Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
But he pressed in slowly, stretching me, making me aware of every thick inch until he was settled deep.
I exhaled a shaky breath as he sucked one in.
Then my arms were around him, my legs wrapped around his hips, and the urge to move became too strong to deny for another second, making me rock against him.
That rumble moved through him again.
Then he was rocking into me, the movements slow and deliberate, driving me up slowly.
It wasn’t until my nails were digging into his skin and my moans grew loud that he pulled back, sitting on his heels and pulling my lower half up onto his lap.
The lift of my hips changed the sensation completely, dragging an almost pained moan out of me.
The little smile that tugged at his lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing as he started to thrust again, the movements a little faster, a bit less controlled.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his hands on my hips, guiding the movements. “You’ve always been good at taking my cock.”
A whimper escaped me at that as he drove me right to that edge again.
“There you go,” he said, voice tense as my walls tightened around him before spasming hard.
He worked me through it before suddenly releasing me, pushing me until I was on my belly, then yanking me onto all fours.
“Four,” he said, then surged back inside me.
The sound that escaped me was borderline pained at the hypersensitivity from all the orgasms.
But him inside me from the new position had my body responding before my mind could even catch up.
I lowered down onto my forearms, making York let out a ragged, “Fuck.”
One hand stayed at my hip. The other tracked up my spine to gather my wet hair, wrapping it around his fist and yanking just enough for the pain to create a strange surge of pleasure.
Only then did he start fucking me.
Not as controlled as before.
He was hard, fast, rough.
His ragged breath and low groans mingled with my throaty moans as our bodies slammed together, the sound almost embarrassingly loud in the little tent. But somehow, that only made it hotter.
“York,” I cried, fingers clutching the blankets, my body pulled as taut as a bow.
“That’s it. Squeeze my cock,” he demanded, keeping the same perfect, almost punishing pace. “Fuck,” he groaned as I broke apart, pressing my face into the blankets to muffle my cries.
I expected him to come with me.
But he was still rock-hard inside me.
His hand slipped from my hair and closed around my throat, carefully pulling me up until my back was against his chest.
“Five,” he said, nipping my earlobe. “I owe you one more.”
His free hand slid between my thighs, working my clit as he started to move again. Slowly. Almost gently.
His other hand moved from my throat to tease my breasts as I leaned back against him, my face going toward his neck.
And I sank into the sensations.
Sank into him.
Sank into the broken-open feeling in my chest.
Our breaths found a rhythm as our soft sounds escaped us while we moved.
Then the orgasm slowly stripped me bare, leaving nothing but trembling pleasure and a sensation of rightness it was hard to ignore.
With his breath in my ear, York’s body tightened as he came with me.
His face was still pressed to the side of mine, his breath ragged, as he said softly, “Six.”
I felt completely undone. By the orgasms, the intimacy, the mega-dose of oxytocin that seemed to sweep away nearly six years of non-stop stress.
Wetness filled my eyes, making me need to squeeze them shut to keep from doing something humiliating—like crying all over a guy I’d just had sex with.
My body was even less controlled, though. Little aftershocks racked me head to toe.
I expected York to pull away, to put some space between us. But he simply sat back on his butt and pulled me between his legs, his arms wrapping tightly around me, and held me until they eased.
And when they were done, he seemed to sense the need to lighten the mood. “Kinda digging the sex tent thing. Who knew?”
“I know, right? Kind of easier to maneuver around when the bed isn’t trying to pull you in.”
“Wait, this wasn’t your first tent sex, was it?”
“It was.”
“No fucking way. You lived in a tent for… years.”
“Yeah, but I hiked alone. With a very sharp knife in case anyone got ideas about wanting to have tent sex when they happened upon me.”
“I feel like that was a major missed opportunity. Fucking out in the middle of the woods, loud as you wanna be, nature sounds all around. Sounds like a great time.”
It did.
And now all I could think about was doing that with him.
Great.
That was the kind of complicated I’d been worried about. I didn’t need York suddenly starring in all my sexual fantasies. Because it was too easy a jump to go from that to him starring in my life-fantasies. Where I could count on him to take the trash out. And fix the leaky sink. And curl up in bed with me and talk about our days.