Page 63 of Ice Queen

What’s your favorite food?

It’s three in the morning, Markus. Why is this important?

I figured you’d be asleep. You can answer me in the morning.

Chicken pot pie. My mom used to make it for me growing up whenever I was sad.

Are you sad now?

No.

Could you teach me how to make it?

I don’t know how to make it.

I frown at my phone, my finger hovering over the FaceTime button, but think better of it. I tell myself I want to make sure she isn’t upset by that question. But even I know I just want to see her face. Instead, I move back into safe territory.

Want to make sure I have an advantage over your next date.

I dunno, Cam is pretty hard to beat. The kid loves to cuddle.

How do you know I don’t?

I don’t.

If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find out if I do.

Favorite movie?

If she’s awake and willing to talk to me, I’m going to take advantage of it.

Don’t laugh, okay?

Well, now I’m even more curious.

Scout’s honor

Are you telling me you were a Boy Scout? Do you have a uniform? Can you wear it for me?

Is that one of your preferences? A man in uniform?

Dots pop up and disappear a few times before they disappear altogether. And at first, I think that’s the end of it, but then, my phone rings, and it’s her who’s initiating this FaceTime.

“Well, well, well, did you miss my face that much?” I chide as I take in the razor-thin straps of her sleep shirt, mouth watering at the sight of the peaks of her nipples through them. “Is my house cold?” I ask, brows furrowing.

“No.” A lazy smile cuts across her face. “But my eyes are up here, Casanova.”

I motion to the bottom of the phone screen. “Can you blame me?”

“I was playing,” she says, dragging her tongue across her lips. “Want to see?”

Where in the world did this brazen woman come from? I nod slowly, trying to piece together what the hell playing means. I’m almost convinced she’s talking about some video game when a silver wheel with spikes, sitting on a long handle, comes into view.

My mouth falls open. “What is that?”

“A pinwheel,” she whispers, slowly moving the device up her arm. Through the soft light in her room, I watch in fascination as goosebumps cover her skin. “I like a bit of pain. Different sensations.” She continues across her collarbone, tipping her neck back, exposing her throat to me.

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I roll this over my skin. It’s relaxing when it’s me doing it. The perfect amount of pressure, the speed, and where it goes.” Her head lowers, and I see the gleam in her eyes.