Chapter 33 #2
The ice found my breast, tracing the outskirts of my nipple.
A single deliberate circle, then another—until the bud hardened, straining, almost painful in its anticipation.
A sharp inhale caught in my throat as his mouth followed, lips closing around me, pulling hard, bringing me to the edge of pain.
He moved to the other side without reprieve—cold, then his scorching tongue—until both peaks ached and I couldn’t tell which sensation owned me.
“I could do this for hours.” The cube traced lazy circles around my navel. “Push you right to the edge. Keep you trembling. Keep you begging.”
I shuddered, muscles tightening beneath his touch.
“You’re so responsive.” His tone was a caress of pride. “Every little touch… look at what it does to you.”
I couldn’t see.
Not with the blindfold.
But I could feel. Everything.
Every shift of air. Every brush of his breath. Every heartbeat between us.
The cube drifted lower, its chill a warning before the touch even came. My thighs tensed on instinct.
“Spread your legs for me, Emma.”
His tone wasn’t command so much as invocation, and I obeyed, blood roaring in my ears as I opened for him.
“God,” he whispered. “Look at you.”
Reverence. Hunger. Wonder. All tangled in his voice as though he were staring at a masterpiece that might vanish if he blinked.
Flush rushed to my face. My heart tripped over itself.
The cube moved again, sliding inward, closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.
“You have no idea,” he breathed, rough and ragged, “how many times I’ve dreamt of this.” His mouth was close enough that each word brushed my skin. “Laid out. Blindfolded. Soaked in want.”
His words echoed through me, a spark catching tinder. My mind went hazy, thought dissolving into sensation—surrender and trust and something dangerously close to joy.
His mouth descended on me, one long, broad, measured stroke parting me. I screamed as he groaned against me, lapping up the wetness he found there, the sound vibrating through my core.
Then I felt it again, the chill of melting ice, trailing along my inner thigh so tantalizingly close to the aching need between my legs. My hips twitched, desperate to close, but his hand splayed wide against my thigh. A warning.
The ice crested over the top of my mound, teasing me, before finally brushing directly over the swollen bud.
I cried out.
My arms strained against the belt, back arching off the bed as if I could escape the sensation—but there was nowhere to go. Only him. Only this.
He pressed it there again, letting me burn, letting me scream, letting me fight, before reprieve came by way of the scorching pressure of his tongue.
Deliberate, firm licks at first. Then his lips closed around me, sucking me into his mouth while his fingers slipped lower, spreading me open. He dragged the ice in long, cold strokes along the inside of me, the sharp sting unrelenting.
I turned ragged, body quaking under his mouth. The blindfold made every touch sharper. Too sharp—I was going to go insane if this continued, if I wasn’t able to—
“Damien,” I gasped.
A dark chuckle. “You’re doing so well. I love playing with you.”
The ice passed over my entrance now, the liquid mixing with meltwater in a perfect storm of sensation before slipping inside of me.
“Oh, god!” I screamed, my body clenching around the intrusion. His mouth found my opening with hungry lips. He drank from me, tongue delving deep inside—greedy, frantic.
A noise tore from my throat, rough and broken, my head falling back against the cool sheets.
The darkness behind the blindfold swallowed everything—light, thought, control.
It was too much.
Too much sensation, too much need, too much of him.
The world narrowed to touch and pulse, to the pounding of my heart against the silence.
I was unraveling, thread by thread, and all I could do was fall.
He slid his long fingers beside the melting sliver, urging me closer to the edge with each curl.
A feral cry tore free, thighs shaking as the waves of pleasure built. Building to an impossible height.
“Don’t stop,” I managed, breathlessly.
“Beg for it,” he demanded, teeth pulling gently on my swollen clit, curling his fingers just right.
“Fuck!” I gasped, bucking wildly in his grasp. Grinding in time with his strokes. “Please, Damien!”
“Please what?” he groaned against my flesh.
Pressure mounted, not the electric shock I was used to. The one that built into an insurmountable storm of pleasure threatening release. This time a deep tug pulled at me, spurred on by the relentless rhythm of his fingers.
“Damien—” I gasped. “I need—please!”
“God, I love hearing you beg.” Then—“Come for me, Emma.”
I obeyed, shattering into a thousand pieces, liquid gushing from my body in unexpected waves.
My hips lifted from the bed, cries pouring from my lips as I came against his mouth with helpless, writhing abandon. The darkness behind my eyes exploded into a thousand stars.
Warm liquid soaked the sheets beneath us, but he didn’t stop. He licked me through every wave, drinking down every drop, his grip strong and sure as he held me open.
When I finally collapsed back onto the bed, shaking and spent, he pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “That’s my girl.”
And then he was moving—freeing my wrists from the headboard, the belt still snug around them. His body shifted over mine, and what he’d pulled from me moments before dripped from him, cool against my flushed skin.
His hands found my waist, firm and certain, and in one effortless motion he lifted me from the sheets.
I gasped as the world tilted, legs instinctively wrapping around him.
He drew me upright, one arm braced at my lower back, pressing me against his chest, our hearts a single frantic rhythm between us.
There was no warning. No slow tease. He guided my body down onto his cock in one firm, devastating motion, stretching me wide, filling me so deep and sudden that my breath seized.
“F—fuck!” I cried out, head falling back as I dug my nails into his shoulders.
His fingers closed around both wrists at once and wrenched them down, dragging my arms behind my back in one commanding motion.
I cried out as he tightened his pull, forcing my spine to curve, my breasts to thrust forward into the cool air. My nipples tightened painfully, exposed and aching.
The grip was firm. Unyielding. A shiver tore through me—sharp as lightning and just as alive.
“God, look at you,” he growled, leaning down to suck me into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive peak. I pressed myself into him, letting loose a loud scream.
“Not expecting that, were you?” he whispered, dragging his mouth to the other side, teeth scraping.
I whimpered, unable to form words.
One hand tightened at my waist, the other firm around my bound wrists.
Then he moved me, using the strength in his arms to control the pace, the depth, as he lifted me up only to impale me again and again and again.
I was nothing but softness in his grasp, shaking, blindfolded and speared on his cock like a toy he refused to give up.
“God, you feel good,” he growled. “So wet. So fucking tight.”
The bed creaked beneath us with every thrust, the slap of skin on skin growing faster, harder, filthier. My cries turned ragged. The pleasure was too much, too deep, too fast.
“Do you want to come, love?” he asked, voice rough and hungry.
“Yes—yes. God, yes!” I choked out, everything fading into darkness, into the abyss. The last coherent thought in my mind. A beg. A plea for release. And then I was gone.
“Then do it,” he growled, reaching between us, putting pressure on my aching clit—the friction shooting fireworks off in the darkness. “Come on my cock as I fill you.”
I broke apart with a cry that tore through the room.
He didn’t stop, hips bucking wildly into me as he chased his own release, relentless and fierce.
I was adrift in the black, warmth gathering at the edges of my mind like a blanket.
His rhythm grew frantic, uneven. He thrust up into me with a roar, his cock pulsing, filling me with his release as I spasmed around him, milking every last drop.
He held me there, even as the tension eased from his body—his pulse slowing, his grip loosening, the storm between us giving way to quiet.