ure you eat—forcefeed
you. I could get used to this.”
Taking another spoonful, he offers me more. This time
I keep my mouth shut and shake my head, and he lets it
slowly melt on the spoon so that the melted ice cream
drips, onto my throat, onto my chest. He dips down and
very slowly licks it off. My body lights up with longing.
“Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele.”
I pull against my restraints and the bed creaks
ominously, but I don’t care—I’m burning with desire, it’s
consuming me. He takes another spoonful and lets the ice
cream dribble onto my breasts. Then with the back of the
cream dribble onto my breasts. Then with the back of the
spoon, he spreads it over each breast and nipple.
Oh . . . it’s cold. Each nipple peaks and hardens
beneath the cool of the vanilla.
“Cold?” Christian asks softly and bends to lick and
suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot
compared to the cool of the ice.
Oh my. It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream
runs off me in rivulets on to the bed. His lips continue their
slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly—Oh please!—
I’m panting.
“Want some?” And before I can confirm or deny his
offer, his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled
and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.
And just as I am getting used to the sensation, he sits
up again and trails a spoonful of ice cream down the center
of my body, across my stomach, and into my na一vel where
he deposits a large dollop of ice cream. Oh, this is chillier
than before, but weirdly it burns.
“Now, you’ve done this before.” Christian’s eyes
shine. “You’re going to ha一ve to stay still, or there will be
ice cream all over the bed.” He kisses each of my breasts
and sucks each of my nipples hard, then follows the line of
ice cream down my body, sucking and licking as he goes.
And I try, I try to stay still despite the heady
combination of cold and his inflaming touch. But my hips
start to move involuntarily, gyrating to their own rhythm,
cau
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