mid speech, and I freeze mid pose, because it’s too late to try anything else.
“Putty knife,” Iceman blurts before his eyes widen and then move slowly down my body. He pauses for a minute, like he’s suffering from brain freeze, before his blue eyes snap back up to mine.
“Thank fuck,” he declares, setting the nails on the top of the dresser. He rips his shirt off and shucks his pants in record time before he closes the distance between us in two strides.
I shriek in excitement as he picks me up. I’m so damn glad that worked. I immediately wrap my legs around his waist and weave my arms around his neck. I don’t really get time to think about how good his cool skin feels against my pussy before he’s threading the fingers of one hand through my purple locks and bending my neck to kiss me, like I’m a cool cup of water and he’s been crawling through the desert desperate for a drink.
I arch into him and drink my fill too. His lips are cool and soothing, his tongue teasing and masterful. Our pace is frenzied at first, but even with the need slamming through us, I also want to revel in him. Take my time and savor this.
This is Rafferty, my Iceman, and everything about who and what he is has made my entire existence better.
I slow our kiss, sipping at his mouth now, relishing his taste and feel. I pour all my love and appreciation into my movements and the way I claim him. He meets me stroke for stroke with his tongue and lips, nipping and sucking and showing me that this, us, is just the beginning.
I feel emotion bloom in my chest as I taste his love, his devotion, his claim on my soul.
I run a palm down the spikes on his back, and a shiver runs through Iceman so fast that I can’t help but laugh. I do it again, and he responds exactly the same way.
“Ohh, this is fun,” I tease as his eyes blaze with desire. He gives me a devious smile, and then the next thing I know, he brings a cool hand to the underside of my wing, and I feel the caress as though his hand is on my vagina and not playing with the wings on my back.
I gasp and let out a small moan, unable to help myself as he rubs the other wing too, a knowing smile on his face. Instead of accepting the game, set, match in his eyes, I look to up the ante. If he’s going to make me come all over his chilled, rock hard abs just from fondling my wings, then I can make him blow his load with a little spike petting and… I look up and spot his horns.
Oh, hell yeah, I bet there’s a sensitive spot on those bad boys.
I smile, but then I recall the fantasy I’ve been harboring about his horns, and it’s like my brain freezes as I let it play out in my mind nice and slow.
“What just happened?” Iceman asks, pulling back slightly as his voice yanks me from my lascivious thoughts.
I feel my face go instantly red. “What? Nothing.”
“Are you blushing?” he asks with amusement and intrigue in his voice.
“No,” I lie.
“Oh, you have to tell me what was just running through that mind of yours now.”
I shouldn’t be embarrassed. This is Iceman. I’m completely comfortable with him. But I’ve been craving the intimacy between us for so long now that I think my brain might have thought up just about every possible sex position the two of us could do. But how the hell do you say, “Oh hey, can I ride your face and play with your horns?” There’s no precedent for this kind of thing, and as much as I want to be like, the worst that can happen is he says no, I’m too nervous all of a sudden to find out. I mean, he did seem to like my quickly-strip-down-naked idea, but I don’t want to push him too much.
I bite my lip as I mentally debate.
“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll just have to make you come over and over again just by petting your wings. No sex for you until you spill it.”
My eyes widen as he immediately starts stroking my purple feathery appendages. His fingers seem to know right where to go as he pets them firmly and languidly, and it makes me gasp