Page 91 of Ice Me Out

I braced myself, but was confused when he didn’t continue. I nearly rolled my eyes when he smirked.

“Go ahead, Sugar. Show me you want me.”

I nodded, and my teeth sank into my bottom lip as I worked my hips against the pressure. A sharp exhale escaped me when I found the rhythm that would have me leaking on Hart’s sheets.

“You don’t want me, Sugar.”

“I-I do,” I said breathlessly as my climax started to build.

“You lie so fucking good, Sugar,” he whispered, pinching one of my nipples. I hissed through my teeth and my lower back arched off the bed when he tweaked the other one. He nudged my opening, and I prepared myself to sink on his thumb when he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Sugar, how do you expect me to drop dick in you like this? I need you wetter than this.”

I ignored his ribbing and reached for the waistband of his sweats. I’d barely slipped my fingers in when he pulled my hand out and kissed it, smiling against my knuckles.

“I hate you,” I whimpered.

He replied by spitting on my clit. “Hate me or love me—you’re still gonna come on my dick.”

He got me there.

Before I could retort, Hart pulled himself out of his sweats and dropped his dick on my pussy with a loud slap that made me prop myself on my elbows to watch whatever unholy shit he was about to do to me.

My lips pursed, and my head briefly fell back when he started to move. He repeatedly dragged his dick over my pulsing pussy, making me clench every time the head bumped my clit. As my breath quickened, my eyes drank him in. His tatted abs moved with a fluidity that should be illegal. He grinned, placed my hands on his abs, and proceeded to drive me crazy.

Hart had me completely under his spell, and I feared I might be too far gone.

My eyes ticked down, and it was my turn to smile. “It looks like you want me, too,” I taunted, swiping at the pre-cum that gratuitously leaked from him.

“Nah, that’s nothing, Sugar. I got a lot more for ya,” he replied.

He grunted when I grabbed his dick and squeezed it. A chuckle left him. “You don’t play fair.”

I sat up and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t play about my dick, Sweet Hart.”

Swiftly, he picked me up and impaled me on his length. It was a tight squeeze as always, and I was only halfway down his shaft when my toes curled. He cupped my ass with both hands and used it as leverage to fuck me good. My mouth dropped, and his jaw clenched as we maintained eye contact. Our noses were only inches apart, and our breaths warmed our faces as we took our satisfaction from each other.

Hart dipped his tongue into my panting mouth and fell onto the bed without missing a beat. He did what he promised and dropped dick like I held a fucking gun to his head. I had come twice, and he was still going—pumping those hockey hips with my nails digging into his neck and back.

Suddenly, he broke out of my hold, pulled out, and jerked his dick until his cum painted my abdomen. Hart grunted as he squeezed out the last bead of cum that dripped on my mound. I rolled my eyes when he surveyed his work like he was proud of himself.

“I don’t know about you, Sugar, but I’m gonna sleep good tonight.”

He didn’t wait for a response, climbed out of bed, and left for the bathroom. I lay there, catching my breath, and staring at the ceiling when I heard the bathtub running. A minute later, Hart returned, snatched me off the bed, and kissed me like the dirty degenerate he was. He pulled away long enough to lower me into the bubble bath.

“I love me an Aftercare King,” I teased, relaxing against the porcelain tub.

He raised a brow and grinned. “Oh, you thought we were done?”

I squeezed the loofah in my hands.

Because what the hell do you mean, you thought we were done?

Hart laughed, clutching his stomach. “Y-you look like a deer in headlights.”

“You’d look like that, too, if your coochie just got blown,” I hissed, sending water in his direction.

“Blown? That was nothing, Sugar. I was holding back.”

Sadly… he was telling the truth.