Get out of your head and into hers instead. “Let’s test this frosty theory of yours.”
Thank God they weren’t actually doing this in a tent centuries ago. It would have been devoid of amenities like a full ice bucket, discreetly placed on the side table. Propping it between two pillows within easy reach, Matt picked up one of the heaped, frosted chips. He glided it over the top of Savannah’s breast, to her nipple. He relished her writhing, the little gasp at the ice’s first contact, before he took it to her navel, and lower. “Your skin heats so much at my touch, it’s leaving a trail of glittering drops from your magnificent breasts to your gorgeous cunt.”
She shuddered as he let the ice graze over her upper thighs. He bent to breathe on her labia, brush his lips over her clit. His hands clamped over her thighs as she made a half-hearted attempt to struggle, mostly thwarted by the spreader bar. When he glanced up her body, he lingered on the slope of her abdomen, the rise of her breasts, the nipples tightened to tempting points. The quiver of her chin and arch of her throat with the gold collar still clasped around it.
“No chance of any ice surviving on your flesh, my love. There’s a furnace here, wet heat just throbbing.” He slipped the ice inside her and put his mouth over her sex fully, thrusting his tongue inside to play around the cube and over her silken walls.
She cried out, rocking her upper body, bowing up even further than having her wrists behind her caused. Her thighs trembled, unable to close, thanks to the spreader bar. Even with that, he held her thighs down, making the sensation build and become so intense she was fighting his hold. She wasn’t climaxing, but she was crying out as if she was. And her incoherent pleas told him he couldn’t deny himself another moment.
He rose and unlaced the trousers, freeing his cock. Because of his size, the relief was equal to barbed wire being unwrapped from his ready flesh. He wouldn’t be surprised if the lacings had left a crisscross impression up his length.
Gripping the spreader bar, he lifted her legs up straight, and then guided it over his head, down, so the bar crossed his shoulder blades, her heels resting to the outside of them.
He put his hands to her hips and pressed his cock to her opening which, as he suspected, was blissfully wet again.
“Tell me you want me. That I’m your Master and you’ll obey my will, now and always.”
She shook her head, so fiercely her upper body rocked, her breasts quivering. He wet his fingers in his mouth and dropped them lower, fingering the opening to her backside, caressing the rim. Her hips bucked, brushing her sex against his cock, and she jerked in reaction.
“I will fight you…every time,” she said breathlessly. “Until you give in and agree…that you’re my slave.”
He dropped to brace himself on one hand next to her shoulder, and brushed his lips over her mouth. “If you won’t beg me now, slave queen, you will soon. My cock will bring pleas for mercy from your lips.”
He could tell she was about to use some of that crude soldier talk to respond, but then she thought better of it and bit it back. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “You’re learning, my lady.”
He pushed his cock just inside her opening, and nearly groaned from the bliss of it. But he stopped there, despite the involuntary twitches of her hips, a strong signal she wanted him to impale her further, no matter her protests. Instead, he captured her breasts again and indulged himself, squeezing, stroking, pinching, making her writhe, which moved her upon him. He locked his hips, not letting either of them go deeper, though he had to grit his teeth against the raging desire to do so. He knew his goal here, and he wouldn’t lose sight of it.
He loved her gorgeous breasts, the weight of them, the way the nipples grew even tighter under his ministrations. He would do exactly what he said he would, if she became pregnant. He would worship them, along with every inch of her.
“Stop,” she said. “Stop.”
Her skin was flushed, her throat working.
“No,” he said ruthlessly. “Call me what I am. Or I pull away, put that ring gag on you and I’ll climax in your mouth. I’ll keep you so hot and aroused, you won’t be able to think beyond needing release.”
He’d lost his mind, throwing down that gauntlet. He was so close to shoving into her like a damn battering ram…
Then she confirmed he was an idiot, with her strangled yet admirably resolute response.
“I’ll never call you Master,” she gritted.
Shit. He couldn’t allow her the advantage of calling his bluff. “Ring gag it is,” he said, with deep regret.
“No,” she protested, but he’d already pulled out. His cock had words for him that would make his soldiers blush. Fucking hell.
“You sealed your own fate, my lady,” he said roughly, lifting the spreader bar from his shoulders. He backed away, holding onto the bar to lower her legs to the bed. When she thrashed, he put his weight against the bar to hold her legs down, keep her from kicking him in the face.
“All you had to do was call me Master, my lady. Simple enough.”
“Not simple,” she shot back, her voice strained. “A full surrender.”
“Exactly.”
One handed, he pulled the straps out from either corner of the mattress that were conveniently here for just this purpose. He tied her ankles down using them. She rocked, struggling. She wasn’t going anywhere, but she was the most erotic woman staying in one place he’d ever fucking seen, her body twisting and writhing, quivering and flushed.
He retrieved the necessary item from the trunk, and put his thumb to the corner of her mouth, prepared to open it and slide the ring in place, hopefully without her biting him.
“Matt.” She said it in a whisper, her body stilling.
He immediately stopped. They had no safe word between them. They’d never needed it. He’d always known from watching her, from her tone of voice, the look in her eyes, when things changed, or she needed something different. Like in this second.
He bent to her, brushing his nose over her lips, then brought his mouth to hers, telling her he was there, he was hers. A tremor went through her, and her lips moved against his, questing.
He cupped her head, lifting her enough to deepen the kiss. He left the ring gag on the mattress as he used the other hand to stroke her face, her neck and shoulder. No words. Just a deep, spiraling, tender kiss.
Were there any words for what she did to him? Whether waking up to see her face first thing in the morning, watching her frown over a memo in a meeting, or hearing her sigh her pleasure when he was inside her… Did she know how many times he looked at her and tried to figure out what the hell he’d done to deserve her?