Page 161 of Icing on the Cake

Elliot pumps his finger in and out, finding a rhythm that matches the bobbing of his head. Pleasure mingles with the strangeness, and my hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of the delicious friction he’s creating. I’m so close that every stroke feels like it could tip me over the edge.

And then Elliot’s finger finds something inside me that makes my vision go white. I yelp like a startled puppy, my whole body jerking as if I’ve been electrocuted.

“Holy shit!” I shout—half in disbelief, half in pure, unfiltered ecstasy. And then it hits me.

I just cursed.

I’ve never—My mom would—Oh gosh.

Elliot pops off my cock, his lips glistening. “Found it,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face before he realizes the same thing I just did. “Did you just swear?”

I’m too stunned to answer. The thought of me cursing is almost more shocking than the pleasure still coursing through my body.Almost.

Before I can process what it means or how it’s even possible, he applies more pressure to that magic button. My cock twitches violently, and a rush of precome spills out, sliding straight down Elliot’s throat. He takes it all without flinching, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Fuh—” I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. The word had been right there, ready to burst out again.What is happening to me?

Elliot’s mouth works with renewed fervor, his tongue swirling around the head of my cock before sucking like a Hoover.

His finger continues to massage that spot relentlessly, sending wave after wave of unbearable pleasure through me. My hands fly to his shoulders, not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer.

“Elliot,” I gasp, my voice unrecognizable even to myself. “I’m gonna?—”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up, his mouth and hand working in perfect, torturous harmony.

I’m beyond words now, reduced to a series of guttural moans and whimpers. My toes curl tightly, and my legs tremble with the effort to staygrounded.

Elliot knows exactly how close I am. He pulls off my dick, letting the cool air hit my wet skin. My hips thrust up, desperate for the warmth of his mouth again. He strokes me with his free hand, his fingers slick with my fluids.

“Ready?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer.

He presses hard on my prostate, and I say it. “FUCK!”

I explode with a force that leaves me shattered. Hot cum shoots out of me in thick spurts, each one accompanied by a violent contraction of my abs and a hoarse cry from my lips. It splatters against my chest and stomach, dripping down to the sheets like melted candle wax.

He milks me for every last drop. My breathing comes out in ragged gasps, and sweat pools in the hollows of my collarbones.

“Fuck,” I say again, not sure if it’s an exclamation or an order at this point.

Elliot studies me with those warm brown eyes of his as he casually asks, “How do you feel about swearing now?”

I don’t even know where to start. “That was amazing,” I rasp, my voice sounding like I gargled gravel. “You’reamazing.”

Elliot’s smile widens, and he leans in to kiss my jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself, big guy.”

I laugh, still trying to wrap my head around this turn of events. My eyes roam over Elliot’s face, drinking in every detail as if I were seeing him for the first time. He’s beautiful, and it makes my chest ache.

Something catches my eye as I stare at him like a lovesick fool. My phone lies on the bed next to us, still open to one of the pictures of my feet. Seeing it jars something loose in my brain—a half-formed thought.

I frown, pick up the phone, and squint at the screen. The photo is a strangely artistic shot, almost sensual in its composition. The kind of picture the Ice Queen will love.

The Ice Queen.

My eyes dart from the photo to Elliot’s face and back again, my mind racing to connect the dots.

Could it be? Could Elliot be the one behind the blog, the mysterious figure who’s been lusting after my body parts for months? It seems impossible, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

The things the Ice Queen loves—my ass, my hands, my feet—Elliot loves too. I mean, he’s got a self-proclaimed hand kink, for Pete’s sake. Elliot also loves to write, and what better way to practice than on a blog?

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