Page 49 of Jack Frost
He reaches around the back and unhooks it—lets it fall. "You're so warm," he whispers, his cool palms cupping the soft swell of my breasts—and then he ducks in and kisses one, then the other. My neck arches back reflexively, and I close my eyes.
"Am I too warm?" I gasp.
"Not at all. Come here." He hooks a couple fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulls me against him.
We're kissing again, his tongue a sweet chill over mine, his mouth deliciously soft. Another part of him is deliciouslyhard, and rubs against me through thin cotton between us. The friction is so tantalizing I can't help writhing against him.
"I'm sorry I'm not hotter," Jack murmurs against my lips.
"You're plenty hot," I respond breathlessly.
"No, I mean—human men are hot-blooded, so—"
"I get it. But you don't feel ice-cold there, just kind of lukewarm. Will I be too hot for you, inside?"
Jack laughs, gripping my hips and pressing me tighter to him. "I may be cold-blooded, but I'm not made of ice. It won't melt, if that's what you're worried about."
"Okay, we need to stop with the apologies and the questions. Just shut up and kiss me, idiot."
Chuckling, he gives me a slow, sensuous kiss, then catches my lip with his teeth and tugs gently before looking me in the eye. There's so much lush sin in that blue gaze of his, under the sweep of those dark lashes. I can't wait any longer.
"Cut these off," I hiss at him, tugging at my underwear. Sharp icicle tips emerge from his fingernails, and he slices away the panties. He glances at them where they lie on the floor, and his cheeks turn adorably pink when he sees how wet they are.
"My bed," I whisper.
On the way, he sheds his last scrap of clothing.
My ex Declan seemed to think I should climax from his mere presence; he never bothered to learn how to help me get there. My other ex Sam took a little more time with me, but he always finished within ten seconds himself. Not nearly long enough, in timing or physical dimension.
With those experiences haunting my mental space, I can't help a resurgence of nerves as I back toward the bed, my fingers laced with Jack's.
How will he want to do this? And how fast will it go? How much can I ask of him? And how—
Jack picks me up bodily and tumbles me onto the bed, rolling onto it himself and tangling his limbs with mine. He kisses my cheeks and my nose while I laugh in helpless surprise.
"You were thinking too much," he says, smiling.
I try to respond, but the hard length of him is tucked between my thighs, exactly where I need it, and the words on my lips fade. My hips surge, wakening a wild flutter of sensation through my core, and Jack's eyes close, a moan slipping from his mouth. I move again a few times, my hips bucking against his, until he pulls away and nudges my legs apart, kneeling between them. With his frosty shock of hair, his sharp cheekbones, and his lean muscled body, he looks like a magnificent frost faerie; and my breath catches at the realization that he lovesme,that he is aching to pleaseme.
His long fingers touch me tenderly, exploring, experimenting. He's not skilled at this, but he watches my face, keenly analyzing my reactions, and whenever he elicits a squirm or a whimper, a sexy little smile hovers over his mouth.
Part of me doesn't like being spread so wide to him, letting him look at me so openly, explore me so boldly. I'm too vulnerable now, stripped of every defense. Bared to his judgment. I'm giving him the ability to hurt my heart like others have hurt it, to sear and scar me. To reject me.
When he backs further down the bed and kisses my inner thigh, I panic. Is he about to do what I think he's about to—
A wet, sweet tongue circles delicately over me, and I want to say that he should stop, that I've never allowed anyone to do this to me before, and that I'm not about to start now—but I'm sinking into a limpid, quivering pool of bliss and I can't. I can't form words anymore. There is nothing but the gentle pressure of his fingers holding my hips, and the lascivious glide of his tongue.
There's a soft kiss, and a little suction, and that nearly does me in. But he stops, and kisses his way up my stomach, along my neck, back to my mouth. The kiss he presses to my lips is tender and refreshing, like cool water on a burning summer day. Like snowflakes on flushed skin.
He's slipping inside. It's easy, and perfect—not a hint of pain or tightness on my part, and I realize with sudden, broken joy thatthisis how it should be. How it's supposed to feel.
His head tilts back, and the beauty of him is nearly enough to send me over the edge. But then hemoves, and I arch off the bed, wrapping my arms around his body, trying to get nearer, trying to pull him deeper into myself.
Jack braces himself on his left arm, his muscles swelling gloriously, and with his thumb he teases me closer, closer—
A breathless shriek escapes me as a piercing bolt of white-hot pleasure arches from my center through my entire body. Aftershocks follow, thrilling me senseless. Several deep thrusts later, Jack cries out and presses his forehead to mine, panting, while a delicious coolness bathes the inside of me. He shudders all over, and when I open my eyes, snow is falling in large, soft flakes from the ceiling of my bedroom, and the light fixture is coated in lacy frost. Icicles have sprouted from the bedframe and the carpet.
I don't mention any of it. I hold the cool hardness of his body against the warm softness of mine, and I close my eyes to everything else.
