Page 54 of York

“One,” he said, his teeth nipping my earlobe as he pressed me backward onto the pile of blankets inside the tent.

“What?” I asked, still breathless and floating as he kneeled at my feet, then reached upward to snag the waistbands of my shorts and panties.

He didn’t speak for a long moment as he pulled the material down, exposing me inch by inch until he tossed the clothes to the side.

His fingers whispered up and down the outside of my calves and thighs, making goosebumps prick my skin even as need started to coil tight in my belly again.

“Figure I owe you at least one orgasm for each year you haven’t been able to have one,” he said, spreading me wide, then lowering down between my thighs.

I knew I should have made some sort of comment to that statement, but my brain short-circuited the second I felt his tongue trace up the core of me.

My thighs trembled as his arms wrapped around them, keeping them spread wide as his tongue found my clit and started to work it with slow, steady, relentless precision. Until I was arching, until my fingers were clutching his hair, until I was whimpering and moaning and shaking with tension.

Until it snapped, flooding my body with pleasure as my hips rocked against his face.

His head shifted after, lips pressing into my thigh.

“That’s two.”

He shifted up, kissing and licking up my belly, over my ribs, then—pushing up my shirt—under my breasts until, finally, his lips sucked one into his mouth, making a sound escape me I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard before, some sort of gasping cry that made him groan around my nipple as he sucked it in little strobe-like patterns before scraping the aching peak with his teeth.

His head shifted across my chest as his hand moved between my thighs. It just settled there, the pad of his palm against my clit, a firm pressure, but unmoving.

As his lips and tongue and teeth kept teasing, I was too mindless with need to feel any shame as my thighs tightened around his hand and I rode his palm until I was once again breathless, shaking, coming.

York’s head lifted, lips at my neck.

“Three.”

“I can’t,” I gasped, knowing there were still two to go. Maybe three, depending on if he counted the time I was pregnant or not.

“You can,” he said, sounding so sure. “But I think you need to do it around my cock.”

There was no stopping the needy whimper that escaped me at that. Nor the way my hands roamed down his back and pulled at his shirt.

York sat back on his heels, reaching back to pull off the t-shirt.

My gaze took in the chiseled contours of his body, my desire somehow ratcheting up once again as I followed his hands as they went to his pants, working his button and zipper free, then pushing down the material.

A throaty sound escaped me, making a slow, devilish smirk pull at his lips.

And, yeah, he had every reason to be confident in what he had.

“Nope,” he said, grabbing my knees when I pressed my thighs together to ease the growing ache.

“York, please,” I begged, hips rocking restlessly.

“Please, what?” he asked, reaching, pulling my legs to the sides of his body, keeping me spread open and freeing his hand to slip down and fist his cock.

My breath caught, watching as he moved his hand up and down his length, filling my mind with memories of him sliding inside me.

“Please fuck you?” he asked when I couldn’t look away, speak, think.

I wet my lips and forced a breath into my burning lungs.

“Yes.”

A growling sound moved through him as he reached for his wallet and produced a condom.