her clit before sliding them inside her with slow, deliberate strokes.
A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she melted beneath his touch.
Charley was really starting to like this game.
“You studied art history in college,” he murmured.
“Cold. I never went to—holy shit!”
Dorian ran an ice cube between her breasts, down to her bellybutton. His other hand was still occupied between her thighs, fingers stroking, the twin sensations of hot and cold driving her wild.
“You studied art history, though,” he said. “That much is certain.”
“Yes! I mean, hot. So fucking hot.”
Removing the ice cube, he lowered his mouth to her flesh, following the trail of the cold water, lapping it up with his tongue.
With a soft sigh, she writhed on the bar, hips rocking, blood simmering. She reached for his hair, longing to touch him, but he pulled back, removing his mouth and fingers both.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, reaching for him again. “Please, Dorian.”
“Dorian, is it?” He lowered his mouth to her ear and licked the edge, his breath hot. “Awfully familiar for a woman lying naked on my bar, subject to my every whim.”
“Mr. Redthorne,” she corrected. “Please don’t stop touching me.”
“You are extremely sexy when you talk back, Ms. D’Amico. But it’s also highly distracting, and absolutely against my rules.” He slipped a fresh ice cube between her lips, his tone dark and commanding. “Suck.”
With a soft moan, she followed his orders, wrapping her lips around the ice, working it with her tongue. Slowly, he dragged the dripping cube from her mouth and trailed it down her chin, past the hollow of her throat, between her breasts, down to her belly, skating over to her inner thigh.
She parted her legs, and he skimmed the ice cube back toward her center, finally reaching her clit.
Holy. Fuck.
The feeling was electric, and Charley gasped and arched her back off the bar, cold water dripping down in slow, erotic rivers as he circled her sensitive flesh. Each time she feared she’d go numb, he pulled back, lowering his face between her thighs, teasing her with his hot breath before returning with the ice.
She’d never played like this before, never felt anything so intense. The orgasm was already building inside, her nipples stiff and aching, her body humming like an electrical wire after a storm.
She wanted to feel him sink inside her, owning her flesh.
“Please,” she begged again. The ice cube had finally melted, and she couldn’t take another minute of his incessant teasing. “I need you inside me. Now.”
“What did I tell you about talking back?”
With no more than a whoosh of air as warning, he was on top of the bar, hands gripping her thighs, pinning them down as he blew another soft, hot breath over her clit.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he said, “and now I’m taking a taste before I fuck you the way a bad girl deserves.”
He spread her legs wider, then licked her clit, swirling his tongue against her flesh.
She fisted his hair, arching closer, desperate for the friction, the heat, all of it. “God, I love the way you touch me,” she breathed. “I’m so close. I can’t wait, Dorian. I—”
“You can.” He pulled back, slapping her on the outer thigh, then soothing the sting with a kiss. “And you will.”
He landed another light flick against her clit, then kissed her, slowly moving his mouth up to her belly, up to her breasts. She felt the heat of his bare skin hovering over her, though she’d never even heard him strip. Between her thighs, his rock-hard cock throbbed, hot and ready.
God, he was a fucking marvel. Everything about him left her spinning and desperate.
He grazed her nipple with his teeth, then sucked it between his lips, his stubbled jaw scraping against her skin.
“Open your legs,” he ordered.
Her knees relaxed and spread wide again, inviting him in.
Dorian didn’t hesitate. He buried himself inside her, finally giving in to her pleas, remembering exactly how she liked it.
He fucked her hard and furious, driving into her again and again, the glassware rattling beneath them. After all the ice play, the friction between her thighs was so hot and intense, Charley thought she might burst into flames.
She didn’t care.
Incinerate me, she thought. Burn me to ash.
“Charlotte,” he growled, low and guttural in her ear, his control quickly unraveling.
She was losing control too, her muscles taut, aching for the release he’d so far denied her.
Still buried deep inside, he rocked forward against her clit, pounding her harder with every stroke.
The blindfold slipped