Page 36 of Chilled and Thrilled

With a desperate whine of agreement, my legs part further, and though I know better than to beg, my body has a mind of its own. My teeth push painfully into my bottom lip as the ice dips into my belly button, then trails down, so cold it burns.

Bram’s free hand finds the underside of my knee, pushing it up and over the back of the couch. “I wish you could seehow you look right now,” he murmurs, his voice controlled and even. “You’re stunning. Every fucking inch of you.”

Without warning, he brushes the ice cube over my clit, and I yelp, my hips shooting off the couch.

“Bram!” I plead, grasping the edge of the cushion beneath me, and cry out again as he presses harder, moving the cube in circles. It hurts, it’s too much, and yet I don’t want him to stop.

His hand splays flat over my lower belly, holding me down as the ice dips lower, dragging through my seam, and making me sob. I can feel it melting, the icy water gathering on the overpriced couch beneath me, but my exacting boss doesn’t seem to care. “When your head is healed, I won’t go so easy on you.”

This is going easy on me?

A broken sob breaks from my chest as he presses the ice cube inside me. It’s just for a moment, and yet I can feel tears streaming down the sides of my face. “Please,” I beg, “Please, Bram. Please!”

He ignores me, doing it again, and my cries grow louder. The arm thrown over my face falls to my side as I writhe, my eyes still squeezed shut. Finally, when I’m close to telling him I can’t do it anymore, the ice falls away and a warm hand cups my pussy.

Bram’s stubble brushes against my chest as he leans over my body, kissing the hollow between my breasts. “My good girl,” he murmurs, sucking on each of my nipples in turn. Beside the couch comes the quiet clatter of an ice cube hitting the floor. “You did so well.”

My eyes flutter open to meet Bram’s, and I tremble at the hungry, adoring expression on his face. “I think I liked it,” I tell him in a whisper, as if there’s someone to overhear us.

He chuckles and lowers his head to kiss me reverently. Idon’t realize what his intention is until the head of his cock nudges my slick entrance.

Oh, thank God.

“Bram!”I hurry to step out of the way, pulling the sliding glass door open for what looks like a human-shaped snowman carrying half a dozen logs in his arms.

A gust of snow comes with him, and the floor is soaked in the time it takes me to close it again. Bram drops the logs into the metal holder beside the fireplace and pulls the snow-covered hat off, shaking his damp hair like a wet dog.

“The crackling fireplace is romantic and Christmasy and all, but I think we should just hope the whole central heat thing works out,” I tell him as I throw a pair of hand towels on the floor, step on them, and begin shuffling over the hardwood to wipe up the melted snow.

Outside, the last of the deep-gray daylight is fading from the sky, and the storm is raging worse than ever.

Bram disregarded my blind trust in the local electrical grid and was concerned about losing power. Hence the evening stroll through a blizzard to get a pile of firewood.

Now, safely inside, he steals a brief kiss from me on his way to hang up his coat. “Tell me about Kentucky.”

His question throws me off, and I’m instantly on alert, my muscles bunching with the familiar defensiveness I always seem to get when someone starts asking questions about my childhood.

“What about it?” I lean down to pick up the damp towels, watching out the corner of my eye as Bram returns his coat and boots to the hall closet.

He closes the door, giving me his familiar serious,thinking face. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Sophie. I was just curious about how you grew up.”

Oof. He asked an innocent, getting-to-know-you type question, and I was immediately on guard. I’ve already given him some of the basic facts, which is a lot for me, but I know it’s still not enough. If I want this thing with Bram to work—and I really, really do—then I can’t just clam up whenever my childhood is mentioned.

Stewing, I follow him back into the living room and curl up at the end of the couch, watching blindly as he begins stacking wood in the dark fireplace.

“I was a bad kid,” I admit, and while Bram continues with his task, I can tell he’s listening. “My older brothers were all on the football team, elected to student council, taught Sunday school, the whole All-American boy deal. Meanwhile, I was getting suspended, getting drunk, and driving my dad’s truck into a storm drain. They didn’t know what to do with me, so they doubled down on the religion stuff, and that only made it worse.”

Even then, riddled with adolescent angst and contempt for the religion being shoved down my throat, I couldn’t justify my actions. I acted out for the sake of it, to prove I was different and embarrass my parents, even if I knew it was wrong.

Bram situates the last log in the hearth, and looks over at me, his expression gentle. “You weren’t a bad kid, you were a teenage girl, Sophie. As a man who raised two, I can confidently say they’re monsters at the best of times. That, coupled with your differences from your family.” He frowns, searching my face. “I think you need to forgive yourself.”

It’s hard when they haven’t forgiven me, though I’ve made my peace with the very real possibility they never will.

Bram sets about lighting the fire, and by the time a small flame has caught on the smallest of the logs, I’m feelingbalanced enough to offer him a tiny, reassuring smile. “I’m working on it,” I promise, fiddling with the hem of my borrowed T-shirt. “I know I’m not a bad person, but I did bad things, and now…” I trail off, my throat tight. Now, I’m betraying my best friend by having this conversation at all.

Bram’s head tilts, and I watch as he pushes to his feet and crosses the room to kneel right in front of me, taking my hands in his. “It isn’t the same thing, Sophie.” He’s so handsome right now, serious and determined, his warm stare unwavering as it meets my own. “Making poor decisions as a child does not mean you have to deprive yourself of happiness as an adult.”

Something is expanding inside me as I nod, squeezing his hands. “Let’s do holiday things.”

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