over him.
His dark eyes lock onto mine, wild and utterly feral.
He yanks me down.
A sharp, breathless cry tears out of my throat at the sheer force and size of the intrusion. He fills me completely, stretching me, anchoring me to his body as he drops me back onto the hard wood of the table.
He goes perfectly still. His muscles lock tight, his jaw clenched as he fights for a single second of restraint.
