Page 186 of Indulge
I flinch, a sound catching in my throat.
It trails up the inside of my leg, melting into water as it goes, tracing nerves I didn’t know existed.
A hand steadies me, it’s so warm against the chill but softer.
My lips part around a shaky breath. As his tongue trails up my thigh, pushing my legs as far apart as they’ll go.
He doesn’t speak. He just moves like he knows me—like he’s learning every reaction, every flinch, every sigh.
The ice moves again, gliding higher, until my whole body is shaking with confusion and need.
A cry rips from me when he presses it against my clit.
“P-please,” I whimper.
Cold and heat tangle together, a war under my skin.
Every time I think I know who it is, the pressure changes, the touch retreats, the breath shifts sides.
“Please…” It slips out before I can stop it. “Tell me who.”
No one answers.
A soft drag of fingertips over my ribs.
A trail of water dripping down my stomach.
A breath at my neck.
And then a hand catches my chin, tilts it up, and a thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
I freeze. That touch is careful.
Rowan. It has to be Rowan.
The ice returns, sliding from my throat to my collarbone.
The contrast is exquisite, almost too much, too perfect, too confusing.
My knees tremble. The world narrows to sensation: the feeling of melting ice, the heat of his breath, the rhythm of my heartbeat tripping over itself.
I can’t tell where one brother ends and the other begins.
Maybe that’s the point.
Maybe that’s the game.
No one answers.
The touch is gone. The ice melted. The fire inside me burning my core.
And then his tongue runs along my pussy, and I scream.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my toes curling as he brings me back to the edge. Alternating between the heat of his mouth and the freeze of the ice.
His fingers stretching me.
Every sense heightened.
