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He stepped closer and traced a finger down the side of my arm. His mouth lowered, and I met his lips before they needed to find mine. He backed me toward the bed.
Lana Del Ray’s gritty voice echoed through the apartment, singing a familiar song. Love was possibly one of my favorites on her album, but he couldn’t know that. How was he doing this?
As she sang about being young and getting all dressed up to go nowhere in particular—to get the blues—the lyrics hit me right in the moneymaker, ricocheted around in my cold heart, and took a nip out of some tender part I’d never felt before. My palm pressed into my chest as if that could somehow subside the ache.
It was my song. My anthem. It was my life she sang about. It was the hollow void I felt in a crowded room, but somehow forgot when Noah was near. Damn him for taking a nip out of my heart when I preferred it safely packed in ice.
My arms wrapped around his shoulder as he walked me backward toward the bed. His fingers caught the hem of my dress and lifted, leaving me in four-inch heels, my panties, and bra. His fingers laced with mine as he lowered me to the mattress. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside and covered me like a blanket.
“Do you want champagne?”
“I want you.” The words fell out without thought, so unguarded I nearly flinched at their accuracy.
As he lifted my arms over my head and kissed down my front, I stretched beneath him, not protesting the pose. His fingers pulled at the hip of my panties but didn’t lower them.
The soft churn of ice caught my ear, and I hissed as cool water trailed over my breasts and down my stomach. His mouth licked as thin rivulets formed tributaries at my ribs and I shivered.
He dampened the front of my bra, the ice chip melting between the heat of his fingers, rolling over my skin. His teeth closed over the hard point, and I pressed against his mouth, silently begging for more.
He reached into the ice bucket again, this time swirling a puddle at my belly button. Lower and lower he teased, over the silk of my panties until my chilled clit was swollen and begging for more.
He sat up and unbuckled his belt, sliding it slowly through his belt loops and letting it coil on the bed beside my hip. The cork popped, and sweet-scented mist fizzed into the air. He took a sip from the bottle, and I gasped as he trickled some over my hips, soaking my panties and thighs.
He knelt with his knees outside of my calves, his hands at each hip as his mouth sipped through the silk covering my pussy. I moaned and rocked into him.
Pulling both sides lower, he slipped my panties off my hips, dragging them down to my knees. His hand twisted, pulling the wet silk tight and binding my thighs.
More champagne spilled across my hips, gently fizzing and tickling as it touched my skin. He drank from the puddle at the V of my clamped thighs and pussy.
His mouth lowered and he pulled back my folds, exposing my clit, his blue eyes watching mine as he teased me with only the tip of his tongue. My body throbbed, and I wiggled, but he twisted the panties tighter around my knees. His lips curled as a warm breath ghosted over my pulsing sex.
He squeezed a finger between my folds, not penetrating, but teasing. The upward glide had me moaning and, when he slid that tapered digit down again, I was begging. “Please…”
“Patience.”
He reached for the belt and wrapped it around my thighs, cinching it tight and locking it in place. My legs were sandwiched together so tight he’d never get his finger in there, let alone his dick. I frowned because it all seemed rather counterintuitive.
With my legs locked in some sort of mermaid bondage, he slid my panties off and reached for my hands.
Balling the fabric up, he folded the red silk into my palm, closing my fingers tightly around it. “Hold that. Don’t let go.”
My fist tightened around the panties as he stood and removed the rest of his clothes. Here I was, holding my panties, tied up with a belt around my thighs, wound tight enough for my skin to plump around the leather, and my bra still on. Oh, and I was soaked and shivering from a champagne tongue bath. Definitely a first.
His arms slid under my knees and my back as he adjusted me and then moved me again. He seemed to have a plan in his head and wanted to get it just right.
“Should I keep my hands up here?”
“Yes. I want to be able to see them.” He crawled over my body, pulling down the cups of my bra, so my tits were semi-held in place. He brushed the tip of his dick to my nipple, a smear of pre-come trailing behind.
