Then he stands and lifts his shirt over his head.
He undoes his jeans and drops them to the floor.
He is gloriously naked. My inner goddess is doing a
triple axel dismount off the uneven bars, and abruptly my
mouth is dry. He really is beyond beautiful. He has a
physique drawn on classical lines: broad muscular
shoulders, narrow hips, the inverted triangle. He obviously
works out. I could look at him all day. He moves to the
end of the bed and grasps my ankles, pulling me swiftly
and sharply downward so that my arms are stretched out
and unable to move.
“That’s better,” he mutters.
Picking up the tub of ice cream, he climbs smoothly
back onto the bed to straddle me once more. Very slowly,
he peels off the lid of the tub and dips the spoon in.
“Hmm . . . it’s still quite hard,” he says with a raised
brow. Scooping out a spoonful of the vanilla, he pops it
into his mouth. “Delicious,” he murmurs, licking his lips.
“Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste.” He gazes
down at me and smirks. “Want some?” he teases.
He looks so freaking hot, young and carefree—sitting
on me and eating from a tub of ice cream—eyes bright,
face luminous. Oh what the hell is he going to do to me?
As if I can’t tell. I nod, shyly.
He scoops out another spoonful and offers me the
spoon, so I open my mouth, then he quickly pops it in his
mouth again.
“This is too good to share,” he says, smiling wickedly.
“Hey,” I start in protest.
“Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?”
“Yes,” I say more forcefully than I mean and try in vain
to buck him off.
He laughs. “Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn’t do that if
I were you.”
“Ice cream,” I plead.
“Ice cream,” I plead.
“Well, as you’ve pleased me so much today, Miss
Steele.” He relents and offers me another spoonful. This
time he lets me eat it.
I want to giggle. He’s really enjoying himself, and his
good humor is infectious. He scoops another spoonful and
feeds me some more, then he does it again. Okay,
enough.
“Hmm, well, this is one way to ens
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