Page 89 of Ice Queen

I don’t know how long we stay like this, holding each other’s gaze as if the first one to break it loses whatever game we’re playing. The chill of the sheets against my heated skin has me arching into him. Seeking some sort of relief from the exquisite torture I’ve found myself in.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, tracking the movement, heat pools low in my stomach, and I can’t wait any longer. Pushing up on my elbows, I take his lip ring between my teeth, pulling it enough to make him groan.

Threading my hands into his hair, I tighten my grip as I lower myself back down, forcing him on top of me. His weight is comforting. He’s not shying away, not treating me like I’m made of glass. He’s letting me lead, and damn if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

His lips are warm as they slant over mine, our teeth knock against each other as we pour everything too hard to say into this kiss. His hands rest on the sides of my face, holding me exactly where he wants me.

I sigh, surrendering and letting him take the lead. His head moves from side to side as he deepens our kiss. My back arches off the bed into him when he bites softly on my bottom lip. When he pushes his tongue into my mouth the next time, I return the favor and bite down slightly when he tries to pull it out.

“Mierda⁠*, Princesa,” he hisses. His hands move from my face to my hips. He freezes when his fingers meet the lace there. He scoots me up the bed, the sweatshirt riding up enough to expose my entire bottom half.

His tongue runs over his lips, his hand rubbing his beard, and his eyes trace the intricate flower design on the black lace.

“Did you wear that for me?” he whispers in awe as he reaches down, finger tracing the edge.

I nod, not trusting my own voice at the moment. My head is spinning, and the man has barely even touched me. I feel powerful like this, being someone this man wants to stop and look at. I feel appreciated, like I actually matter.

“It’s stunning.” He pulls the bottom of the sweatshirt up until he exposes my belly button, his fingers lightly brushing against my stomach as he folds the material, exposing more of me. “You’re stunning, Kaitlyn.”

His heavy-lidded eyes hold mine for the briefest moment before he presses a kiss to my hip bone. His lips continue up the side of my stomach at the most torturously slow pace. Each kiss feels like an exploration. They aren’t fast. They linger before he pulls away and places another one a few inches up.

My toes curl when he runs his tongue across the top of my thong, only to continue his perusal of my body on the other side. “Markus,” I whimper.

The need running through me feels like a live wire, ready to combust at the simplest of touches.

“I was promised a preview, I plan to collect,” he says against my thigh as he bites down softly. “Tell me, where do you want me to start?”

His hand drags up the inside of my thigh, a ghost of a touch against the edge of my underwear, back and forth in mind-numbing strokes.

“Markus,” I try again, arching in an attempt to get closer to where I need him.

His eyes are darker than they normally are, stormy gray. They travel the length of my body, slow and purposeful. Like he’s committing every inch of me to memory, like if he blinks, it’ll all be gone.

Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of everything. The way his sweatshirt sits just below my breasts, the cool of the air passing through the lace on my hips. The fact that I feel more alive lying on this bed than I ever have at any other time in my life. My pulse beats rapidly in my throat.

He sits up, hovering over me. Does he like what he sees?

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

I bite down on my lip, nodding before I say, “Yes, edging is not on my list of favorite things.”

His mouth curves slightly, his lip ring shining in the light of my room. “I’ve been picturing you like this all day,” he admits quietly.

I blink up at him, convinced I heard him wrong. There’s no way he said he’s been thinking about this all day. Surely I’m not that special. But picturing me?

“Really?”

He presses his forehead to mine. “You think I don’t know you love to tease me?” His thumb runs softly across my bottom lip, pulling softly against the skin on one side. “You don’t think I replay it all damn day, every time?”

Something sparks to life between us, pulling tight as he stares down at me. “Since the very first time you called me Casanova, I’ve replayed every interaction we’ve had.”

His leg settles between mine, and I try to move closer to it, but he pins me to the bed with his hips. “You have nothing to prove to me,” he says softly. “I want to do this how you like it.”

He’s quiet for a minute, staring down at me in adoration. I don’t think there’s a single person on the planet who would believe this man is so gentle in the bedroom.

“I just want you, Kait,” he finally whispers.

Five words, and he’s officially altered my brain chemistry. He wants me. Need begins to build, amplified by where he’s pressed up against me, and I fight against every instinct to press in harder.