Page 119 of Revenge Saints

Then his hand wraps around my throat tight. “Just this fucking once, got it?” he growls.

I feel him, though, already hard, his cock pressing against me like his body’s betraying the power he’s trying to hold onto.

“Scout’s honor.” I lift two fingers, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fuck, Ryker.”

I drop to my knees, fingers unfastening his jeans. I tug them down, dragging his boxers along with them, and his cock springs out. Thick, hard, already leaking.

I grin.

First, I’m going to edge him. Then I’m going to fuck him.

He’s mine. He’s always been mine.

I lick up the tip, tasting the salt of his arousal. He groans deep, but before he can say anything else, I swallow him down, slow, letting him feel every inch of my tongue, the heat of my mouth.

“Ryker!” His head snaps back, his hand slamming against the tree to stay upright. His hips jerk, but I hold him still with one hand gripping his thigh.

I suck harder, bobbing my head, pumping him with slow, filthy strokes, my other hand squeezing the base just enough to hold him right there on the edge.

His legs tremble, breath breaking in fast, shallow bursts.

He’s close. I know his body, every twitch, every damn warning sign. I pull off with a pop, and he lets out a frustrated grunt; then I kick his leg out, and he drops, unprepared. Caught off guard.

I’m on him in a second, forcing him to all fours. His hands dig into the leaves, but I feel it, the hesitation. The pushback.

His dominance kicking in.

“Relax, Max.” I groan against his ear, one hand on his lower back. “Let me do this.”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out the small bottle.

His head whips to the side. “Where the fuck did you get oil?”

“Aspen found it under the bed,” I mutter, showing him the label. “Some almond oil bullshit. It’ll do.”

I slick my fingers and drizzle some over the curve of his ass. The shine of it coats his skin, dripping down slow, catching the last light of dusk.

He shivers.

“Easy,” I whisper, leaning in, pressing my lips to the back of his neck. “Have you ever done this?”

“What do you think?” He growls, but there’s no venom in it. Just tension. Vulnerability.

I could laugh. Could tease… but I don’t.

Because I know what this means. Max letting me have this? Letting me touch him like this? It’s his way of showing me how he really feels.

I press my index finger to his rim, slow, patient. His muscles tense instantly.

“Breathe,” I murmur, fingers ghosting over his spine. “Just breathe, Max. I’d never hurt you. You know that.”

His body shudders as I push in a little deeper, the oil helping but not erasing the tight resistance.

I kiss between his shoulder blades. “That’s it. Just like that.”

He groans low, head dropping. I curl around him, my other arm wrapping under to find his cock still hard. I grip him gently andstroke. Matching the rhythm of my finger inside him.