She bit back a whimper.
In her mind it wasn’t her hand. It was Ryker’s—those rough, scarred fingers that had gripped her waist earlier, now stroking her slow and deliberate. She imagined his voice, low and filthy in her ear: “This what you need, princess? Been wet for me all night?”
A soft gasp escaped her. She circled faster, dipping two fingers lower to tease her entrance before sliding back up to her c**t. The pressure built quickly, sharp and sweet. She pictured him above her, that powerful body pinning her down, silver threading his dark hair as he watched her fall apart with those intense eyes.
Her free hand fisted the sheet. Her hips rocked up into her touch. She was close already, shame and lust twisting together into something electric.
“Ryker…” The name slipped out in a broke
