Ice Hot

by Tracy Goodwin

  He meets my eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” It’s more of a grunt, and louder than I intended. It makes him smile.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He peels the sliver of lace fabric down to my knees, expelling a heated breath over my sex before placing a soft, moist kiss on my clit. My heart jolts in response, and I clutch the leather cushion for support. Everything within me is tingling with electricity.

  “You’re so smooth,” he whispers between my thighs, then licks me deep and hard. His beard is scratchy, heightening the sensations that make me wet. It causes me to shudder so violently that I nibble on my forefinger to stop myself from screaming.

  Moaning, I arch my back and inhale a sharp breath. In response, he thrusts my legs wider still. Deeper his tongue plunges. He nips, and sucks, and makes my core throb and my blood rush harder, faster, in my veins. I grasp his hair and arch higher still as he explores me further. No man has ever been this deep inside me with his tongue, and no man has ever ignited such a yearning for more. No man has ever tried. That’s why I’ll ride this euphoria for as long as it lasts.

  No turning back and no regrets. I’m his. His to taste, to tease, to arouse, and he is skilled at it. Though he’s deeper inside me than anyone before him, I still want more, I’m moaning for more, undulating for more, until tremors wrack my body, engulfing me in waves of heat so intense that my ears ring.

  This is no average orgasm. This is an Oh, my God, I’m going to scream orgasm. And throughout, his tongue and teeth continue to lick, nibble, and arouse me. He swallows every ounce of my pleasure until my muscles are weak and I’m dying for him to enter me with his cock.

  He lies atop me, and I unbutton his shirt, then explore his springy chest hair and his six-pack. His abs are rock solid, with one exception: they twitch beneath my fingertips. My touch is kindling his own desire. I want more. So does he. That’s all the encouragement I need as I shove his shirt over his shoulders, then toss it to the floor.

  Lying on top of me, flesh against flesh, Christian’s baritone is rough. “I’m not getting laid tonight. You said so.”

  I grind my pussy against his crotch, against his firm erection. He wants me. I can feel it, even through the expensive fabric of his pants. “I changed my mind.” My words are a throaty murmur as I tug him toward me and kiss him. My scent, my taste, lingers on his lips and neatly trimmed beard.

  His kiss is gentle, protective, and commanding all at once. His hand cups one of my breasts, gently at first, then hard as his kisses become more intense, more prolonged, more seductive. When he releases me, he asks, “Why no one-nighters?”

  I try hard to ignore the fact that I’m throbbing from his intimacies. He branded me, that’s for sure. Still, it isn’t enough. Not when I’ve tasted what it’s like to be pleasured fully. Unselfishly. For the first time in my life. By someone who is seductive and awakens my sex like no one else. The combination makes me want him so badly that it hurts.

  Christian rests his weight on his arms and stares at me. Waiting for an answer. I don’t want to tell him why I don’t allow myself one-night stands. What happened on my sixteenth birthday defined my future, but I don’t easily discuss it. I haven’t confided in anyone about that except my best friend, Becca.

  Deeply etched creases line his eyes, now a deep, smoky quartz. He won’t let this rest. He wants an answer and, after what he just made me feel, maybe I owe him one. “I prefer relationships because I need trust.”

  Who am I kidding? “I have high standards, and am married to my business, so I don’t find time for many relationships. It’s easier that way.”

  Confusion, or maybe it’s concern, forms a line in his brow. “Why?”

  Swallowing hard, I can still taste my cum. Reminding me that Christian devoured me and I allowed him to. Better yet, I savored it. No guy has been this gritty, this unapologetically sexual, with me before. It’s hard to find the words through the haze of longing that makes my throat dry and hoarse. “It’s nothing.”

  He plants his palm against my throbbing sex, gently rubbing my clit with his coarse thumb. “Honesty, or no more. Remember the rules?”

  I nod. When I speak at last, my words are throaty. “When I was sixteen, I was kissed for the first time by a guy I was crushing on. I thought it was the start of something. He thought of me as another conquest. He made a bet with his friends that the fat girl would give in. Their words, not mine. I was a real-size girl struggling to fit in at a prep school where everyone was thinner and prettier.”

  That’s the truth. I don’t know if we’re playing that game anymore, but I can’t lie. That’s the reason I don’t trust easily. That’s the reason I bury myself in work. No matter how hard I convinced myself that it was in the past or that it didn’t matter, I still need to trust someone to be intimate with him. I won’t let myself be used ever again. It has to be on my terms. And the guys I find never seem to be the right fit. Certainly, none of them have ever made me feel what Christian has.

  Holding my breath, I wait for him to say something. I just confided a secret not many know. I’m a former prep school loser with trust issues who has been used, body shamed, and who allowed one incident to control me until I put barriers in place and denied myself sex. He’s a big-time hockey star who can have whoever he wants whenever he wants. We couldn’t be less alike. I’m sure I’ve scared him off. I think I’m scaring myself off…Maybe I should go.

  I tug the fabric of my dress to cover myself, but he clamps my wrists to keep me in place.

  “You predicted we’d court trouble if you came home with me,” he mutters, his voice raspy, as his lips hover over mine.

  Speechless, my ache for him intensifies, waiting for what he will say next. Fearing that it won’t be what I want to hear, while at the same time fearing that it will.

  “We’re in trouble, Serena.” His chest rests against mine, and I feel his heart pounding hard as his words begin to register. He laces his fingers through mine. “This isn’t a one-night stand so, I’m gonna have to work to earn your trust.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  He kisses my neck, sending shivers through my body. “Yes, I do. I want all of you.” Another nip with his teeth, this time on my earlobe. “I want to know all about you.”

  My phone vibrates. It fell on the floor around the time Christian unzipped my dress and has been vibrating ever since.

  “Let me drive you to Becca’s. We can schedule our first date.” He nips my breast once more before covering it with the fabric from my dress. “Shit, it sucks being noble.”

  I coax his lips with mine, stroking his tongue, promising him more, much more. When we’re both breathless, I say, “As much as I want to say I trust you—and I do want to—maybe waiting is good. It’ll be worth it.”

  Again, my cell vibrates, and Christian helps me to my feet. “I know it will.” His words are rich, like decadent dark chocolate. I want him more than ever. It’s a hunger now that both excites and worries me. Can I keep my heart and sex separate? It sounds easy enough, but something tells me it will be more complicated than simple mind over matter.

  Sure enough, as we walk out to his car, I begin thinking catastrophe avoided. He’ll wake up in the morning and decide he doesn’t want a fat girl. I mean, let’s be real—I’m not his type in the least. Not that I think I’m not worthy of him, or any guy for that matter, but why get myself into a situation where I could potentially get hurt? Yeah, leaving is the right move, because when he calls? I’m not going to be home. Nip this in the bud before the hurt sets in. Return to my comfort zone. Where everything is familiar. I exhale a deep breath.

  He opens his car door for me and I text Becca that I’m on my way. Christian slides into the driver’s seat, clicks his seatbelt in place, and starts the ignition. Then he rests his hand on my knee, caressing my flesh with his thumb, and I throb for h
im worse than ever.

  When we stop in Becca’s driveway, we make plans for dinner at his house, the day after next. Right before I head back to Manhattan. He opens the passenger door for me and kisses me one last time. His smoky gaze is ablaze with golden flecks, reflecting the gas lamps that flank Becca’s condo. I walk through the front door and watch through the leaded glass as Christian’s taillights disappear into the distance.

  Holy shit, what am I doing? I lean against the sturdy door for support, my thoughts running wild. Don’t think about it. A fling with the god of hockey won’t go anywhere. At least nowhere I’ll like. The man has dated models, for God’s sake. Lots of models. Still, he seems really into me. He had his opportunity to bail but didn’t. Damn it, I’m making too much of this, my mind suddenly working overtime.

  The last thing I wanted was complicated, and that is the very thing I got tonight. Though I’m comfortable in my skin, the question lingers…is Christian for real or is he pretending? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been fooled. Though I’m older, wiser, and much more jaded, I wonder if I can spot a liar better now. I remember Christian’s admission, that his vices consist of challenges and winning. Am I just a challenge? Like I was to…

  “For God’s sake, Serena, get it together,” I mutter under my breath. After all, Christian has been nothing but…what did he say? Noble? It’s true, he was. He could’ve had sex with me, but didn’t out of respect. The asshole who ruined my sixteenth birthday wasn’t respectful at all. There were warning signs I chose to ignore. A snigger with his friends here, pulling me aside so no one saw us together there.

  I have no reason to believe Christian is lying to me or leading me on. In fact, he was fine declaring his attraction to me in a bar full of teammates and fans. Fuck the asshole who made me mistrust. Tonight was too incredible to let him ruin it by messing with my head again.

  Besides, only time will tell. Either Christian keeps our date or he doesn’t. What do I care, when my body is limp and my sex is swollen from his tongue and beard, when my core quivers from the mere memory of how amazing Christian felt?

  Deciding that I need to gather my thoughts before facing Becca, I head straight to my room. First a nice warm shower. Then I’ll face Becca, and dive back into work. That should take my mind off Christian. At least I hope so.

  Chapter 4

  Serena

  “You look exhausted.” Becca yawns as she inserts her pod of choice, places her mug under the Keurig, and presses the button. The water’s already hot, since I’m sucking down my third cup this morning. Yes, I’m tired. That’s what happens when my best friend is already asleep when I’m finally ready to tell her all about my encounter with Christian. I have insomnia on a good night and, with no Project Runway reruns to relax me, I began researching the mega sports star I was just intimate with. What I found kept me awake for hours.

  I close the tab on my browser that shows the images of all the models Christian has ever dated. Well, there might be more. Upon further reflection, I’m sure there are more. Gulping my coffee, I stare at the open tab to my website, trying to forget how many others there might have been while reminding myself that it doesn’t matter.

  Becca peers over my shoulder. “Getting work done.”

  Nodding, I place my mug next to my laptop on the large island in the center of the kitchen with tall barstools on one side. “Yep. Already answered emails, spoke to our fabric manufacturer about the custom design, and am updating the site. I also called and checked in with the boutique. Sales were solid yesterday.”

  While I devoted most of my time to searching for everything I could about Christian, I did manage to get some work done by the time Becca awoke. Which is great, since that’s the reason my design team is spending the weekend at Becca’s condo. To have a relaxing yet work-filled weekend. We’re planning the future of my company, Coeur de Serene. In addition to the boutique, I have a new line about to launch featuring fabrics with prints by a local, still unknown, artist who is incredibly talented. He represents the first phase of my plan to help unknown artists springboard their careers, to give them a shot at the big time. Well, as big time as my little company can provide. I’m no Donatella Versace, Vera Wang, Diane von Furstenberg, or Betsey Johnson. At least not yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. My goal is to do what I love, and right now I am.

  I may be distracted by last night, but the show goes on. This is my life—my designs, and my business. I’ve laid everything on the line for my work. That comes first. No matter what mind-blowing orgasm Christian gave me last night. Not even when that orgasm was in complete contrast to every intimacy I have shared with boyfriends who knew me far better.

  How did Christian instinctively know what I wanted, what I needed, when I never knew such an explosive and earth-shattering climax even existed? Because he has experience. Lots of it. My inner voice has surpassed the level of annoying and is on the brink of shattering my sanity. My fingers tremble. In response, I take another sip of coffee. Just what I need in my current state, more caffeine. Further proof that I’m losing my mind.

  After adding organic creamer to her iced coffee, Becca downs half of it while leaning against the kitchen counter. The layout of the condo is simple. The kitchen is open, leading to the great room and stairs to the second-floor bedrooms. Since we’re staying here for the weekend, there isn’t much time for Christian, which may or may not be a good thing. With the ridiculous way I’ve reacted to last night, I’m leaning toward good right about now.

  My foot taps impatiently against my barstool as she sits beside me. Though I am dying to tell her about last night, I know not to go into details until she is caffeinated.

  “Okay. Go. But first, why didn’t you wake me? You should have. I fell asleep with my cell in my hand.” Becca settles in while I shove my laptop to the side.

  “I wanted to. I just didn’t know what to say.” Leaning my elbows against the counter, I thread my fingers through my hair. This is what I do when I’m stressed. Becca often jokes that it’s a wonder I’m not bald.

  There’s so much to say. Too much. That’s what makes this so difficult. Confiding in my best friend, which is always second nature, has become an inner struggle for me. Start with the basics. “Christian is smart, funny, hot as hell, with a tongue that should be in the hall of fame. He is one huge adrenaline rush and I am so out of my element it isn’t funny.”

  Though I study the swirls in the granite, completely avoiding eye contact with my best friend, I can still feel Becca’s intense stare boring through me. “Oh, my God, you had sex with him!” She isn’t the least bit subtle. She might as well have used a megaphone.

  “Not so loud. My brother is upstairs,” I manage through clenched teeth, then add, “Kind of.”

  Her jaw drops. “It’s a yes-or-no answer, Serena. Either you did or—oh! Holy shit, seriously?”

  My cheeks are hot. I’m not wearing any makeup and am sure I’m blushing the shade of a lobster.

  “Holy shit!” She slams her mug down on the granite with a loud clank. “Him or you?”

  “Him on me?” I think I understand her question.

  My use of the word tongue should have been a giveaway, but Becca’s in some sort of loop. “Holy shit.” It’s all she can say.

  “Stop it. I need your advice, not shock that he would—”

  “No. I’m not shocked that he’d want to. I’m shocked that you let him.” Becca leans back, scrutinizing me like I’m a lab rat. “You’ve got to be into him.”

  I roll my eyes. “What’s there not to be into?”

  “No. Not what I meant. You’re not superficial.”

  “I’m a clothing designer—”

  “For real women.” She grabs my laptop, pointing to the page I’m currently updating on my website, and reads: “ ‘Serena Ellis’s eco-friendly clothing and accessories line centers around her own philosophy t
hat looks, weight, and social status don’t define a woman. That’s why she designs for real women, because size is a number, not an attitude.’ ”

  “Stop using my words against me. I hate it when you do that.” I slam my laptop shut before standing, carrying my mug to the sink.

  “You don’t do casual, Serena.” Her tone is less critical this time around.

  Becca has always been my outlet, my sounding board, my support system. I struck the lottery when I met her at prep school. Then we shared an apartment while I was at Parsons and she was at NYU. We’ve been inseparable ever since. Becca saved me from my family hell by opening her family’s spacious condo to me. I stayed with them on weekends, school holidays, and during the summer. I have my own room here, which is why I bought a car. I don’t need one in Manhattan, but for our frequent getaways, it’s the least I can do.

  Through the highs of our first kisses to the lows of humiliating breakups and heartbreak, we’ve always been there for each other. Even when I cried no more relationships, which Becca still thinks is a bad idea. Especially when I refuse one-night stands. Because both decisions lead to no sex.

  My sexual drought is a notion Becca can’t fathom, which is why she gifts me a sex toy each year on my birthday. I don’t want to count how many years it’s been since I’ve allowed someone into my me zone. Becca’s phrase, not mine.

  Leaning against the sink, I study her. Tall and thin, with a dark, angular bob and high cheekbones, she wears an expression of concern and confusion. Join the club. I’m confused as hell. “Last night I gave in to this primal lust that I never knew I was capable of. Honestly, Becca. I don’t know what I do anymore.”

  There, I admitted it. What’s been unsettling at me since last night. My actions were so not me that I can’t help but question who I am. “I wanted to go further, but he stopped us. My no-one-nighter rule went out the window, but Christian—the womanizer of hockey—wouldn’t take advantage. Hell, he was sweet at the gas station, even though I was a total bitch, and he was nothing like I expected last night. He’s nice, he’s real…How weird is that? A nice jock?”