CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
“I’m thinking you need it rough and quick. Because, holy hell, this—” she gives my throbbing dick a tight squeeze “—is about to burst. And I want you back in action ASAP so we can go another round. Got it, Moneybags?”
“A well-thought-out plan, Pip.”
She kicks off the spa slippers, and I lift her effortlessly, her thighs gripping my body as I pin her to the wall. The cool stone on her back makes her arch into me.
“This position suits you perfectly,” I say, strengthening my hold on her ass. “You, shamelessly at my command.”
My cock glides across her slick heat, and she whimpers, her nails digging into my shoulders. We grind against each other, getting lost in the rhythm—her folds drenching my shaft while my arms guide her up and down.
“Fuck, B. I’ve never gotten so wet so fast in my life.”
I position myself at her entrance, both of us groaning at the contact. “I need you so badly, it’s physically painful.”
“Then take what you need,” she whispers.
We’re seconds away from crossing that line when my brain catches up.
“Dammit. I don’t have any protection.”
I ease her down reluctantly as we catch our breath. My forearms bracket her head against the wall while I try to think past the desire fogging my judgment.
“I’ve never done it bare, but I’m clean,” she says breathlessly. “And I got the shot last week. Good for three months of worry-free debauchery.”
Every lesson about responsibility and consequences my father ever drilled into me battles with the primal urge coursing through my veins. “This is precisely the kind of reckless decision I’ve been conditioned to avoid.”
“Am I giving off psycho baby-mama energy?” she asks with typical Petra bluntness. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to explain to my kid why Daddy lives in a different tax bracket.”
I drag the head of my cock through her slickness and nearly see stars. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to leave this room. Not for anything. ”
She presses her lips to mine, gentle this time. “Then don’t.”
I growl, scanning the space with mounting frustration—massage table, essential oils, decorative water features. Zero contraceptive solutions.
“I thought this place had mind-reading staff?” she deadpans. “Shouldn’t there already be a concierge playing sensual jazz and bringing us an antique crystal bowl of condoms?”
I throw open the only other door here: the Ice Room.
The air punches me in the chest like a glacier uppercut. My skin immediately regrets this decision.
Petra leans around me and whistles. “Well, this’ll make your nipples angry.”
“It’s supposed to. You sweat it out in the sauna, then come in here to the Ice Room to stimulate circulation, reduce inflammation, and tighten your pores.”
“Do you rich people believe everything you’re told?”
The frozen igloo’s walls shimmer with translucent blue ice, and a gentle glow lights up the space from beneath. Mist swirls around the floor, giving it this magical, otherworldly vibe. And right in the center of the room, there’s a single bench lined in faux fur.
It’s as if we’ve stumbled upon some secret Eskimo love nest.
No condoms.
“This penis-freezing chamber is one way to cool things down,” she says as she blows out a breath, watching it crystallize into vapor.
I bark out a laugh. She’s not wrong. My balls have sprung up into my ribs.
She doesn’t hesitate when I pull her into me. Doesn’t flinch when I kiss the column of her neck, then her jaw, then dip to her already-stiff nipples. The contrast between her freezing peaks and my fevered mouth is electric.
“Why here?” she pants, her voice husky. “Are you trying to freeze me solid so I’ll be even tighter when you finally get inside me?”
The thought makes me groan. I run my fingers between her thighs, finding her slick and warm despite the cold. “You’re getting chilled. I’ll have to use friction to heat you from the inside out.”
“That’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard,” she breathes.
“Then why are you trembling?”
“Because I’m literally freezing to death, genius.” She shivers against me. “Please tell me this isn’t some weird rich-boy kink.”
I begin stroking her clit gently, and she pushes into my touch, letting out that musical sigh I can’t get enough of.
“You want to hear my fantasy?” I murmur, “It involves those sinful red lips wrapped around my di—”
“Sterling? You in there?”
We both freeze (pun intended), our eyes flying wide open in mutual terror.
“He cannot discover us like this,” I whisper.
“No shit, Sherlock. Pretty sure I’ve met my overprotective brother.”
Gavin will literally bury my body in the Mexican jungle if he finds his sister naked in my arms.
My eyes scan the ice chamber. One entrance, and Gavin is standing mere feet outside of it. I start backing toward the door.
“If you leave me naked in this freezer, I will castrate you with an icicle,” she threatens in a furious whisper.
“I’ll handle him,” I promise quietly. “Stay put. ”
Petra shields her breasts with her arms and flips me off with impressive venom. I slip through the door, sealing her inside the arctic chamber.
I cup my hands strategically over my very obvious arousal and pivot to address Gavin, who’s standing in the room’s entryway, looking every inch the sharp-dressed CEO.
“Gavin,” I say with remarkable composure, considering my heart is trying to escape through my throat. I smoothly collect my towel, wrapping it around my waist with practiced nonchalance. My poker face is flawless—minus the slight tic in my left eye.
He lifts Petra’s discarded robe from the marble floor with two fingers, like it’s contaminated. “You’re not banging the staff, are you?”
Gavin’s gaze intensifies. Shit. I always break under his stare. Everyone does. His interrogation skills are legendary.
Stay strong. Don’t crumble. Don’t let him discover that his sister is only a few feet away—naked, freezing, and furious.
He glances at the closed door behind me.
My lungs seize.
I snatch the robe from his hand. “I am simply experimenting with some temperature therapy.”
Gavin’s eyes flick down to the fluffy spa slippers strewn across the floor, then snap back to me. “Look, I get it—the Amanda thing is still raw. But if you’re that desperate, I’m sure we can find a bridesmaid to… comfort you.”
Part of me wants to inform him that I already have, and it happens to be the most incredible sex of my life.
“Was there something specific you needed?” I ask, hoping to redirect the conversation .
“Emergency board meeting. They want a full debrief on the auditor situation before we involve legal counsel. Can you walk them through it?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Gavin moves toward the exit, his hand turning the door handle—then stops. “If you are involved with the staff… keep it discreet, all right? We can’t afford any more issues.”
“I don’t make a habit of inviting trouble,” I reply.
He’s halfway out when he adds over his shoulder, “At least make sure she signs an NDA before you explore her pressure points.”
And then he’s gone.
I wait a beat—long enough for the sound of his footsteps to fade—then launch into motion. Robe in hand, I rush to the ice chamber, fling the door open… and find Petra freezing her gorgeous tits off.
“P-P-Prince FFFF-Freezerburn returns-s-s.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, rushing to her, wrapping the robe around her shoulders, and guiding her safely out. “You know how long-winded your brother is.”
I slam the igloo door and reel her into my arms, feeling the violent shivers wracking her body. I rub my palms along the fabric to generate warmth.
“This wasn’t the friction I had planned,” I say, dipping my head to blow warm air along her neck.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Thankfully, her warmth returns after a few minutes, and she melts into my embrace. Every curve and contour of her body aligns with mine, and I’ve never felt so content .
I gently cup her face in my palms. “I have to go—Gavin needs me. But after dinner…” I lean in, lightly kissing her lips, “come to my suite. We’re going to finish what we started.”
Her wicked smile emerges. “You are officially on thin ice, Moneybags. Literally and figuratively. So be concerned. I intend to make you suffer.”
“I’m anticipating every moment of it.”
If revenge means her hands and mouth all over me while that wicked fire burns in her eyes as I beg… then yes, please, punish me.
Hell, I’ll provide the ice myself.
***
Every fiber of my being aches to be inside Petra again.
Since the Ice Room, I’ve been counting down the hours.
Three meetings where I pretended to care about profit margins while my mind replayed her breathy moans.
A dinner where her wandering fingers found me throbbing under the table.
Her innocent smile was a mask for the torture she was inflicting.
I excused myself twice to splash cold water on my face and to will my erection into submission.
Now I’m pacing in my suite, wearing my silk boxers, chest bare to the humid Mexican air.
The terrace doors are thrown wide, letting in the sound of rolling waves and night birds.
My skin is hot, my jaw tight, and my cock’s been hard since the soup course.
Every tick of the clock grates on my nerves.
8:12 p.m.
She’s testing my patience and she knows it .
I glance at the door as though it owes me an apology. Then I rake my fingers through my hair, already regretting how much of my sanity I’ve given this woman in a week. Yet, here I am, begging for more.
My mind wanders into dangerous territory— how would it be if this wasn’t temporary? If I could come home every night to find Petra sprawled across my bed in nothing but that smart mouth and a dare-me expression? Would this fire ever dim? Or would it always burn this intensely between us?