Page 24 of Ice Around the Edges

“And you?”

“Just three,” I told him.

“Three.”

“Yep.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “And?” he asked as his hands slid up my thighs.

“And what?” I sucked in my breath as he took hold of my rigid shaft, milking it gently, lazily. Everything he did to me felt incredible.

“And did any of them make you scream?” he asked as I lifted up, giving him time to shift under me, the dance we had perfected so long ago. As I sank back down onto him, taking him in, letting him fill me, impale me, I felt his body jolt under me, saw his bottom lip quiver even as his eyes remained locked with mine.

“No, Dixon,” I purred, leaning down, angling him in deeper as I licked a line up his throat. “I only scream your name.”

“Shit,” he groaned out, his voice cracking. ”You’re so hot and tight.”

“Yeah? I feel good?”

“Always… God, I missed you.”

“Good,” I said, rising and lowering myself on the quickly hardened shaft.

“I missed you,” he said again, his hand on the small of my back as he rolled me over, lifting my legs so they were over his arms. “I’ll be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve never hurt me, and please, Dixon… don’t you dare be gentle.”

The sound that came out of him was pained.

I slid my calves up the bulging biceps to his broad shoulders. “Please,” I said, squirming under him, trying to get him to move. “This is me. Pound me though the goddamn mattress.”

Oh my God, the growl before he tried.

I WOKE up to Dixon holding my hand. He was rubbing my palm with his thumb, and then he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. I sighed contentedly, basking in his attention.

“I forgot how good you feel next to me,” he said sleepily, his voice deep. I watched him lace his fingers with mine before turning his chin to look into my eyes.

“Hey you.” I smiled at him, moving my leg under the covers, draping it across his thighs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he promised, brushing the hair back from my face.

“So why did you come see me?”

“You know why.”

I just stared into the heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’m tired of screwing,” he said gruffly. “I fuckin’ hate it.”

“Most men your age like screwing a different guy every night.”

“Well, I don’t, I want to belong to one guy. I want to belong to you.”

“And?” I asked, smoothing my fingers across his right eyebrow that ended in a scar.

“When I talked to my father that day after I heard you were shot, I just… I thought, if I don’t take a chance to see if things could be fixed between us… I had to just come see.”

“I’m glad you did.”