Page 57 of Jack Frost
The second I've kicked aside my pants, Jack picks me up bodily and carries me back onto the ice. His feet never falter or slip; it's his element, and it bends to his will and his pleasure.
I wrap my legs around his waist and crush my mouth to his, arms locked at the back of his neck. Jack groans through the kiss and shoves me against the rink wall. The acrylic barrier is smooth and cool at my back, and I pray that it can withstand the pressure as Jack pins me there, kissing me furiously, frantically. Desire licks through my body.
Jack extends those icicle claws again and tears away my panties. Damn it. I'm going to have to buy more if he keeps this up.
When his claws trace my bra strap, I grip his wrist. "It's my favorite."
"It needs to go."
"So put me down and take it off."
Smirking, Jack releases me, and I slide down to the ice. My bare feet can sense the cold, but it's not painful at all—just refreshing, like a tile floor on a summer day. Turning my back to Jack, I wait for him to unhook the bra.
"So you want me to take the bow off my present," he murmurs in my ear.
"Ew, no. I will not be objectified."
He unhooks the strap, fingers grazing my spine. "How about worshipped?"
A thrill races between my legs, through my stomach and into my heart. My breath hitches. "Well... if I must..."
At his gentle tug, the bra slides away. I am now entirely naked. At the skating rink where I used to work.
"This is by far the naughtiest thing I have ever done," I murmur, turning to face him.
"Same for me." He has discarded his last bit of clothing, too, and I nearly whimper at the sight of him. Human men have no chance at all. It's just not fair for him to look this good.
"What if someone shows up and sees us?" I whisper.
"I'll spiral us away."
"But my clothes, and my purse—"
"Okay." He nods, frowning thoughtfully. "You've got a point there. Yeah, this scenario isn't going to work. Let me get dressed again, and we'll go to a hotel where we can do this the normal way."
He takes a step toward the rink exit, but I seize his wrist and spin him to face me. "No way in hell am I waiting that long."
We collide, skin sliding over skin, curves and crevices notching together. He bears me down to the ice, cradling my skull carefully, and then he throws my legs apart and attacks me with his tongue. There's a moment of suspended, agonizing, aching need—and then a blinding surge of ecstasy zips up my spine and I scream, breathy and astonished, writhing while Jack holds onto me, drinking in my spasms with his eyes.
When my breathing normalizes again, I drag myself upright, still trembling a little, and I push him down onto his back. "Your turn."
I take a second to admire the shape of him, snowy and perfect, splayed on the blue-tinted ice. Where his body lies, lacy frost spreads in crisp curls and points, an ever-widening carpet of white.
Laying my body over his, I kiss him, lazy and soft, with long strokes of my tongue into his mouth. His length is pinned between us, and it pulses when I run my nails over his chest. When I break the kiss, he looks up at me with glazed blue eyes. "Emery."
"Hm?"
"Please."
Why is that simple plea so hot? Why do I love the shape of his face so much? Why are his hands so perfectly firm and gentle on my waist as I settle, easing down onto him—why is the contour of his throat so perfect? I have to lick his neck, so I do, and his skin tastes like fresh snow.
"I love you," I whisper.
"Goddess," he moans softly, and I don't know if it's a swear or a name for me. "Say that again."
"I love you."
We move together, our rhythm like the waves of the sea, ebbing and surging, billows piling and tumbling one over another, crest upon crest, until it all crashes down in a creamy froth of foam and slips away into a quiet rush of shared breaths.
