Page 8 of Revenge Saints (BloodHawks Duet #2)

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Knox come like that,” Ryker chuckles, tipping his glass back.

Knox isn’t the noisy type. Hell, half the time you wouldn’t know he was even breathing. So hearing him lose control? That’s rare.

Before the plague hit, we had our share of women.

Plenty, actually. Most of the time we shared them, Ryker and I.

Nothing serious, just the kind of fun you don’t name or keep.

During missions, we’d hole up in rundown apartments, flop houses, whatever we could afford to stay off-grid.

Hit the clubs, unwind a bit… sometimes to loosen tongues, sometimes just to feel something.

Even then, Knox wasn’t a player like us.

But he didn’t need to be. Women went to him like moths to a bloody inferno.

Six foot six, tattooed to hell, icy blue eyes that dared you to try him.

He was a walking, brooding fantasy. Dangerous.

The kind of red flag you know better than to touch, but you do it anyway, just to see if he really fucks like a god.

And judging by the way the girls used to stumble out of his room with that dazed look… yeah. He lived up to the myth.

But Aspen? She’s different. It’s different. The way he looks at her, touches her, fights for her—it’s not just sex.

She feeds his primal side like no one else, and the way he looks at her, the longing in his eyes, I’ve never seen it in him.

I feel a hand on my thigh as my mind drifts to the past, and when I glance down, Ryker’s fingers are already sliding up, dangerously close to my zipper.

“Ryker,” I murmur, lifting my gaze to meet his. His eyes are dark, teasing. That smirk? Pure temptation dressed like the devil.

Ryker and I… We had our women before the world went to shit. We shared most of the time but never touched each other when we did. That was the unspoken rule.

He only ever let me fuck him behind closed doors. I never pushed for more. Never needed to. But now? Now my mind won’t stop conjuring images of him bent over, moaning my name while he’s still buried deep inside Aspen.

My cock throbs at the memories of us in the shower right before we lost our home.

His hand shifts higher, hovering over the bulge straining against my jeans. Then he leans in, breath hot against my neck, making every nerve in my body tighten.

“You’re hard, Grave.” He whispers my codename like a sin, and fuck me, it makes my cock twitch.

This motherfucker knows exactly which buttons to push.

I grab his hand before he presses it on my hard cock.

“Ryker, unless you really want me to fuck you,” I growl, low, teeth clenched, “you better stop the teasing, mate.”

“Fuck, I love when your British accent slips out.” He whispers.

“Come on, Ryk.” I grit my teeth, clinging to control, and he just keeps pushing, the fucking brat.

He leans into my neck, lips brushing my skin in a soft kiss that burns. His free hand wraps around my throat, fingers tightening, and I groan, fighting the urge to throw him onto the floor and take what he’s clearly begging for.

His wrist twists in my grip, and I release him before I hurt him. “What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.

But Ryker doesn’t give me a second to think. His hand drops, palming my cock through my jeans, and a low, guttural moan escapes me.

“Fuck this,” I snap, twisting toward him. My hand tangles in the back of his hair, yanking him closer until our mouths crash together. He gasps, lips parting, and I take full advantage, devouring him, owning his mouth like it’s mine and only mine.

He shifts, his body pressing flush to mine, and his fingers make quick work of my jeans. My whole body tightens.

Shit.

Knox is still in the bedroom with Aspen. They could walk out any second. And if they do?

Ryker will bolt. I know it. He’ll vanish like he always does when it gets too real.

“Stop,” I mutter, pushing him away harder than I meant to. “Ryker!”

His eyes widen, hurt flickering before he masks it. He stands abruptly, chest heaving.

“Sorry,” he chokes, but the word hangs unfinished as he turns and storms off toward one of the rooms.

Fuck.

I shoot up after him, heart pounding like a fucking war drum.

He slams the door, but I kick it before it closes.

“Ryker!”

“Fuck this, Max!” He snaps, and I see it, the way his body shifts, going full combat mode. I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. I know him.

It’s his defense. His walls. His way of keeping people out.

Too bad I don’t give a single fuck about that.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I start, trying to explain.

“You keep saying I never make a move,” he cuts in. “That it’s always you. And the one fucking time I do, you shut me down!”

The pain in his words guts me.

“Aspen and Knox are in the bedroom, Ryker. If they came out, you’d shut down. You’d spiral, and you know it.” I step closer, locking my gaze on his. My body’s bracing and ready for impact.

“She saw us,” he snaps, pointing toward the closed door.

“She saw us kiss,” I try to keep my tone calm to ground him.

“And Knox doesn’t give a shit!” He steps in, eyes burning.

“He never did, Ryker. You’re the only one who did.” I glance at his feet; he’s grounding himself. Preparing.

This fucker wants me to pin him.

I smirk.

“Ryker,” I say low, rolling my shoulders as my muscles tense. I crack my neck side to side. “I’m not fighting you when you’re actually pissed at me.”

He scoffs, eyes darkening.

“Really?”

I don’t even get the chance to answer before his shoulder slams into my gut, driving me back. My body crashes into the wall, the wooden wall groaning beneath the impact.

Fucking hell.

Ryker is a force of nature when he wants to be. He can go toe-to-toe with Knox or Dante when he’s fired up like this.

I grunt and grab his arm, twisting it slightly, trying to regain control. But he just smirks.

“Not this time, Max.”

He spins, giving me his back, and in one fluid motion, yanks my arm over his shoulder and bends, throwing me hard onto the floor.

“Fuck!” I groan as pain jolts up my spine.

Before I can move, the door slams open, crashing against the wall, and Knox storms in. His hand shoots out, yanking Ryker off me with a scowl.

“It’s fine, Knox!” I shout, waving him off as he pins Ryker in place.

Ryker lifts his hands in surrender but keeps his gaze locked on mine.

“We were just burning off some steam,” he says with a low chuckle, but that look in his eyes? It’s all challenge. All heat.

Knox exhales, shoulders relaxing as he lets him go. He offers me a hand, and I take it, groaning as he hauls me up.

“Sorry, mate,” I grin, brushing off the dust. “Forgot we’re in a fucking wooden cabin.”

Knox runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a laugh.

“The damn place nearly crumbled.”

I look behind him and see Aspen wearing nothing but a shirt, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Aspen, sweetheart,” I say gently, and her eyes flick between me and Ryker, assessing.

She shakes her head, frustrated.

“I can never tell when you guys are play fighting or actually trying to kill each other.” She throws her hands up, exasperated.

We both laugh.

“That makes two of us, pet,” Knox adds with a smirk as he passes by. “I’m taking a shower; try to not bring the damn house down.”

Aspen follows him.

The door clicks shut behind Aspen, and what’s left in the room is heat and silence .

Ryker doesn’t look at me.

He’s still breathing hard, the fight not quite gone from his shoulders.

He’s vibrating like a wire pulled too tight.

I take a step forward.

He shifts. Not backing down but not coming closer, either.

“So,” I say quietly. “Still want to pin me?”

His eyes snap to mine.

“Maybe.”

That fucking smirk again.

“You sure?” I ask, rolling my shoulders as I stalk closer. “Because last time you tried, you ended up begging with your knees spread and my hand around your throat.”

He lunges.

It’s not anger; it’s instinct.

He slams into me again, and I let it happen. Let him get me against the wall. His forearm presses into my chest, hard, but his hands are shaking.

“You think you scare me?” I breathe, grabbing his hips and flipping him.

He grunts as I shove him face-first into the bed, twisting his arm behind his back and grinding my body into his from behind.

“You’re not here to fight me, Recon,” I growl against his neck. “You’re here to submit.”

“Screw you.” He grunts.

“Already planning to. ”

I release his arm, and he stays where I left him. Face down, panting, body trembling under mine.

I press a hand to the back of his neck.

“Don’t move.”

He doesn’t.

I reach around, slide my hand down the front of his jeans, and find him already hard. So damn hard it makes me groan.

“That for me?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

So I squeeze.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” It’s breathless. Broken and real.

I unfasten his pants, pull them down enough to bare him, then press my cock, still clothed, against his ass. He shudders.

“You’re gonna take it,” I murmur darkly, my voice low and rough in his ear. “You’re gonna take every inch and thank me when I’m done.”

“Please,” he whispers, eyes shut tight, fists clenched in the cushions.

That’s what I needed.

I kiss down his spine.

Then I kneel behind him, spreading him open with both hands, watching his body twitch under the air and my stare.

“You want this?” I whisper into his ear.

“Always.” He breathes, and I see a smile forming on the side of his lips.

“Good,” I say. “Then breathe. ”

I slick my fingers and press one in, slow and firm. He hisses, hips jerking.

“Easy,” I whisper, curling it just right. “Let me in.”

I work him open carefully. No rush. Just the stretch, the sound of his breath catching, the slow softening of his body under mine.

When I’m satisfied, I pull back, unzip, and spit into my hand. It’s fast, messy, not perfect, but enough. I slick myself quickly, the sound obscene in the quiet.

Then I press the head of my cock to his rim, breath hot against his spine. “Ready?” I ask.

He nods.

“Words.”

“Yes, Max. Please.”

I slide in, slow, steady, inch by inch, until I’m buried to the base, and his body’s clenching around me like he never wants me to leave.

We both pause.

Breathing.

Burning.

I lean over his back, my chest against his spine, my mouth at his ear.

“You’re mine, Recon.”

“Yours,” he chokes.

I start to move. Long, deep strokes. Not fast. Not yet. Just letting the rhythm build.

He whimpers under me, pushing back to meet each thrust, his voice catching every time I hit the spot that makes him twitch .

“You feel what you do to me?” I growl. “You think I’m letting you go after this?”

“Don’t,” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Don’t let me go.”

“Never.”

I fuck him deeper now, gripping his hips, dragging wrecked sounds out of him like a confession. My name falls from his lips like prayer and surrender.

And when I feel him tighten, close, right there, I wrap my hand around his cock and jerk him in rhythm with my thrusts.

“Come for me,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Right fucking now.”

He shatters.

Head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry, body clenching down on me as I thrust once, twice, and follow him over the edge, growling his name into his skin.