Chapter Fourteen
Runa
Warmth pooled behind my ribs, spreading outward until my fingertips and toes tingled with it.
My legs moved to the outsides of his as his arm closed around my waist and pulled me down.
My body recognized the shape of him, the familiarity, the muscle memory of wanting, as I lowered down and angled my head up.
His lips closed over mine, the kiss slow and coaxing, almost gentle, even as his hand clenched around the back of my neck and his arm tightened so hard around me that it trapped my breath in my lungs.
Each breath felt stolen as the air between us thickened until breathing felt like drowning in slow motion as his lips slanted over mine again and again.
My restless body wiggled, and York’s arm pulled me closer, settling me higher on his lap, then coaxing me downward until I felt the hard outline of his cock press against the juncture of my thighs.
A sound escaped me then, throaty and deep, muffled by his lips.
My thoughts fractured into want, pure and singular.
York’s teeth snagged my lower lip as my hips rocked against him, sending a current of need so strong through me, I felt burned by it.
“Fuck, that’s a good sound,” he murmured, pulling back to watch me as his hands went to my hips, pressing me down more firmly against him.
It was all heat and need and friction then as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck as I rode him through his jeans.
York’s hands slipped to my ass, sinking in, guiding me as my need for release made my movements clumsy.
The pleasure peaked, tightened, then released, making me cry out into his neck as the waves crashed through me over and over again.
“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.
There was a moment of déjà vu as I watched him slide on the protection before he came over me—his thighs pressing my legs wide as he settled between, crushing my breasts to his wide chest.
His lips were on mine then as he shifted his hips so his hard length pressed against my cleft, making me rock against it as my tongue tangled with his.
York’s hips moved with mine as the kiss tilted, went harder, hungrier.
He broke it suddenly, looking down at me as he shifted his hips. I felt the press of him at the entrance of me, making me tense slightly. I’d forgotten how big he was… and how long it had been for me.
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.
Yes, York had stepped up to the plate to be a good father. He’d been knocking it out of the park, really.
But York wasn’t husband material.
He was a gun-running biker who used to hide bodies for a living. His home was a clubhouse with a bunch of other bikers. And I’d heard the wild stories about the crazy parties that took place there. The revolving door of women.
I wasn’t naive. I knew York partook in all of that. And he might be willing to step away for a few hours here and there to dedicate himself fully to his little girl, but he wasn’t about to give that up completely.
It was risky to let myself think for even a moment that he could.
I had to draw a line in the sand, then reinforce that damn boundary. For my sake. And for Denny’s as well.
When I pulled against his hold, for just a second, he didn’t let me go. Once he did, I moved away, yanking on my tank top, then dropping down to pull my panties up my legs. Followed by my shorts.
“You don’t need to worry, by the way.”
York’s brows furrowed. “Worry about what?” he asked, pulling his pants up and reaching for his shirt.
“About another whoopsie. I got an IUD right after Denny was born.”
He watched me for a second, something unreadable on his face. Then he shook his head slightly. “I wasn’t worried about that.”
Something tightened in my chest and I forced myself to ignore it as I gathered the blankets that York wasn’t sitting on, unzipped the tent, climbed out, walked down the hall toward the washing machine, and shoved everything inside.
I lingered over the task as I heard York moving around, likely cleaning up the rest of the mess, then breaking down the tent. The whoosh of the waterproof fabric and the clank of the metal poles were sounds I knew well.
His phone rang, and I hated how my mind immediately wondered which half-dressed club girl might be calling him to come hang out.
“Yo,” he answered as he moved around the living room. “Yeah. Good. Nothing? Alright. Good. Yeah. Thanks, Caymen. And thank Noa and your brother for me, too.”
I turned at those names, knowing that the Cider brothers were making their way up to check out the mess I’d made in Georgia.
“Everything okay?” There was a tight, stilted cadence to my words as my belly sloshed around.
“Yeah. No bodies.”
“Really?”
“Sounds like they didn’t clean up the mess, though.
There’s blood all over. Caymen recovered the razor knife and the toilet tank lid.
Dixon and Noa are cleaning up the scene.
From what they can gather, the place is abandoned.
Seems like it’s about to go to auction. The whole thing was just a trap.
So, once they have it cleaned up, there’s nothing there that could ever point back to you. ”
Thank God.
That had been an invisible weight I’d been carrying for ages. I mean, no, I didn’t have my fingerprints on any record anywhere. But it was still something that could trace back to me, could take me away from my daughter, for the simple crime of defending myself and protecting her.
I exhaled hard.
“Been weighing on you more than you said,” York observed.
“Yeah.”
“It’s done.”
“Except, it’s not, is it?” I asked, leaning back against the washing machine. “If I’d killed them, that would be it. It would be over. But they’re alive. Out there. Probably still looking for me. And madder than ever.”
“This is shit you’ve been carrying by yourself for too long. But you don’t need to anymore. I’m gonna pick it up and handle it.”
I did believe he meant that.
But I’d been doing everything on my own for so long. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to fully trust someone to take over for me.
“I appreciate that.”
“But you can’t let it go,” he said, nodding. “I get that. You’ve been through hell. You can’t let your guard down. But I’m gonna do whatever it takes to keep you two safe.”
He moved toward me as he said it, and my heart flip-flopped as he got close.
He wasn’t walking toward me, though.
He was checking on his daughter.
Then, with not much else, he made his way out of the apartment.
And I went to bed pretending to ignore the ache in my chest.