Page 48 of On Thin Ice

Then I caught a sound, that of fabric sliding across fabric, and I imagined Sinclair sliding his unknotted tie out from his collar. Next, several barely audible steps, and I knew he was putting the tie on the dresser next to my clothing.

In that way, he was predictable—and I held onto that hard in this sea of uncertainty.

I thought I might have heard other movement by the dresser, but I couldn’t be sure. When he walked back, I couldn’t tell as much by sound as by some disturbance in the air I thought I felt.

And then a light touch—just a feather, but it made me gasp just the same. He stroked it lightly over my breast, the softest of sensations, but it was enough to ramp up my arousal.

Why was he doing this? Was this truly his idea of punishing me?

Because it wasn’t. Not at all.

I couldn’t focus on the whys any more as the feather wandered all over my body, touching every bit of exposed skin from my cheeks to my toes and back again. It didn’t take much for my pussy to feel like it was on fire, begging for him to do more.

Maybe that was the punishment.

I would be okay with that.

He continued stroking me softly with the feather until I was nearly squirming.

And then he stopped.

Again, silence fell over the room. Had the mask been off, my eyes would have been intent upon him. Instead, my ears and even my nerves were doing the work, trying to figure out what was coming next.

I heard a sound but didn’t know what it was until he placed an ice cube in my cleavage. Immediately, my nipples pebbled again but not from desire. Before I could fully adjust to the new sensation, he began swirling the cube around, leaving drops of water in its wake as the heat of my skin melted it. Soon, he slid the cube up the mound of my breast before circling it over my areola, making it so rigid it ached.

And then he rolled it back down and up the other breast before doing the same thing on the other side. Although the cold had shocked me at first, I was growing used to it…about the time he stopped. Then, with his tongue, he lapped up the tiny pool of water between my breasts, and all I wanted him to do was tend to my nipples as well.

But he didn’t.

Soon, he was fanning the upper half of my body, allowing the residual wetness to evaporate, and it took me a moment to realize he was probably using the feather for that as well. The sensation had the effect of cooling me off, not just literally but figuratively, even though I was still anticipating what would come next. It wasn’t long before he was brushing my skin with it again, teasing and tantalizing, bringing me back to the edge of arousal.

But even as he feathered my thighs, I wanted more. The light touch had heated me up but I wanted to feel him.

When, once more, the feathering stopped, followed by nothing but expectation, I wondered what would come next. There was the sound of foil crinkling and, at first, I thought he was opening a condom, especially when I couldn’t hear anything for a bit. But then there was a loud pop, followed by a hiss, and it didn’t take me long to realize he’d opened the bottle of what must have been champagne or sparkling wine.

What was he doing?

I got my answer quickly when I felt his hand near my belly. Soon, he poured some of the champagne into my navel. The sensation caused my nipples to turn rigid again and, moments later, I felt his weight on the bed. Straining to puzzle out exactly where he was, I tried to make my muscles relax and failed. They were taut, blindly waiting in anticipation.

Finally, I felt him—his body between my legs—and I hoped he was going to put me out of my misery at last. As much as I’d ever wanted him before couldn’t compare to my need for him now. And that was what it was—not just desire but need. In this moment, I felt as though I would die if I couldn’t have him.

His bare leg brushing against one of mine assured me that satisfaction was near. By this point, my pussy was throbbing, desperate for his touch, and for the first time in my life, I could understand how close I was to letting it all go. Earlier in the summer, before I’d met this man I couldn’t even see at the moment, I hadn’t had a clue what an orgasm was, much less how it felt. And now I’d already enjoyed so many I was beginning to lose count.

His mouth enclosed my navel and he sucked the champagne out of it. Then he ran his tongue along its surface before snaking it down my lower belly…and then into the area where I desperately needed him.

Just like the feather, though, he teased with the lightest of touch. His tongue tickled a trail along my slit, barely grazing my throbbing clit. And yet it elicited a moan from deep inside me, something primal. He continued that motion, up and down, barely touching me in the slowest way, and then I knew for certain.

This was my punishment—having to wait. Being denied.

How naïve. The punishment had barely started.

At the time, though, I had no idea, and when he finally applied a little more pressure and just slightly more speed, my body responded, believing relief was just a few strokes away. I began taking deeper breaths as my body readied itself to give me that explosion in my brain…

And then he stopped.

Chapter 18

I’d been on the brink of coming when Sinclair lifted himself off the bed. In response, my entire body screamed silently.

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