Ice-Cold Lover

by Mel Teshco

  The wall was suddenly behind her and she thrust her arms out of the backpack and let it fall to the floor. His outspread hands cupped her bare ass while she slipped her fingertips beneath his shirt, along the implacable, sinewy strength of his shoulders, down the firm length of his spine with the raised lettering, and then the rippling bands of his abs.

  Her pussy twitched, slick with need. And she all but licked her lips as Pascal pulled his mouth from hers.

  His shrewd eyes glittering, he unzipped his pants and released his cock. It was hard, thick and primed to explode. And without any preliminaries, any foreplay whatsoever, he drove his hips forward, impaled her with his meat, stretching the walls of her cunt right to the edge of exquisite pain.

  “Oh!” She flung her head back, the wall digging into her scalp as she mewled with pleasure-pain. Then he was pulling back, taunting her for a moment when he rotated his hips, the head of his cock probing the entrance of her moist cunt. On the verge of begging for his return inside her, he slammed back into her tight walls, rocking in and out with ever-increasing speed, his eyes never once leaving hers, the cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief.

  He dropped her lower and tilted her pelvis up, grinding his cock inside her pussy at a whole different angle. She gasped out a startled breath and, without warning, abruptly imploded with an orgasm that had her toes curl and her throat convulse while she groaned release.

  Pascal’s nostrils flared, his jaw locking tight. A second later he jammed his hips forward, bellowing her name as he came, his seed jetting long and hot inside her.

  They were both breathing heavy as she finally untangled her legs from around his waist and dropped onto the hardwood floor. And at the most unlikely moment she put a hand to her mouth and smothered a yawn.

  He shook his head and grinned, hooking an arm around her waist before saying throatily, “Time for bed.”

  Her eyelids drooped and she realized she’d had no sleep the last twenty-four hours. “Will I be safe?” she had to ask.

  “Yes. For now.”

  “For now?” she echoed, her voice husky and thick as treacle with the afterglow of intimacy.

  He kissed her brow, his lips tender. “Yes.” He drew her toward what appeared to be the only bedroom in the tiny beach house. “This is a friend of a friend’s holiday house. I’m guessing we’ll have a day, maybe two before my father tracks us down.”

  “And then?”

  “First you need your sleep.” He grinned when she threw him a need-to-know look, dropping a kiss then to the tip of her nose before added softly, “Then I have a proposition for you.”

  Chapter Five

  Celeste woke to the crash of waves on the not too distant shore, the screech of seagulls overhead and an empty space on the bed beside her where Pascal had been.

  She stretched, enjoying the bliss stealing over her as she fully awakened. That she felt safe with Pascal was a given. That she felt comfortable around him—along with so many other feelings—leant a lethargy to the satisfaction she’d never once experienced before.

  Her belly rumbled as she breathed in the scents of frying bacon, eggs and a waft of toast just done.

  Pascal appeared in the doorway, his blue-black hair rumpled and damp from the shower, or perhaps a swim, his chest bare and his long pants riding low on his washboard abs. “You’re awake, Sleeping Beauty.” He grinned. “I’ve cooked up some breakfast. And there’s orange juice and coffee.”

  Her mouth watered, but it had little to do with the menu. “Thank you.”

  Suddenly she felt self-conscious again in a whole new way. Not from her wings, which were still sheathed beneath her dress, but from a connection they now shared between them…an awareness she couldn’t deny.

  She swallowed hard. “I might have a shower first.”

  “Of course.” He swept an arm toward the door of what was obviously an en suite, and probably the only bathroom in the cabin. “I put a towel on the rail for you earlier, and there’s soap, shampoo. Everything you need.” Swinging around to return to breakfast duties, he tossed over a shoulder, “I think I’m becoming domesticated. Who’d have thought?”

  She couldn’t stop the bolt of pleasure surging through her veins at his comment—though she held no expectations they would be lovers for any great length of time. They were each renowned for their single lives. Pascal liked variety, a different woman for every occasion. She too loved sex, but without the complications of intimacy and touch.

  Until now.

  She gritted her teeth against the sudden shift of her emotions: hope, need…love.

  Love? No! After years of striving to be emotionally barren, she would not succumb to such weakness now! Besides, she’d be nothing short of a fool to expect more between them than what they already had.

  She jerked out of bed, desperate to put a stop to her wayward thoughts.

  Spying her backpack against the bedroom wall—Pascal must have put it there while she slept—Celeste dragged out underwear, denim shorts and a simple, emerald green t-shirt.

  In the cream-tiled en suite with marine feature tiles, she stripped off her clothes before stepping under the hot shower.

  She stretched out her wings, sighing with bliss as the water streamed over the bony upper ribs and the fanned out, paper-thin leathery length. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the water to spill over her face.

  At the sudden tread behind her, she sucked in a startled breath, involuntarily retracting her wings as Pascal joined her in the shower.

  “No. Don’t do that!” he said huskily. “Please, open your wings.”

  Warmth suffused her, a slow burn that moved through her veins and sizzled between her thighs, leaving her hot all over. “Okay,” she whispered, allowing her wings to fan out, then curling them around to fit the eight-foot span inside the shower stall.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out to caress the bony structure of her wings, the tissue-thin webbing.

  She closed her eyes, letting out the softest sigh. Every nerve-ending along her wings vibrated in response, came alive under his hands, his touch an intimacy that bordered on sacrosanct.

  “What…what about breakfast?” she managed to squeak.

  “It can wait.” Then he was unclipping her hair, running his hands through the strands and saturating them under the showerhead.

  He squeezed out a blob of coconut-scented shampoo and massaged it through her hair, her scalp, his hands kneading and stroking until she couldn’t help but let out a groan of bliss. She tilted her head forward to rinse out the shampoo, and then he was tugging her head back gently, lathering her hair with conditioner.

  His deft hands not once strayed below her neck, yet her whole body thrummed with pleasure, her nipples sharp points aching for his touch.

  Only after she’d rinsed out the conditioner did his hands move low to cup her heavy breasts, his thumb and forefingers stroking her nipples until she wondered if she just might faint with need.

  His hands dropped lower still, bracketing her hips. His mouth brushed over her ear. “Are you ready for me?”

  Yes. Oh Lord, yes! But right then she couldn’t have answered him had her life depended on it.

  She saw the glint of his teeth as he knowingly grinned, then he was suckling the sensitive flesh along her throat, his ever-hard cock pushing insistently against her, scraping her back, her buttocks. And suddenly she ached to bent down, expose herself to him fully before thrusting her hips back and sheathing his cock inside her hungry cunt.

  Instead, with a desperate mewl she rested her head against his chest and spread her legs wide, losing herself to the sensation of his forefinger sliding deep inside the channel of her pussy.

  “You like that?” he growled possessively. And as she nodded jerkily he sunk another finger deep inside, his thumb rolling over her clit.

  “Oh!” she said weakly, grinding against his touch with little involuntary movements that pushed her even closer to the brink of c
limax.

  Abruptly, Pascal spun her around. She sighed, aching with frustration and need.

  He cupped her face, watching her with glittering eyes while the shower pummeled around them and steam filled the air. His voice low and husky, he said, “I want to make long, slow love to you.” His face grew dark and serious. “I want to make every second amazing.”

  Suddenly it was her chest that ached. Her eyes blurred and she nodded once again, unable to formulate anything coherent. His adoration stunned her. She could only have been more surprised if he’d said, “I love you.”

  He shut off the water before opening the steam-fogged glass door and following her through. She stood still as he took his time wringing out her long hair, his hands gentle when the strands snarled and entangled.

  He dried the rest of her slowly, pulling the towel back and forth across her ass, her back, then gently smudging the water from her retracted wings, her ankles and thighs until she felt as though she was his most precious possession.

  Her lips quivered and then pulled into a cheerless little smile. He might not own her, but he’d managed to take her most cherished commodity.

  Her heart.

  She released a little breath, content somehow with this life-altering affirmation. Better she faced the facts and dealt with the repercussions head-on, than be crushed by the sudden realization when she watched him walk out of her life.

  But then, when his dark head moved forward, his tongue replacing the towel as he licked glistening droplets from the triangle of her pussy, she forgot about everything but the moment.

  “Spread your legs,” he commanded hoarsely.

  Somehow she found the strength to step apart. His hands opened her flesh and his head arrowed to her center. When she felt the touch of his tongue lapping at the sensitized flesh of her clit, sampling it along with the pink flesh of her cunt like she was the most delicious lollipop on two legs, her breath whooshed out on a cry.

  She gripped his head and whimpered, “You’re going to make me come.”

  Pascal looked up, his gaze heated, his smile smug. “You want me to stop?”

  Resisting the urge to push his head back to where it belonged just then, she whimpered, “No.” When he stood, she squeaked, “What are you doing?”

  Hooking an arm around her waist, the other behind her knees, he lifted her easily, striding out of the en suite and into the bedroom as he growled, “Finishing what I started.” His expression was pure, possessive male. “And this time, no interruptions.”

  He pressed her onto the bed and she smiled up at him, feeling so gloriously, wonderfully alive. When she pushed her upper torso off the bed, he paused, half-bent over her as she stretched out one of her wings and used the leathery tip to caress beneath his jaw.

  Her throat felt thick. Did he have any idea how much this simple act meant to her? “I’ve wanted to touch you like this…with my wings, for so long now,” she admitted.

  He pushed his lightly-whiskered jaw into her wingtip, rubbing against her like a sleek, big cat. “You can touch me whenever, however, you want.” He turned and pressed a kiss to her wing’s filmy skin, and she shivered with the immediate gunshot of pleasure firing through her nerves.

  Then he was straddling her, his expression tender but hot as his head lowered, his mouth covering hers, their lips melding, tongues meeting, dancing. With his forearms holding his weight either side of her, she used her hands, her wingtips, to caress the long length of his spine, his supple, corded back and lower, to the firm curve of his ass cheeks.

  His cock kicked against her belly, the hard length causing her to squirm with wild, wanton need. He groaned when she broke the kiss to voice hoarsely, “I want your cock in me. I want your hands on me.” She gasped as his mouth slid down her neck, his whiskered cheek delicately scraping over her skin. “Please!”

  He lifted his head, his amber eyes hard, hot and possessive. “I told you I’d worship your body, make long, beautiful love to you.” His mouth quirked into devilish grin as he murmured, “Perhaps later, hmm?”

  He didn’t impale her in one shock-fulfilling lunge like she anticipated. He tormented her first, the weeping head of his cock brushing between her thighs, scraping her clit, her vulva, and making her moan with urgency before his cock slid ever so slowly inside her pussy.

  She spread her thighs wide and then crossed her ankles behind him, pulling him down, driving his cock all the way into her tight cunt.

  His breath hissed, his facial muscles tightening. Then he lifted his hips and withdrew his cock almost all the way. His eyes flared and he thrust all the way back in, his rhythm smooth and effortless as he rocked in and out, hard and fast. Just the way she craved it.

  Her back arched, her nails raking down his back as she came, contracting around his cock, milking it as he exploded inside her cunt with a guttural roar.

  Her legs dropped weakly onto the bed. “Wow.”

  Pascal pressed a kiss to her brow. “I think it’s safe to say…we belong together.”

  She smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy all over, aware for the first time they truly could have a future together. “I think you might be right.”

  He circled his hips, his half-cocked arousal thickening inside her. “I know I’m right.” He pulled out abruptly, and at her startled breath he said huskily, “Breakfast is getting cold.” His smile was warm when he leaned down, giving her a lingering kiss. “And as much as I’m ready to fuck you senseless again right now, I’m willing to bet your body isn’t.”

  He was right. She was paying the price from too much of a good thing. Her tender flesh burned from where it was chafed from overuse.

  Her lashes swept low, watching as he turned away and dragged on his jocks and his black pants, which he’d left beside the en suite door.

  Shirtless, the raised lettering running the length of his spine stood out in sharp relief against his skin, still gleaming from the shower, from their latest bout of lovemaking. It was not a tattoo. The letters appeared to have been branded into his skin. He stilled at the doorway to the dining room-kitchen and asked, “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

  She nodded, curious about his brand, yet feeling deliciously lazy and content. “I’d like that.”

  Five minutes later, they were sharing a plate of over-crispy bacon on limp toast and scrambled eggs that were rubbery, overcooked and cold.

  It was the best meal she’d ever had.

  She sighed, her head resting on Pascal’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

  His arm slipped around her shoulders, his artist-roughened fingertips caressing her forearm. “You and me both,” he said.

  Putting their plate and cutlery onto a side table, he tugged her down beside him on the bed. Facing each other as they lay back, entangled in each other’s arms, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  She drank him in. He was beyond good-looking, an incredibly intelligent man with his magnetism enhanced by a hardness lurking beneath the striking veneer.

  And he was all hers.

  Add the fact she no longer had anything to hide from him, and in that moment she truly felt as if she could walk on air.

  She sighed with bliss, running a hand over his smooth chest with its smattering of dark hairs. “Apart from my parents, you’re the only person who knows the real me.” She tweaked one of his nipples, absently rubbing the puckered ridge. “You have no idea how glad I am we have no secrets.”

  He stiffened, drawing in a sharp breath.

  She bit down on one side of her bottom lip, only too aware of his reaction that had little to do with her touch and all to do with her declaration. Somehow she no longer cared. She was willing to take a risk, tell the whole truth and chance having it all with him…or nothing. “I think I’m falling for you, Pascal.”

  He paled, his eyes widening even as the sheen in her gaze gave away her adoration. His face visibly tumbled with emotions, one after the other. Then he freed his arm from under her and pu
shed away from the bed, from her.

  Her smile wilted, her face burning. God, she really had put it all on the line, trusted her instincts, trusted him, despite his father’s congratulatory words to him on the rooftop. She lifted her chin. She refused to give in to insecurities now, refused to overanalyze his reaction.

  “Celeste.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You said we have no secrets between us…you’re wrong. Very wrong.”

  She took a slow, steady breath. “Your father?”

  He crooked a brow, but his expression was all too serious. “I think it’s easier if I…show you.”

  Her heart sunk to her toes. But she nodded and rocked into a sitting position. About to move off the bed, he lifted a hand.

  “No, please. Stay there.”

  She was trembling, she realized, vacillating between every emotion known and then some. “Okay,” she managed.

  His stare held hers, his expression somber. “The truth is…I fell for you long ago.”

  “You did?” she breathed.

  “Yes. From the moment I had your father investigated…and saw photos of you.”

  Investigated? Her heart flip-flopped almost painfully. She swallowed back a hundred questions. There would be a time and place for them later. For now there were more important ones to clarify. “Why me?”

  I’m nothing special.

  “You captivated me.”

  She didn’t have a reply to that one. Didn’t even try to find one once she saw his jaw harden almost unnaturally, his expression freeze before quickly thawing, his whole demeanor shift.

  His eyes lit up from within, glowed with animalistic light. Wild. Feral. Her mouth dropped open as she saw his throat convulse once, twice. Something cracked—his jaw, she realized numbly. His face rippled as his skull enlarged. And then his whole body lurched, his belly contracting, heaving, before his torso and shoulders expanded, his bones grinding and shifting.