Page 56 of Shattered Ice
A low groan rumbles in my chest. “Fuck, I love that mouth.”I’m going to own it. I’m going to make it say my name until she’s hoarse.
I sit on the edge of the bed to pull off my boots, one by one, my eyes never leaving hers. Then I stand, unhook my jeans, and kick them off until I’m just in my boxers and hoodie. I watch her watch me, her gaze hungry and defiant, licking her lips as her eyes trace the lines of my body.
She gasps when I drop to my knees on the bed and crawl over her, pinning her wrists in one of my hands above her head. Her body is small and fragile beneath mine, yet she radiates a strength that calls to the most brutal parts of me.
“What are you doing?” she breathes.
“Taking my time,” I growl, my other hand going to the hem of her black top. I lift it slowly, exposing the pale skin of her stomach inch by inch, and press an open-mouthed kiss to her navel. She shudders violently.
“Look at me,” I command. Her eyes, wide and dark, snap to mine.
I pull the shirt over her head and toss it aside. Her bra is simple, black lace. I release her wrists, propping her up with a hand behind her back. My fingers trail down the delicate knobs of her spine to the clasp. I unhook it with infuriating slowness, my knuckles brushing her skin, feeling her shiver. I pull the straps down her arms and toss the bra aside. Her breasts are perfect, full and pale, her nipples tight little buds pleading for my attention.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, my voice thick. “Perfect. Everything I’m about to ruin is perfect.” I lay her back down, my mouth hovering inches from her skin. “And mine.” I take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, and she cries out, a sharp,strangled sound. I bite down gently, just enough to make her gasp, and she groans, her fingers fisting in my hair. She tugs at my hoodie in a frantic, demanding pull. I let her win, shrugging it off. Her hands roam over my chest, hesitant and greedy, as I hook my fingers into the waistband of her skirt and drag it down, then her panties. She’s completely bare, and the sight makes my cock throb painfully against my boxers.
“Adrian,” she breathes, a plea.
“I know.” I pull her to the edge of the bed, arranging her limbs exactly as I want them. “No waiting.” I bury my face in her wet heat, inhaling her scent like air—vanilla and something rawly, achingly Clara. Her taste is a drug I can’t quit. She arches, fingers tangling in my hair, nails clawing my scalp until pleasure and pain fuse into electric white fire.
“You’re—fuck—so annoying,” she breathes out, her hips starting to move in a slow, unconscious rhythm against my mouth.
“I know,” I rasp, my tongue shifting into a brutal rhythm against her clit. I feel her body begin to tense, her thighs quaking. Her breath stutters into whimpers, my name on her lips over and over. I pull back, the tip of my tongue flicking teasingly over the swollen peak. She emits a frustrated hiss. I plunge back in, savage and precise, driving her higher, faster, until her knuckles turn ghost-white clutching the sheets. Then I yank away again.
“Adrian, don’t youdare—”
I press a grin into her skin before diving in once more. “Doesn’t stop you grinding on my face like a junkie,” I taunt softly. “That’s it, good girl. Show me how much you want it. Let me taste how wet you are for me.”
She hesitates for a second, then a shudder runs through her and she pushes her hips up harder against my mouth in clear surrender.She likes it. Fucking hell, she likes it.My own controlis shredding. I’m not just tasting her; I’m consuming her. The low, guttural whimpers she makes are a language I understand better than words, a raw translation of the pleasure I’m pulling from her. It’s a different kind of power, this complete surrender to her pleasure, more potent than any goal I’ve ever scored. Not the roar of a crowd, but the silent, vicious satisfaction of breaking a code.
“Yes, just like that,” I murmur. “Beg for it with your body, Clara.”
Her body convulses without warning, hard, raw cries tearing from her throat as she comes undone. Her back bows off the mattress, thighs clamping around my head like iron vice grips. When she collapses, gasping my name, I’m already crawling up her body, yanking off my boxers. I crush my mouth to hers, tasting her climax still slick on my lips, forcing her to taste herself on me.
She clutches my jaw, her eyes blazing. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Liar,” I mutter, the head of my cock pressing into the damp heat between her legs.
She slaps my chest. I catch her wrist, my grip like steel. “You gonna try to talk me out of this?”
“No,” she says, her voice shaking but defiant. “I want to see if it feels better when I stop pretending I don’t want it.”
That cracks something deep inside me. Not a surrender. A challenge. A dare. And I’ve never backed down from one in my life. I release her wrist, my movements suddenly rough as I reach for my discarded jeans, fumbling for my wallet. The sound of the foil wrapper tearing is loud in the tense quiet, like a blade splitting the air. She watches me roll the condom on, her expression unreadable but intensely focused. I move back over her, parting her legs with my knee.
I thrust in slow and brutal, every inch claiming territory in her tight, wet heat. A guttural growl rumbles deep in my chest, a primal sound of possession. She hisses, a sharp intake of breath, her nails raking my back in desperate, burning arcs. This isn’t a frantic tryst against bookshelves. This is her bed, her sanctuary, and I brace her hips, pressing my forehead to hers, forcing her to look at me.
“You’re not getting rid of me, Clara,” I rasp, the words a promise.
Her nails dig deeper. “I haven’t asked you to leave yet.”
My thrusts deepen, each one a slow, deliberate claim. I watch her face, committing every detail to memory: the way her lips part, the flush that creeps up her neck. Her legs wrap tight around my waist, pulling me closer. I bite her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, tasting the faint salt of her skin. She cries out, a sound of both pain and pleasure. Her own teeth sink into my shoulder in response, sharp and punishing. The flare of pain is a shock, and then it’s pure fucking fuel.
“Mine,” I growl against her skin, the word a raw, possessive truth. My body screams at me to move faster, to finish, but I hold the pace. Watching her unravel is more important. I watch the flush spread across her chest, her back arch, the cords in her neck standing out as she bites back a scream. This isn’t just sex; it’s an exorcism. I’m trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of her skin, to brand her so completely she only ever feels me.
“Fucking tell me you feel me inside you,” I demand, my voice ragged.
“I feel it,” she chokes out, her hips lifting to meet my next thrust.
Her honesty cracks my armor. I change the rhythm, pulling back almost completely, then driving into her again, focusing on the friction of her clenching around me. Her breath comes inshort, sharp gasps. “You like that, princess?” I rasp. “Like how I’m filling you up? No one else is ever going to be inside you like this. You’reminenow.” The words are a vow, a claim, a promise.
