“I’m gonna do this. And then you’re gonna do something for me, Sloane.” He doesn’t give me an opportunity to agree to the deal (am I even being asked?). He grabs hold of my hips, pulls me forward, and buries his tongue into the slick heat of my pussy. I’m so ready for him. I feel wanton, totally gripped by my need to drive my hips forward so he can gain better access. He laves at me, drawing his tongue upward slowly and flicking the tip across the charged bud of nerves.
During our encounters thus far, I’ve fought an inner battle. One that has prevented me from really letting go. From embracing the situation and enjoying it fully. That had a lot to do with fear, which admittedly still remains. But being afraid is overrated. I don’t want that anymore. I want to own this. To let it consume and overpower me and wipe everything—all the pain, all the worry, all the regret and guilt—from my mind. I bury my hands in Zeth’s hair and I moan. It’s a wild, unfamiliar and carnal sound.
Gonna be cringing over that when you replay this later, my subconscious whispers.
“Fuck you,” I whisper right back. With my thighs clamped firmly over his ears, I doubt very much that Zeth heard me. Thank God. I’m not even in control of my body anymore. It’s liberating handing over the reins to a side of myself I haven’t yet become acquainted with. My hips grind into Zeth’s face.
He snarls, digging his fingers into my skin, growling into me as he works me over in the best possible way. I fight back when he pulls away, not wanting his attentions to deviate from my sweet spot, but he slaps my thigh so hard my eyes sting. The pain demands an instant reaction. I drop my legs apart, panting for breath. Zeth’s chest is heaving, too. And he’s wearing that wicked smirk again. Holy fuck, I don’t care if he’s dangerous. I don’t care if he’s an axe murderer. I’m never letting him leave this house.
“Got any ice?”
“What?”
“Frozen water,” he rumbles. “You got any?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Uh, yeah, I think so?”
Straightening, he crosses the room to the freezer and practically pulls the door off its hinges. I’m still sitting there with my legs wide open, struggling for breath, propping myself up on my elbows when he comes back. There’s a mischievous glimmer sparkling in his eye. “Never had you pegged for a freezer pop kinda girl,” he says. My stomach lurches. Oh. Shit. I have a thousand of the things stashed in my freezer. Bubblegum flavor—a shade of blue that scientists will probably reveal gave people all over the world cancer in ten years’ time. They’re my guilty treat. And now Zeth is producing one of them from behind his back.
“Oh boy, you should put that—”
“I know exactly where I’m putting it, Sloane.” I can see in his expression that this is way better than the ice cube he had planned.
Fuck!
“I don’t know how I feel about that, Zeth.”
“I’m gonna make you feel good about it,” he says, nodding his head, as though that alone is enough to change my mind. I’m still shaking my head when he drops back down on his knees and presses the offending article against the tender flesh I’ve left exposed to him.
My brain demands that I close my legs and escape from the painfully cold sensation assaulting the most delicate part of me. “Motherfucker!” I try to kick out at him, but Zeth grabs hold of my ankle, his eyebrows dipping together.
“Sloane.” That reprimand again. “You want me to use the rope?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down on it. Screw this. I should just get up and kick his ass out. It’s all well and good when he’s doing questionable things that might scare seven shades of shit out of me, so long as they excite me at the same time. But this is just uncomfortable. And sticky!
Zeth’s a smart guy—he watches all this play out on my face. “Risk it,” he advises me, tightening his hold on my ankle. I hear what he’s really saying, though—trust me—and that changes everything. He hasn’t asked me for that before. I’ve given him my trust a few times, unwisely I’m sure, but he’s never asked anything of me. It feels like a development of some sort. I’m not sure how; it just does.
“Okay…fine.”
He gives me a single nod, stern and grim, which is kind of ridiculous since he’s holding a florescent blue freezer pop in his hand. He gently traces it down the center of me, watching my shivering reaction with a kind of smug appreciation. Then he dips forward and licks at me, still piercing me with his eyes. The change from cold to burning hot has my muscles jumping uncontrollably.
“Shit!”
Again, he repeats the same thing. Cold then hot. Cold then hot. The pleasure smashes into me over and over, never letting up. Eventually the cold becomes just as pleasurable as the hot, and my hips are rocking again.
“Your tongue’s blue,” I groan.
Zeth arches an eyebrow at me. “So’s your pussy.” He traces the frozen treat downwards, and hovers a moment over my opening.