Fracture (Blood & Roses #3-4) - Callie Hart Page 0,5

Shit. I have a thousand of the things stashed in my freezer. Bubblegum flavor—a shade of blue that scientists will probably reveal gave people all over the world cancer in ten years’ time. They’re my guilty treat. And now Zeth is producing one of them from behind his back.

“Oh boy, you should put that—”

“I know exactly where I’m putting it, Sloane.” I can see in his expression that this is way better than the ice cube he had planned.

Fuck!

“I don’t know how I feel about that, Zeth.”

“I’m gonna make you feel good about it,” he says, nodding his head, as though that alone is enough to change my mind. I’m still shaking my head when he drops back down on his knees and presses the offending article against the tender flesh I’ve left exposed to him.

My brain demands that I close my legs and escape from the painfully cold sensation assaulting the most delicate part of me. “Motherfucker!” I try to kick out at him, but Zeth grabs hold of my ankle, his eyebrows dipping together.

“Sloane.” That reprimand again. “You want me to use the rope?”

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down on it. Screw this. I should just get up and kick his ass out. It’s all well and good when he’s doing questionable things that might scare seven shades of shit out of me, so long as they excite me at the same time. But this is just uncomfortable. And sticky!

Zeth’s a smart guy—he watches all this play out on my face. “Risk it,” he advises me, tightening his hold on my ankle. I hear what he’s really saying, though—trust me—and that changes everything. He hasn’t asked me for that before. I’ve given him my trust a few times, unwisely I’m sure, but he’s never asked anything of me. It feels like a development of some sort. I’m not sure how; it just does.

“Okay…fine.”

He gives me a single nod, stern and grim, which is kind of ridiculous since he’s holding a florescent blue freezer pop in his hand. He gently traces it down the center of me, watching my shivering reaction with a kind of smug appreciation. Then he dips forward and licks at me, still piercing me with his eyes. The change from cold to burning hot has my muscles jumping uncontrollably.

“Shit!”

Again, he repeats the same thing. Cold then hot. Cold then hot. The pleasure smashes into me over and over, never letting up. Eventually the cold becomes just as pleasurable as the hot, and my hips are rocking again.

“Your tongue’s blue,” I groan.

Zeth arches an eyebrow at me. “So’s your pussy.” He traces the frozen treat downwards, and hovers a moment over my opening.

I know what he’s going to do and I am not on board. I am so not on board. But I’m also too late. He pushes it inside me, growling a warning as I try to squirm away…

It’s the coldest fucking thing ever. And then it’s not. The blistering sensation of the biting chill quickly turns to heat—the strangest sensation. A burning, stinging warmth that—I hate to admit it—feels good. I gasp as Zeth draws it slowly out again, and then does something that fuses out the wiring in my brain. He slides it into his mouth, a low rumble of approval echoing from his chest as he wraps his full lips around the thing and sucks. I’ve never been so jealous of a freezer pop in all my life.

“Mmmmm. Bubblegum and Sloane. Best combination,” he purrs.

Oh. My. Fucking… I can’t think straight.

Zeth rises up my body like a hungry predator, eyes filled with fire. I shy back from him until I’m lying flat on the table and he’s on all fours hovering over me. The freezer pop makes its way from his mouth to mine—he gingerly rubs it over my lips until I open my mouth and then he slides it inside. The flavor is sweet and sugary, an explosion of chemical goodness. Then he reclaims it again, sucking it, tasting it himself, like he can taste my mouth on it, too. He places it down on the table next to my head and considers me for a moment, his breathing ragged and hard.

“Time for the rope, angry girl.”

I haven’t forgotten about the rope. Its presence has been that of an angry snake coiled on the corner of the table—a danger that I’ve tried not to provoke. To say it worries me is an understatement, but I made my