Tucking two fingers beneath her chin, I force her to meet my gaze. "I need your words, Mia. Did you touch yourself?"
She inhales sharply, the rise of her chest pushing her breasts against the black lace that contains them. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, a gesture so unconsciously sensual it makes my cock twitch against the confines of my jeans.
"No," she finally says as a pretty flush spreads across her cheeks. "I didn't touch myself."
Something warm and possessive unfurls in my chest. "All night? All day? Not once?"
"Not once." Her eyes hold mine. "Though not for lack of wanting to."
Pride and satisfaction course through me. She followed my command, even without knowing if I would ever know. Even without understanding why it mattered. She gave me that control willingly.
I lean forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Good girl," I murmur against her skin.
Her breath catches at the words, a full-body shiver running through her. Interesting. I file that reaction away for later exploration.
Pulling back, my gaze slowly travels down her body again, lingering on the places I intend to claim with my mouth, my hands, my teeth. The thought of her spread out beneath me, of finally tasting her, makes my blood run hot.
"Go to your bedroom," I tell her. "Take everything off and wait for me on the bed."
For a moment, she doesn't move, her gaze just searches mine. I stand perfectly still, letting her find whatever she needs. This has to be her choice. Her surrender has to be given, not taken.
Then something shifts in her expression. A decision made. She nods once, a small, determined movement, before turning toward the hallway.
I remain rooted to the spot, counting my breaths to calm my racing heart.
Because this isn't just about sex. It's about trust. About proving to both of us that I can be trusted with her body, her pleasure, her surrender.
My cock strains against my zipper, an insistent reminder of the need I've been fighting since I first saw her. But this isn't about my release. First, I need to show her exactly what she's been missing. Need to make her understand why waiting was worth it.
Sucking in a deep breath, I make my way to her kitchen hoping to find what I’m looking for. It’s not long before I find a small bowl and fill it with ice. Then I make my way down the hallway toward her room.
I pause at her door, which stands slightly ajar, and take a deep breath to center myself, to ensure I'm completely in control before I step inside. Then I push it open.
My steps falter and the bowl nearly slips from my fingers.
Mia sits perched on the edge of her bed, gloriously naked. Her wild red curls cascade over one shoulder, partially obscuring one breast but leaving the other exposed—small, perfect, with a dusky pink nipple already pebbled in the cool air. Her skin is like porcelain in the soft glow of her bedside lamp and I notice that the freckles I've been obsessing over scatter across her shoulders, chest, and thighs.
"Fuck," I breathe, the word a prayer and a curse combined.
She looks up, eyes wide and uncertain. "I didn't know how you wanted me," she admits, voice small, vulnerable in a way I've never heard from her before.
The admission—this show of uncertainty from a woman who faces life with such fierce determination—nearly buckles my knees. Something protective and possessive claws at my chest, a physical ache to both shelter and devour her.
"Like this," I tell her, setting the bowl on her nightstand before approaching the bed. "Exactly like this."
Standing over her, I don't touch her yet, I just drink in the sight of her. The gentle slope of her shoulders. The delicate line of her collarbone. The soft curve of her breasts. The flat plane of her stomach.
"Lie back." The words scrape like gravel up my throat. "Spread your legs for me."
She hesitates for just a heartbeat before complying, shifting back on the bed and lowering herself until she's flat on her back. Her legs part slowly, a blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck as she exposes herself to my gaze.
I crawl onto the bed, careful not to touch her yet. The bowl of ice comes with me, placed within easy reach. Mia watches with wide eyes as I select the first cube, holding it between my thumb and forefinger.
"Cold first," I warn her, hovering the ice just above the hollow of her throat. "Then warm. Trust me."
She nods, a quick, jerky movement and I lower the ice to her skin.
The gasp that escapes her lips at first contact is everything I hoped for. Her back arches slightly, goosebumps erupting across her flesh as I trace the cube along her collarbone, following the path my fingers took earlier. Water melts in rivulets down her neck, pooling briefly before sliding toward the sheets.
