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He placed the cold cube against her face and drew a melty trail. A drop of water made a track toward her ear, warming as it fell. Pooling on her neck.
Now get out of the way.
“Kiss me,” she said, and he did. Warm, wet tongue, heat and pressure, his thigh coming between hers again, his cock on her stomach. She put her hands on his hair, nearly dry in the back. She felt the span of his shoulders, the tight muscles in his arms holding his weight off her body.
“Where else?” he asked.
“My breasts.”
She closed her eyes and waited for it, and it came. A shock of cold against her nipple. Warm heat as he bent his head and took it in his mouth. He did it again, a circle of melting cold, a deep ache she felt between her legs, followed by the molten pleasure of his tongue, the sucking pressure of his mouth turning the ache into a spear of need.
“Again,” she said. He got another ice cube. Her hips lifted off the bed this time, pushing into him. “Come here,” she begged, but he only chuckled.
“Not yet.”
A third ice cube, and this time he was playing with her, tracing patterns on her breasts and over her stomach. Following them with his mouth. “Where else?” he asked, and she didn’t hesitate.
“My pussy.”
She could hear his smile when he replied. “I have been waiting to hear you say that.”
He took her mouth first, kissed her hard and deep until she started spinning with lust or lack of oxygen or some combination of the two, and then his hand parted her thighs and discovered all the swollen contours of her labia. Thoroughly. He was nothing if not thorough.
Get on with it, she thought, and then she remembered and said it out loud.
“Be patient.”
“I thought if I said what I wanted, you’d give it to me.”
He looked up at her, grinning. “I never said I’d give it to you right away.”
He took his sweet time about it. Kissing her mouth, her breasts, learning how much pressure she wanted, where she liked to be stroked, what made her impatient, what drove her wild. The ice cube came into play again, but she squirmed away from it, no longer interested.
“Your mouth,” she said.
“Tell me again.”
“Give me your mouth.”
“I love it when you’re bossy.” He spread her thighs and held them open behind the knees, and he licked her and nibbled and bit like he’d been starving, and she was exactly what he wanted to eat.
Disgusting and amazing, she thought, and it was, oh, it was. Her back arched, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, digging into his hair and pushing his face where she wanted it.
He knew what he was doing, but he made her say it anyway. “Here, May?”
“No, higher.”
“Like this?”
“Softer.”
“Still like this?”
“Harder now.”
He teased her, little stabbing worthless motions of his tongue, and she smacked the crown of his head, which made him laugh.
Then he did it properly, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
