Page 38 of Breaking the Ice Queen
“Fuck. You feel so good,” Sienna whispered.
Adriana held onto her thighs and pulled her in, letting tongue push deeper inside of her. The tip pushing inside of Sienna as her hips clenched.
“I know what you want,” Adriana smirked.
She looked up at Sienna. Her horny eyes staring back at her, biting her lip and nodding her head.
“Please,” she whispered.
Adriana pushed one finger inside, then two, before curling them upward and hitting the spot that made her legs shake. She fucked her harder. Fucked her her deeper. Fucked her fast as her tongue flicked over Sienna’s swollen clit.
She could feel her orgasm building around her fingers.
Sienna came with her hand fisted in Adriana's hair, pulling, and Adriana let herself be pulled and didn't stop, working her through the whole length of it until Sienna's grip loosened and her breathing went ragged and slow.
Adriana pressed a kiss to the inside of Sienna's thigh. Then she moved back up her body, settled beside her, and waited.
"You're going to kill me," Sienna said.
"You're fine."
"I'm not fine. I'm extremely not fine."
Adriana's mouth curved. The unguarded smile, rare and warm. "Good."
Sienna turned onto her side to face her. Adriana's eyes in the dim light were dark and soft, and the combination of satisfaction and wanting in them made Sienna reach for her without thinking.
She pressed Adriana onto her back and kissed her — deep and slow, tasting herself on Adriana's mouth, feeling Adriana's sharp intake of breath at the intimacy of it. She moved her hand down the plane of Adriana's stomach. Felt the muscles there contract under her palm. Felt Adriana's legs shift apart in anticipation before Sienna had reached her.
"Tell me what you want," Sienna said against her mouth.
"You know what I want."
"Tell me anyway."
Adriana's jaw tightened slightly — the reflex of a woman accustomed to not making requests. Then she exhaled, and the restraint dissolved, and she said, low and unvarnished: "Your fingers inside me. Your mouth. Everything."
Sienna gave her everything.
She slid two fingers into her slowly, watching Adriana's face as she did. Watching the way her lips parted, the way her eyes lost focus, the way the controlled architecture of her expression came apart increment by increment as Sienna worked her deeper. She curled her fingers and Adriana made a sound against the pillow that was completely unmanaged and entirely involuntary, and Sienna filed it alongside everything else she was learning about the woman who performed composure for the world and kept this — this openness, this helplessness, this extraordinarily unguarded wanting — for no one.
Sienna lowered her mouth to Adriana's breast while her hand kept moving. Her tongue circled her nipple and Adriana's back arched. She bit down gently and Adriana's hips rolled hard against her hand. She added her thumb, pressing and circling in counterpoint to the thrust of her fingers, and felt the shift in Adriana's body — the deepening tension, the shortening breath, the way her thighs tightened around Sienna's wrist.
She moved her mouth lower, down the center of Adriana's stomach, and then replaced her thumb with her tongue.
Adriana's hand came down hard on the back of Sienna's head. Not directing. Just present, grounding herself to the only fixed point in a world that had stopped being stable.
“Don’t stop,” Adriana hummed.
Sienna worked her without mercy. Fingers and mouth together, finding the exact combination that made Adriana's whole body go rigid, and then holding it — relentless, sustained, giving her nowhere to retreat from the pleasure — until Adriana's voice broke completely and she came with a force that shook the headboard and left her gasping in the dark, her chest heaving, one hand still tangled in Sienna's hair, the other pressed over her own eyes.
Sienna moved back up and gathered her in.
Adriana was shaking. Fine tremors moving through her body, aftermath and exposure in equal measure. She pressed her face against Sienna's neck and breathed, and Sienna held her and said nothing because nothing was required and everything that needed saying was already being said by the simple fact of her arms being around this woman who was, for the first time in fifteen years, letting herself be held.
Adriana cried. Not dramatically — there were no sobs, no visible collapse. Just tears that ran silently from her closed eyes against Sienna's neck, and the tight grip of her arms, and the small, controlled sound of a woman releasing something she had been holding for a very long time.
Sienna did not sayit's okay.It wasn't okay, not yet, not entirely. Instead she pressed her lips to Adriana's hair and held on, and the holding was the whole answer.
