Page 72 of Shattered On Ice

“Oh, my God,” I pant, already painfully hot with a few passes of his tongue. My whole body is radiating heat as he kneels behind me, unscrewing another container. The decadent, sweet scent of sugar fills the air before he’s smoothing something soft and sticky along the same trail. “What is that?” I ask, rising on my toes, attempting to get away from the unfamiliar feeling.

“Marshmallow fluff,” he answers before spreading my cheeks with his big hands and diving back in to lick over my taint and entrance, lapping up the fluff he’s smeared on me.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever consider having marshmallow fluff eaten out of my ass, but here I am, moaning from how good it feels and encouraging him with a stuttering “M-more.”

He adds more chocolate and marshmallow fluff, painting on his dessert with care, before another package opens, its rustle drawing my attention again. Something firm and slightly rough scrapes gently over my most sensitive skin, startling me. Did he just—

“That’s a good boy, making a perfect s’more for me, maple crème cookie and all,” he rumbles, before crunching into the booty hole s’more he just made with the fluff and chocolate he’s smeared on me.

Westin eats ass like a champion, but this is him rising to a new, heroic level.

The rational part of my brain is screaming at the absurdity of this, but there’s also a louder part that is dying for him to do it again. My back arches, ass pressing into his hands, seeking his mouth. Another liquid is poured on me, thinner than the last, and I’m hit with the warm, amber scent of maple syrup as he drags his tongue up and down, spelling the alphabet for all I know, but it feels incredible. He groans with his own pleasure, and when I look back, I see the slow movement of his shoulder telling me he’s rubbing the thick length of his cock through his pants while he eats me out. My cock throbs with desire.

“I want to taste you,” I whimper, pushing up on my hands and abandoning this passive participant role. I want to make him feel as good as he’s made me feel.

He lets me up, and I turn into his arms as he stands. I’m impatient and desperate as I rip at his clothing, pulling pieces over his head and stripping him of his pants in record time. When he’s naked, I take the chocolate syrup and drizzle it over his straining cock, then fall to my knees to devour him.

The rich flavor explodes against my tongue, underlaid with the slight saltiness of his skin. I drag the flat of my tongue down his length, wrapping around the sides as I bob, truly treating his dick like a lollipop. I raise my hand for more, and he puts the fluff container in it before leaning his weight back against the island.

I dip my finger in the soft confection and spread it over his warm, velvety skin as my mouth waters. I suck his cock, running my tongue around the broad head that’s weeping for me, collecting the salty precum that mixes with the sweet fluff and moan around my mouthful of him. His body quakes against me, and I steady myself with a hand braced on his thigh, the other wrapping around his base as I begin in earnest to blow his mind like he regularly does mine. It only takes a few minutes of the enthusiastic sucking and the twisting of my fist in tandem for him to place a gentle hand on my head.

“Too good. You’ve had your dessert. It feels fucking phenomenal, but I’m coming inside you, not down your throat.” He lifts me to my feet with a hand under my chin, guiding me ever so gently with the incredible strength he displays so regularly.

“You better get inside me. You’ve had me wound up since the moment you manhandled me onto the counter,” I say, voice desperate and breathy. He knows just how to turn me into an agonized version of myself that can only be sated by him. I’m not complaining.

“Fuck, baby. You make it so hard when you say things like that,” he groans, hand circling his cock and squeezing to stop the building release.

With lightning-quick movements, he wraps his enormous hands around my waist and lifts me back onto the countertop. He drizzles maple syrup onto his cock as he would lube. He looks at me with lust-drunk eyes as his sticky fingers grip my thighs, spreading them apart while he steps closer.

“You going to fill me up with that pure Canadian cock now?” I taunt, watching his eyes sparkle with our special brand of relationship humor. “Show me how much of a dream man you can be next to your new teammate.”

I respectfully leave Wilder’s name out of our sexy times, but reminding him that I found someone else hot is good for us. We’re both secure in ourselves and our relationship, but it’s amazing to know there is still a part of him that wants me all to himself, no matter what.

He shakes his head, a small grin turning up the corners of his mouth. His cock bumps against my entrance and begins to push inside while he holds my gaze. It’s sticky, the air is spiked with sugar, and we're definitely going to need a shower after this, but getting dirty is the fun part.

“There you go,” he growls, the sound curling low in my belly and causing me to tighten around him when he’s halfway inside me. “Always so tight and sweet for me, baby.”

My head tips back, eyes struggling to focus on the ceiling as he bottoms out and shifts. I lean back on my palms as he lifts my thighs over his corded forearms and grips my waist so he can take control. He rolls his hips, hitting me just right with every movement.

“Fuck, right there. Just like that,” I moan, falling apart as he pistons into my tight hole, pegging my prostate with each thrust so pops of color burst against my eyelids. I could come without even touching myself if he keeps this up.

“C’est crissement bon,” he swears, his hands digging into my hips, creating finger-shaped love marks I look forward to seeing tomorrow. “You look so beautiful, mon ange déchu. Let me wreck this sweet hole and fill you up. Fall apart for me.”

And that’s exactly what I do. I shatter into a million pieces, crying out as he whispers to me in French. Cum drips onto my stomach, and Westin pulls me flush against his hips.

“Mon ti’ démon,” he groans, cock pulsing in my ass as he fills me. “T’es à moi.”

Our chests are heaving as I meet his hazel gaze. “What does that last one mean?” My voice sounds as wrecked as I am, scratchy and low, full of fading heat, as I puzzle over the new phrase. My Duolingo French doesn’t quite cover the Québécois version Westin speaks.

He holds eye contact as he slowly pulls out of me. “You're mine.”

The English translation slams into my chest. He isn't just talking about my body on this counter. He’s talking about my heart, my future, and the home we are standing in. I moan from the sentiment, a profound sense of belonging wrapping around me as tightly as his arms. I shudder at the feel of him stretching the tightest part of me before he slips from my grasp. “Give it to me,” I beg as his fingers slide through the sticky mess.

He leans in, stealing my breath with a hot kiss. “You want that Canadian s’more now, eh?”

I nod, not ready for this to end. He raises slicked fingers to my mouth, and I suck them in, marveling at the maple sweetness that’s mixed with his salty cum and the bottom notes of me. It’s a perfectly balanced perfume that hits my senses at different moments. Every lick is a new core memory, sending my brain offline as I attempt to file this incredibly unique experience away.

When he finally drags his fingers from my lips, my heart rate has returned to a normal heavy thud against my ribs, and my breathing has slowed to a less frantic pace.