Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
York guides his dick to my mouth, and he basically feeds it to me. I open my mouth, letting him push inside me.
And then I suck. I keep sucking, eliciting moan after moan from him. It makes me heady, and I keep going, his sounds egging me on. It’s erotic, and the thrill that we can be caught at any moment makes it that much more exciting.
I keep sucking, letting my tongue work along the groove of the head. I even let my tongue slip into the slit and taste the precum there. God, he’s so handsome.
His eyes flutter closed as his mouth hangs open. He’s got both hands braced on the wall behind me as I work his dick in and out of my mouth like a pro. Or at least I’m thinking I’m a pro at this, and by the way he’s reacting I know he’s enjoying it.
“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding one of his hands into my hair, tugging loosely at the strands. “Keep sucking me deep down your throat.”
I do exactly as he says, sucking, letting my tongue swirl around the tip. I reach a hand to cradle his balls, playing with them, letting my finger press in the spot between the base of his balls and anus. I press toward me, and this gets the reaction I was looking for.
“Fuck, keep doing that,” he groans out.
I hum against the dick in my mouth, loving that I’m turning him on this much. With his hand he holds my head still, fucking my mouth. He takes me how he wants me. Hard. He’s relentless and it nearly drives me insane knowing I’m having this kind of effect on him.
I’ve dreamed about this so many times, and now it’s actually happening, and I want it. I want all of it.
Every. Single. Thing.
“I’m about to come,” he says, trying to pull out of my mouth, but I won’t let him. No way. I want to taste him. His eyes crash into mine, questioning me. “Are you sure?”
I give a small nod, and not even a second later he’s coming deep down my throat. I swallow all of him down, milking the last of his release from his balls with my hand.
As soon as he’s done, he helps me up and crashes his lips to mine. The way he plunges his hands into my hair, holding me close tells me so much. It tells me he wants me. Or at least, I sure hope it does.
“We should get back out there,” he whispers against my lips.
I gaze into his eyes, not wanting to leave this little bubble we’ve created. I’d happily give up my life to stay here forever in his arms, but I know that can’t happen. Obviously.
So, we get cleaned up and head back into the store. As we’re coming out of the back area a camera flashes, and I’m mortified.
“Hey, what were you two doing back there?” A voice calls out behind us, loud and intrusive. It’s the man with the camera again, his smirk wide as he raises his lens to snap another picture. “A little mistletoe magic?” he laughs, the sound grating as he clicks off a few more photos. The flash stings my eyes, making my heart race with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
York’s jaw tightens as he quickly raises his hand to shield our faces from the camera. “Not now,” he growls, his voice firm, but I can hear the tension underneath. Without missing a beat, he grabs my hand and pulls me away from the paparazzo, leading me through the crowd. His grip is tight but protective, and I can feel the frustration radiating off him.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder as we put distance between ourselves and the photographer. His tone is soft now, apologetic.
“It’s not your fault,” I say gently, trying to ease the guilt I know he’s feeling. But when we’re finally far enough away, York stops. He turns around, positioning himself in front of me, his face clouded with something heavier than just frustration. His hand finds mine again, but this time, there’s a vulnerability in the way his fingers thread through mine.
“It is my fault, Noelle. All of this,” he says, his voice low but intense. “You shouldn’t have to live your life like this. It’s not fun having cameras shoved in your face everywhere you go, having your every move scrutinized.” His eyes are filled with a mix of guilt and something deeper, something that tells me this isn’t just about today—it’s about us.
I try to smile, but the weight of his words lingers in the air between us. “But you manage just fine,” I point out, though I know it’s not the same for him. York’s been living this life for years, used to the constant attention and the flashing cameras.