Page 59 of Shattered Ice
“Adrian, you’re driving too fast,” she breathes, one hand braced against the dashboard.
“Not fast enough,” I grit out. My right hand leaves the wheel to find her thigh. I shove her skirt up, my palm pressing down on the warm, bare skin. She gasps but doesn’t push me away. Instead, her own hand finds my thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. She leans across the console, her mouth finding the pulsing vein on my neck, and bites down, not hard, but enough to send a jolt through my entire body. Her other hand snakes down, her palm pressing against the bulge in my jeans. A guttural groan is torn from my throat. The ache to be inside heris a physical, blinding thing. I take a corner too hard, the tires skidding, the surge of adrenaline only fueling the fire.
I pull into the parking spot in front of my dorm and kill the engine, the sudden silence ringing. I’m out of the car in a blur, pulling her out and into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist in an instant, her mouth latching onto the pulse at my neck again. I carry her inside, our universe confined to the space between us.
The second my apartment door clicks shut, I slam her against it. Her fingers are already fumbling with my shirt. I hike her skirt up, my own jeans unbuckled and shoved down in a swift motion. No time for finesse, only the overwhelming need to merge, to shatter.
“Condom,” she breathes against my mouth, a thin thread of sanity.
“Fuck,” I growl, the delay making the need sharper. My fingers clumsy with urgency, I fumble for my wallet, tearing the foil wrapper open with my teeth. The metallic taste is a stark contrast to the sweetness of her on my tongue. “You. Put it on.”
Her hands are shaking, but she takes it, her fingers brushing my cock with agonizing slowness as she rolls it on. The feeling almost undoes me. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her back pressed against the door. I find her entrance and drive into her in one brutal, fluid thrust. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound I swallow with my mouth.
It’s not a slow burn anymore; it’s a fucking inferno. The only sounds are the slap of our bodies and the door groaning with every thrust, the deadbolt rattling in its housing.
“Fuck, look at you,” I growl against her ear. “Taking me like you were made for it.”
She gasps as I thrust deeper. “Don’t… flatter yourself, Hale,” she pants, the words broken. “You’re not the first…”
My rhythm stutters for a beat, a flash of pure, possessive rage hitting me before it melts back into lust. “But I’m going to be the last,” I say, the words less a vow and more a chilling statement of fact. I will burn the memory of anyone else out of her until the only name left in the ashes is mine.
Her hands fist in my hair at my scalp, pulling my mouth back to hers for a bruising kiss that is all teeth and tongue and desperation. Her scent is all around me—vanilla, her, and the heady, intoxicating smell of sex. Her nails rake down my back, not in protest, but in a desperate plea for more.
“Adrian,” she gasps, her voice wrecked and raw. “You feel so fucking good.”
Her words are a gut punch of pure, unfiltered want. No one has ever said that to me with such desperate honesty. It shatters the last of my control. I slam back into her, a guttural groan torn from my own throat. She meets my frantic rhythm, her hips lifting to meet every one of my thrusts, a perfect, punishing dance. Then, with a deliberate, shocking squeeze, she tightens her inner muscles around me. A calculated move. A checkmate.
I pull back, staring down at her in disbelief. A slow, wicked, triumphant grin spreads across her face. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s not just taking what I’m giving her; she’s fucking me back.
“What’s wrong, Captain?” she whispers, her voice a silken, mocking challenge. “Losing your control?”
“You have no fucking idea what you just started, Harrington,” I growl, driving back into her, harder, faster. She meets me thrust for thrust, a wild, beautiful thing who is just as desperate, just as broken, as I am.
“Tell me whose cock is fucking you, Clara,” I command.
“You know,” she gasps, her eyes defiant.
I thrust deeper, hitting the spot that makes her see stars. “Not good enough. Say my name.”
“Adrian!” she cries out, the sound shattering the silence. “Fuck,Adrian…”
The sound of my name, torn from her in a wave of pleasure, is my undoing. I feel her body coiling tight around me as she sobs, and it pushes me over the edge. A raw, guttural roar is ripped from my throat as I come hard and fast, my release a blinding, shattering wave.
We stay like that for a long moment, leaning against the door, boneless and trembling, our sweaty bodies still joined. The only sound is our ragged, uneven breathing. This was a wildfire, a destructive force devouring us both, leaving only ashes in its wake. I feel her pulse hammering against mine, and I know with terrifying certainty I didn’t start this fire to put it out. I started it to watch the world burn. And I will let it.
Chapter 34
Clara
Iwakeupina bed that isn’t mine.
The sheets are impossibly soft, the kind with a thread count higher than my bank account balance. The room is still dark, heavy blackout curtains turning late morning into a private, timeless midnight. The only light is the faint, digital glow from a clock on the nightstand. The air smells of him—clean linen, cedar, and the lingering, raw scent of sex. My body is a roadmap of memory, a beautiful, aching landscape tender and sore where his hands gripped, where his teeth grazed. There’s a faint, dark mark on my shoulder, a bruise in the shape of his mouth. A brand.
He’s still asleep, his arm slung heavy and possessive over my waist, his breathing a slow, steady rhythm against my back. Fora moment, I just lie there, perfectly still, cataloging the feeling of his solid warmth pressed against me.This is insane. It’s reckless. It’s everything I’ve spent my life avoiding.And in the absolute center of the danger, I feel a terrifying, addictive stillness. This isn’t safety; it’s the calm before annihilation.
He stirs, his grip tightening as he pulls me closer, his mouth finding the nape of my neck in his sleep. His jaw is rough with stubble, a rasp against my skin. A low murmur escapes him. As he shifts, the heavy comforter slides, plunging us deeper into the oppressive dark. A tiny, involuntary flinch runs through me, a muscle memory of fear I can’t control.
His movements still instantly. Even half-asleep, he registers it. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against my spine.
