Chapter 17
Seventeen
Iwatch the zipper move, my eyes track it all the way around until the flap falls open, and my attention flicks to York, who climbs in with my jacket in his fist and stretches out on his back.
My eyes flick back to the open flap. The smoke clinging to his sweater scents the air as he pulls it off and drops it at his side, beside my now ripped jacket.
Something bumps into my hip, and I look down, finding my gun. The weight of it tells me it isn’t loaded anymore, but I check anyway and then put it down. It won’t be hard to find bullets.
He sits up and closes the flap, the light from the fire becoming a soft glow inside the tent, illuminating his legs but leaving the back of the tent and his upper body in shadow as he lies back down.
“Get some sleep,” he mutters.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Plotting a murder.”
He exhales. “Get over it.”
I turn to look at his shadowed face. “Make me,” I whisper.
When he grabs my arm, I fight him, slapping at his hands and pushing him away until he wrangles me down on my side, pulling my back into his chest and holding me there while my deep breaths fill the silence.
“Make you? Is that a euphemism?” I don’t say anything. “With prying ears and no privacy?”
“Yes.”
“But I can’t do all the things you deserve here . . . and you do deserve some things, Theresa,” he whispers in my ear and then lets out a controlled breath as he grabs my ponytail, tugging it back. “Do you die a little hating me while wanting me so much?”
“Yes.”
“It kills me too.” His lips graze my cheek.
“Because I want you to be mine. I want to spank you until you moan and tie you up properly every time you step out of line.” His hand slides up under my shirt.
“I want to bend you over so many more pieces of furniture and fuck you like it’s a punishment because it is .
. . because you never should have allowed yourself to be locked in a room with me to begin with. ”
My jeans open slowly, and his hand delves down into my panties as he releases my ponytail and wraps his hand around my mouth instead. Fingers plunge into me, and I inhale sharply through my nose as I bow gently away from him.
“And there is something about knowing you hate me, knowing that I make you wet despite it, and how scared you are most of the time that drives me fucking insane.” My hips drive up into his pumping hand until I’m seeing stars.
“I love that you want it anyway, I love that you’re just as fucking crazy as the rest of us.
” My eyes squeeze shut as the orgasm mounts and my thighs quiver.
“Sometimes, I almost like that you’re hiding from me. I like the challenge.”
It explodes, and my cry is stifled by his hand as I reach between my legs and hold him there, riding his fingers while his tongue slides along my jaw. The feeling overwhelms my senses, and his hand clamps down harder on my mouth, pinning my head to his shoulder.
My hips stop as the orgasm ebbs, and his hands slip away from me as I pant. It’s not enough. I fumble behind me for his pants and manage to get his button undone before pushing my jeans down over my hips and pressing back into him.
“Say it,” he whispers and tugs my shirt off. “I want you to fucking say it.”
The strap on my bra slips from my shoulder, and teeth pinch my skin as he undoes it and tosses it across the tent.
Knowing he wants me the way he just said scares the shit out of me but also turns me on, and I think that’s going to be a big problem. I want everything he said, but I know if I admit it . . . he’s going to think he owns me. Formally giving myself to a crazy person is a terrible idea.
He cups my breast and rubs himself against my ass until my breaths become ragged.
“I want you,” I say quietly and twist to nuzzle his cheek. “I’ve wanted you from the start, and I’m only fucking crazy because of you.”
“It should piss me off that you lie so much.” He presses into me, and I gasp before his hand comes over my mouth again.
“I know you want me.” He thrusts, filling me, and my hand flies to his hip.
“But we both know you were crazy before I got here.” He thrusts again, harder this time, and I grunt into his hand.
Forcing me to roll onto my stomach, he follows me over, pressing me down against the sleeping bag.
His hand slips away from my mouth, replaced by the smoky sweater he stuffs under my face before he sits back on my legs and starts riding me.
I bury my face into the sweater, biting it as he pulls my hips up and goes even harder.
I’ve never wanted to scream like this before. The way he has my legs pinned together . . . oh my god. A moan escapes into the sweater as I fist the sleeping bag.
The crackle of the nearby fire and soft conversation fill the tent between his quiet but labored breaths and the smell of campfire fills my head as ragged breaths struggle to fill my lungs against the sweater.
The growing tension makes me squirm and I pull at the sleeping bag, gasping as my body tightens like a bowstring.
A desperation to finish again makes me want to drive myself into him, to push his face between my legs, to climb on top of him .
. . he slams into me roughly, obliterating the thought, and I gape silently into the sweater, my mouth working around a moan I don’t want to escape as I teeter up to the edge.
I cross my legs, chasing the extra friction, but it makes him slow, and I could cry.
The faint sound of his heavy breaths grows closer until his mouth is on my back, teeth silently pulling at my skin.
His chest presses me down, and I grab his head when his lips hit my neck, finally letting myself up for air in the dark.
“I’m—”
His hand falls over my mouth. My body tenses.
“York,” William calls from the fire. “Our watch.”
“Coming,” he calls back evenly, and then brings his mouth to my ear, whispering “You want to come too?” As his hand slides between me and the ground and presses against my clit.
The tension snaps, and I grind myself into his fingers, sucking air in and out of my nose as he growls softly and pumps his hips until his arms go rigid and he digs his teeth into my shoulder, stifling his groan.
My head falls when he lets go of my face to rise. With my hips still pinched between his knees, I listen to the rustle of his pants and the quick zip of his fly closing. The sweater is yanked out from under my face before teeth press sharply into my ass.
Hissing, I swat him and roll to my back, wrangling my own pants up and pulling the sleeping bag over my bare chest.
Less than a minute after he was called, he slips out of the tent wordlessly. The flap zips closed. I sit up and climb into one of the sleeping bags and then curl up, alone in the dark.
***
The sound of a zipper wakes me again, but the firelight has died down so much I can’t see anything.
I feel the weight of his presence though, and the sound of another zipper and then another.
A moment later, the zipper on my bag withdraws, and the weight and heat of his body settles behind me.
Still topless, I shiver as he tucks his arm under my head and covers us both with the other unzipped bag.
I nestle into the smoky sweater under my cheek, and he pulls me against him, stroking the side of my breast as I drift back to sleep.
“Lightning doesn’t strike often,” he murmurs over my head. “You’re going to fall in love with me no matter how much you resist it.” His face presses into the top of my head, and he inhales me slowly. “I’ll be waiting when you do.”