CHAPTER 74
Troy
AFTER I’VE SHOWERED I head downstairs to get us another glass of water—we’ve been needing a lot of that tonight.
But when I walk into the kitchen and see Ana in a tiny bath towel, a bright pinky red popsicle in one hand, leaning her stomach against the marble counter, very calculatedly I move in the opposite end from her, closer to the fridge to get myself a glass.
And once I do, I keep an important bridge of distance between us because we need sleep even though the very notion of it seems ridiculous and useless when the adrenaline running through my veins hasn’t waned. Not for a second.
Not even a little.
Tilting her chin toward me like she finds the move amusing, she teases, “What are you doing, Larsson?”
“Being a good boy,” I say, also very calculatedly looking in the other direction.
“C’mere,” she lures. “I don’t bite.”
“Yeah, but I might.” Flicking my gaze at her—a shit move because my God she looks beautiful—I catch the tiny droplets of water falling from her messy, damp tendrils landing around her on the marble as she darts her tongue out to take another lick of her popsicle, now very blatantly trying to bait me with it.
She notices me staring, my eyes glued to the cold dessert that’s now coating her fingers red, completely misinterpreting my thoughts, or exactly knowing what she’s doing.
Either way, with a simple lick to a corner of her mouth, Ana lifts her eyes to mine, extending her arm out at me with a hilarious question.
“Do you want a bite?”
Yes. Yes, I fucking do.
Setting my glass on the marble, a dangerous fantasy that’s been brewing in my head for a while—way before the Fourth of July this year where she fucking tested my patience like no one has before—I stride right toward her, buzzing—because I’ve never done this—and impatient—because I can’t wait to do this.
Then she does the cutest thing ever; she grabs a napkin from a drawer to try and rest her popsicle on it.
“No,” I say, feeling my voice grow feral. “Hold onto it and keep licking until I tell you to stop.”
Suddenly extremely glad that I got her favorite strawberry popsicles from the store the other day and that she chose to have one, my heart swells at the fact that Ana’s indulging in sweets in a way that she did when we were younger.
Without any shame on her features, only satisfaction and even some gluttony.
The notion makes me so damn proud of her that I briefly forget what I meant to do until she gives a quick, small lick to her lips to remove the stickiness over her mouth when I see a fucking sight to behold. Her perfect tongue stained in red.
That, ruins everything.
Ruins my patience, my discipline, and a whole lot of polite thoughts that escape my brain as I give a restless tug to her towel, tearing it open.
Her lips part but she keeps licking, the way I told her to, watching me with a kind of curiosity that splits my chest open.
Sinking to my knees, I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, kissing, nibbling along the soft skin of her inner thighs, already feeling her legs wobble just at that when I raise a hand up to her for her to latch onto.
She grips my fingers like she’s holding onto them for dear life, letting me hold her steady.
When I look up, an arrow nearly cuts through my heart.
Her cheeks flushed. Pale skin rosy and bright all over from the hot shower that I know she had. That I know she loves. The glaze of strawberry running all over her fucking skin. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want her. The ways I want her. The ways I’ve never wanted anyone else.
I blink just to see straight again, overwhelmed by it all—by her.
And with one lift around her other leg, I drop us to the floor.
A teardrop of the cold strawberry liquid falls from her now melting dessert, landing on her collarbone, and the valley between her breasts.
Her back against the edge of a cabinet, I hear the strong breath she sucks in when my tongue flattens over her neck before it licks down the whole pinky red trail clean.
Ana shoves both her hands aggressively into my hair, the kind she only does when my face is tucked deep between her legs, and I know it’s from the cold, the sensation tingling against the heat from her arousal.
“Troy, please,” she begs, her voice hoarse. “Lick me.”
Smirking against her skin like I just didn’t already do that, I know what she means, what she wants, but she needs to be patient.
And so I tell her exactly that.
“Patient, baby.” I lick my lips at how tight her nipples have gotten. “I’m almost there.”
She moans, waiting, dying by all the edging, but when she takes another lick of her popsicle and then I lean in and finally take one as well, I push my lips into hers, our cold tongues twirling around each other’s before I quickly pull mine out, I hurry down her body until I’ve reached the flickering pulse by her hips, and I lick a long stripe from the bottom of her cunt all the way to the top.
“Oh my God!” Ana shouts. “Do that again.”
So I do. A good ten more times until her legs squirm around in the air, her delicious juices running down her thighs and down my chin.
By the way her mouth drops open I can tell she’s close but I can also tell she’s wanting to drag this out, wanting to edge herself so that when that final cut of pleasure hits her, it burns that much better.
We’re one in the same in that way, the two of us.
So when I land on the frozen fruit that’s now half-melted, melted enough for it not to hurt her, I take the popsicle from Ana’s hand as she tries to clear her vision to see what I’m going to do with it.
“I’ve never done this before, just so you know,” I bark out, watching her brows crease in a growing lust. “That’s how fucking wild you make me, Ana. That I look at a popsicle and think, ‘I want to fuck her with this’.”
“Mmmm,” she moans loud, her toes digging down the column of my spine, raw, primal, pushing my t-shirt up with each tug.
I dangle the popsicle right above her pretty pussy, pressing it directly onto her clit this time, and she whimpers so loud, her hips circle into the air with reckless abandon before I quickly swirl my tongue around the delicate flesh, sucking the cold strawberry off her tangy, swollen nub, warming her again.
The second time I do it, her fingers leave my hair as if needing something stronger to hold onto, to claw into, her legs trembling as she hooks one hand above her to grab onto the handle of a cabinet, the third time I do it, her other hand doing the same.
And when she finally comes, her features all stretched taut, her chest, the way it rises, the way her back arches into the air, the way she looks so free and wanton, it’s why I knew this would be dangerous.
Dangerous, because I want more.