Page 195 of Camp Bliss
I need his skin. I need to feel connected to him in all possible ways. Tugging at the fabric of his shirt, I make my wishes known, and Zach obliges. Multitasking like a pro, still suckling my tit, he reaches back with one hand and peels off his shirt. He only releases me for a second to pull it over his head and toss it God knows where, but the view of his bare torso has my breath stuttering.
Yeah, I’ve seen him without a shirt before. But his masculine beauty is not something I’m likely to get used to. Maybe in a few decades, he won’t take my breath away, but right now? I’m oxygen deprived. At the worst possible time, it seems, because when he returns, sealing our chests together, the glory of his skin on mine—Oh my God—it’s dizzying.
“You feel so fucking good,” Zach groans into my breasts.
“Mmmm—”I can’t keep still. Neither one of us can. It’s as though we have to touch everything within reach, kiss every inch. My hands run over his shoulders and down his back. I squeeze him tight. As exhilarating as this feels, it’s also the sweetest, most tender relief.
“I missed you so much.” I catch the sob just before it can escape, but, God, I could weep for how much I love this man.
Zach groans. “You have no idea.” Then his hand is cupping the back of my head so gently and his mouth is on mine. We kiss and kiss, as though reuniting again.
It is sweet and delicious. And not enough. I can’t get close enough to him.
I rock my hips beneath him, and both of us hiss at the contact, his erection against my clit. I like the rasp of his jeans on the insides of my legs, but I know it can’t compare to his bare skin.
My hands find their way to his belt, and I make quick work of unbuckling it. Zach’s gruff moan sounds approving, so I undo his fly. Cottony heat fills my hand as Zach sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss.
“Wait, baby. Gotta do something first,” he mutters, pulling away.
And me? I’m thinking he means taking off his shoes and stripping off his jeans. But nope. That isnotwhat he means.
Because in the next instant, fingers are tracing the edge of my thong before the fabric is pulled aside, and then his mouth is on me.
“Wha—Holy God!”
Zach growls. The sound is desperate. Hungry. He grips my ass and tugs me closer, dives deeper. Pleasure rockets through me.
He sucks my clit into his mouth and moans again, lighting me up like a power grid. And I swear, I don’t know what feels better, his tongue mopping my sex or the fact that he seems to fucking love doing it.
When his hands flatten against my inner thighs and he pushes them wide apart with a demanding grunt, my head knocks back in surrender.
“Fuck—”
“Mmmmm”
Two fingers slip into me, and the sensation is too damn good. God Almighty, why have we waited so long to do this?
Muscles I’ve forgotten about are clenching. Quivering. His fingers push in and up, finding a place that feels like the root of all pleasure and the root of all pain. A place so hidden and sacred, I’ve never dared let anyone in.
Zach strokes it with tender insistence, and my walls break. Completely.
“Zach—” I call his name, wanting him to understand what is happening. This great phenomenon. This absolute dissolution of defenses.
I need him.
I need him.
I’m coming around his fingers. Coming against his mouth. But I want more. I never want it to stop.
ChapterThirty
ZACH
Greta is tuggingat my hair. Calling my name. And I think werewolves might have more self-control than I do right now.
Because my face is buried in the splendor of her pussy, and outside the flimsy walls of this tent, there is nothing else.
Not a goddamn thing.
