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When Striker entered the bedroom, he carefully laid me down on the bed, looming over me on all fours. He held my face in his hand and kissed me again before his lips travelled down my jaw and neck.
I sighed at his actions and reached down to remove my soaked panties, but he gingerly pushed my hand away and pulled the garment off of my legs. He shed his shirt and bottoms, then climbed on top of me, wrapping an arm around my back and helping me slip off my nightgown.
We lay staring at each other, fully naked — naked in a way we hadn't seen each other in months. Striker looked down at me, his lustful eyes now burning like a roaring bonfire, and asked wordlessly for permission. I took his face in my hands and gave him a small nod, looking him in the eye as he slowly slid himself inside me.
"Oh, God, yes," he groaned against my lips, clutching the bedsheets beside my head. His free hand found the back of my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair and giving it a light tug, and he pulled halfway out and started to move in slow, shallow thrusts.
I mewled softly at his movements, an elated smile crawling up my lips, and I kissed him longingly before wrapping my arms around his neck.
"I've waited so long for this, darlin'," he murmured, hungrily kissing my neck. He panted in hot, heavy breaths that warmed my skin and sent shivers down my spine.
"I wanted to for so long," I sighed into his ear, weaving my fingers into his snowy hair. I felt myself quickly becoming enraptured by our passion, and I muttered breathlessly to him, "I love you."
Striker's hold on me tightened, his thrusts slowing slightly. He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes glowing softly in the dim light. A small smile tugged at his lips before he kissed me hard, a low moan escaping his throat. He adjusted his position, his hands pushing my legs upward and allowing him to completely sheath himself inside me.
"Oh, yes," I mewled loudly. He moved faster, thrusting into me a little harder. My hands found his torso and travelled down his abs, my fingers feeling out every dip and curve.
Striker grunted and suddenly came to a stop. He pushed himself up onto his hands and began grinding into me slowly, taking his time between his thrusts. His groin rubbed against mine each time he ground into me, the friction stimulating my clit and sending delicious waves of pleasure surging through me.
"Oh, God, Striker," I sighed, wrapping my legs around his hips and drawing him closer. He lowered his head and planted a rough kiss on my lips.
"You look so fuckin' beautiful when you're takin' my dick," he purred, then kissed me again.
I moaned into his mouth, his words and movements washing an enormous wave of pleasure over me. I snickered and said between my pants, "Is that the only time?"
Striker smiled, bringing a hand to my cheek. "No," he whispered before kissing me hard again. His lips migrated to my jaw and neck, nibbling at my skin.
I held my hand to the back of his head, my fingers curling themselves into his hair as he kept his mouth planted on my neck. Striker gradually picked up the pace again, his thrusts growing a little more forceful. I dug my nails into his back, whimpering at the sparks of pleasure his movements ignited in me. I sighed sweet nothings into his ear, repeating his name like a mantra. His hands wandered down my sides, lightly scratching my skin, and the sensation sent chills of arousal down my body — until those sharp talons accidentally raked the edges of my wound.
I gasped at the sudden bolt of pain that shot through my gut. I grabbed his arms, clamping down on them with a vise-grip. "Shit! " I shrieked, clenching my teeth until my jaw was sore.
Striker immediately realized what he'd done and retracted his hands from my frame, unsheathing himself and quickly climbing off of me. He crouched beside me on the mattress, his eyes repeatedly looking me over. Like I had learned to do over the past couple of months, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, taking slow, steady breaths through pursed lips until the pain eventually diminished.
I waited for the pain to only lessen, because it never really went away.
After a few minutes, I opened my eyes again and looked up at Striker. His brows were tightly furrowed as he watched me. He kept his distance, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. My body relaxed, and I slowly sat up and smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm okay," I said. "It's just . . . any kind of contact with it still hurts."
Striker stayed silent, a small frown tugging at his lips.
Though not quite as strong now, my libido compelled me to crawl toward him and press my lips to his. He returned the kiss, an unusual gentleness behind it, and his hands hovered over my body before hesitantly resting on my arms. I tried to encourage him by guiding him back on top of me, my arms and legs wrapping around his frame to draw him closer. I kissed him a little harder, my hand reaching down to grasp his erection, and I shifted underneath him to position myself, the movement aggravating my wound and causing me to wince.
Striker took my wrist and pulled my hand away, and he let out a small sigh against my lips.
"I can't," he muttered. "I'll hurt you."
I looked up at him, seeing that torn expression on his face, and gingerly cupped his cheek. "It's okay, Striker. You're not going to hurt me."
"But I might," he retorted. "I could get carried away and — "
He directed his gaze to the side, seemingly unable to look at me, and he shook his head. "I can't hurt you anymore. I've . . . I've done enough damage."
My heart twisted in my chest at his words. "Striker. . ."
He pushed himself off of me and sat on the mattress at my feet, his shoulders hunched forward. An abashed grimace contorted his expression as he glared at a spot on the floor.
I sat up, forcing myself to ignore the residual pain in my stomach. "Striker. Please . . . I-It's okay. I'll be alright."
He shook his head again, the grimace on his face deepening. "I just . . . I — I can't. Not now."
I watched a war being waged behind his eyes, one I knew he'd been battling for quite a while now. Shame riddled his features, making the glow of those bright yellow eyes just a little dimmer. I pursed my lips in realization: even if I did convince him to continue, he certainly wasn't in the headspace to be doing such things — and I could never bring myself to make him.
I nodded in resignation and muttered a quiet, "Okay."
Striker shifted to the side of the bed and swung his legs over, bending down to reach for his boxer briefs. He slipped his feet into the leg holes and stood to pull the garment up to his hips, covering his softening manhood. He ran a hand through his hair, and after a moment, he turned to head out the bedroom door.
"I-It's okay, Striker," I started in a last-second attempt to reassure him. "I'm a little disappointed, yeah, but it's okay. Really." I wrapped my arms around each other, an almost sheepish smile tugging at my lips. "I mean, we've had to stop because of me plenty of times before. . ."
Striker froze in the doorway, whipping his head around to look at me, a dumbfounded, almost appalled expression marring his face. And when I thought about it, I recognized that look: it was the same look he gave me all those months ago, on the night we met, when I had thanked him for stopping in the middle of our drunken passion.
And just like back then, he turned his head away from me, glaring down at the floor, and shook his head in staunch disapproval. Except this time, a twinge of what appeared to be guilt flashed in those eyes. An ugly scowl pulled at the corners of his mouth, and he let out a heavy sigh and approached the bed again. He perched himself on the edge of the bed in front of me, lightly cupping my cheeks.
"(Y/N)," he said in a low voice. "Don't . . . That's not the — "
He trailed off, apparently unsure of what exactly to say, as if there just weren't words for what he wanted to tell me. He clenched his jaw, looking down at our laps in frustration.
"Goddammit," he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Feathers was right. I don't fuckin' deserve you."
I frowned at his words, feeling a small spark of anger squeezing my chest at the thought of what Stolas might have been filling his head with while I was unwell. I took his face in my own hands and lifted his head so that our eyes met, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
"Get out of your head," I said. "Know that I love you and you're stuck with me."
A small smile briefly crossed his face, and his eyes fluttered closed as he grabbed my hands and brought them to his lips. "I'm sorry," he murmured against my fingers, his breath warming my skin.
"Don't," I responded. "It's alright, my love."
He looked at me with tired eyes and released my hands, leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve my clothes and handing them to me.
I half-smiled at him. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up, okay?"
He nodded, his hand finding the side of my head as he bent toward me and kissed my forehead. My smile widened slightly at the gesture, and I stood and walked out of the bedroom.
Entering the bathroom, I closed the door and rested my back on the frame. A soft sigh escaped my lips, my hand falling to the dressing on my stomach. Tears of frustration pricked my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away with the pads of my fingers and turned on the shower to begin washing myself off.