Page 74 of Ice Queen

Pressing into each other, tingles skate up my arms as his hands trail the outside of them, not stopping until both his hands are settled against my cheeks. But he’s so damn massive that his fingers end up in my hair at the same time, and when he flexes them against my scalp, I gasp.

He takes that as an invitation and slides his tongue against mine. I arch instinctively, my hands coming to rest over his wrists as he moves in closer until our stomachs are touching. My toes curl against the floor when one hand moves from my cheek to my waist. Then a surprised squeal falls from me when he hauls me up until my legs wrap around his waist.

He takes a step, and then another, and I almost pull away to ask where we’re going when I feel the wall against my back. A whimper falls from me, pressure building between my legs, desire soaring when he bites softly on my lower lip.

“Preciosa⁠*,” he murmurs.

I tangle my hands in his hair, returning my lips to his. The feel of his metal hoop against my lips is as erotic as it is overstimulating. The cold is a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of him, and I love it. My back arches when his lips move to my neck, alternating between open-mouth kisses and soft nips. “Please,” I whisper. What I’m asking for, I don’t know. At this point, I’ll take anything he’s willing to give me.

He lets out a deep chuckle, bringing his lips back to mine. His lips move fervently against my own. His head moves to the side, deepening our kiss as his hips roll under me. I gasp, and I feel it as he smiles against me. I’m about to ask him why when he traps my lip between his teeth.

“Markus,” I groan.

“Así, nena. Qué buena chica eres,”⁠* he says as he releases it.

I don’t know what it means, but it was hot as hell. I’m wound tighter than a bass drum. My hips move against him on their own accord, his hand splays over my back, keeping me pressed against him. His responding chuckle is dark and devious, and I’d love nothing more than to figure out what waits on the other side of it.

“Does this count as a date?” He asks, resting his head against mine.

“I–”

There’s a knock at the door, followed by the soft beep letting us know it’s been opened. Maggie darts out of the kitchen, and Markus immediately releases me, moving to stand in front of me, one hand protectively on my hip as he waits in silence for whoever it is to make a noise.

“Hola, mi perrita bonita⁠*.” I relax when I realize it’s his sister. He does, too, but not before he squeezes my hip and sends me a silent apology over his shoulder. “¿Dónde está tu papá?⁠*”

“Ever heard of a phone, Cecy?” he asks, stepping around the corner where he can see her.

“Dios mio⁠*, Markus.” An unknown voice calls. “Why does it smell like you burnt something?”

My eyes widen, my head whipping to the griddle that is starting to smoke from the forgotten pancakes. “Shit!” I hiss, rushing to pull it off.

“Mamá,” he says through gritted teeth. “What a pleasant surprise before eight AM.”

“Por favor⁠*, Markus, I don’t need permission to see my son.”

“What if I was naked?” He lobs back, his hand pushing through his hair.

“You came out of me naked. No es nada que no haya visto antes,⁠*” she says as she rounds the corner.

I let out a surprised bark of laughter at her comment, well, the part I understood anyway. My mother would have never said something like that, but it’s refreshing to see someone who does. Her mouth forms the perfect O when she sees me standing in the kitchen, still in his shirt, but thankfully, I put shorts on. Not that you can see them.

I’m sure my lips are swollen, my cheeks are probably pink, and who knows what my hair looks like now. But this is certainly not the morning surprise I’d pick for myself.

“Lo siento, mi amor.⁠* I didn’t know he had company,” she says, eyeing me hesitantly.

Cecilia comes up beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and placing a kiss on my cheek. “She’s not company, Mamá,” she says, grabbing the spatula from my hand. “This is Kaitlyn, my future sister-in-law. Although we need to work on your kitchen skills.”

Heat floods my face, my eyes bouncing between Markus and his mom. His eyes are wide, frozen like a deer in headlights. But his mom’s lips pull into a smile, it’s slow spreading, but once it’s out, it’s blinding.

Her teeth are perfectly white, and her long black hair hangs in perfect waves over one shoulder. She doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on, yet she has such an ethereal beauty to her. You can see her so much in both of her kids. No wonder they’re so damn pretty.

“Selina Samuels,” she says, coming around to kiss my cheeks the same way Cecilia did when I first met her.

My brain gets caught on her name. Why does it sound so familiar? Then it hits me, my dress. “You design clothes?” I ask, my voice pitching.

She nods. “Sí, do you need something?”

My lips part, my head slowly shaking. “No!” I say a little too forcefully. Clearing my throat, I continue. “No, you just made my favorite dress. It was pink, and I was so excited to wear it.”