Glacier

by Violet Blaze

  His house is this dinky little white Craftsmen style cottage set back into the trees with two wide columns and a small front porch. When Glacier pulls into the white oyster shell drive, he takes his bike straight up to the garage and the door opens automatically.

  I slow to a crawl and hold my breath as I squeeze in beside him. I mean, it's not too difficult considering there's no car in here, but it's my first day and I'm overly paranoid.

  As soon as I hit the kickstand and kill the engine, I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

  “Holy crap,” I say as I tear the helmet off my head, grinning from ear to ear, unable to hold back the sheer joy in my chest. “Flying down the dark road, next to the ocean like that … and then there's this growling beast between my thighs that I am in control of … There are no words, Glacier. No words.”

  He sets his helmet on his bike and swings his leg over, coming to stand next to me with his blonde hair mussed and a tight almost-smirk on his face.

  “A growling beast between your thighs …” he starts as I glance over and up at him, still sitting on my new bike. I'm almost afraid to stand up, like if I do I'll realize this is all a dream. “That you”—Glacier leans over me and presses his mouth to my ear—“are in control of. You're sure you're talking about the bike? Or maybe you were talking about me?”

  He stands up suddenly, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing hard before he holds out a hand for me to take. I look at the word scrawled across his knuckle in ink, and then I reach out and take it, letting him pull me to my feet. Without another word, Glacier pulls me to the door that leads into the house, unlocks it, and then uses his back to prop it open, giving me free reign to walk inside.

  The house is small, but cute, obviously old as hell. There are built-in bookshelves as well as a few others against one wall of the living room. And all of them are full of fiction novels.

  “You read?” I ask Glacier because it's just now occurred to me to ask what he does in his spare time. I mean, certainly it's mostly taken up with the club, the club, the club, and still more club crap. But … this. I run my fingers across the spines of everything from thrillers to lit fic to … romance. I pull one out and crack the spine, feeling a blush suffuse my cheeks. Whoa. Okay, maybe not romance, maybe … erotica? Really, really, really dark erotica.

  I look up at Glacier and find him leaning casually against one wall. Dressed in his black leather riding clothes, his tattoos peeking out at me, his nails painted black … it's enough to make a girl feel faint.

  “I've been searching for a long time,” he says, one boot propped on the white wall, his head tilted slightly to the side.

  “Searching?” I ask as I shelve the book and continue my circle around the room.

  “For something that makes me … feel the way violence does, like I'm actually alive inside.” I shiver at his candid confession, but I'm still not afraid. I finish walking the length of the bookshelves—noting as I do that there's a nice flatscreen TV in here that's not plugged in. There's a pair of sliding glass doors in the back wall that lead to a small backyard, a single sofa and chair, and absolutely zero art on the walls. No pictures. In fact, the whole place is kind of … sad. Lonely. In desperate need of some love—just like Saint Nordin himself.

  I turn to glance at him and find him watching me with half-lidded eyes.

  “And in all these books, did you ever find anything?”

  “The only thing I've ever found,” he starts, breathing out, “is you.”

  “Saint …” I look at him leaning against the wall in his motorcycle jacket. “You're actually kind of … sweet,” I say and his head cock becomes even more pronounced as he stares at me, reaching his right hand up to the zipper on his jacket, sliding it down slowly to reveal a bright blue wifebeater.

  “I hope that's not what you really think,” he says as he slips the leather down his shoulders and tosses it onto the couch, “because sweet was not the word I had in mind for tonight.”

  He comes toward me and my heart stops beating, refusing to move again until he turns and disappears down a short hallway on his right. I swallow hard and follow after, feeling wetness bloom between my thighs. I want to know more about Saint, obviously, but … I know why we're here right now.

  When I step into his room, I find a king size bed flanked by two nightstands, as well as two dressers—one tall stately black one and another with a mirror perched over it. It's even sadder in here, thinking of Saint sleeping alone in this bed, in this room with its white walls and barren furniture. No family photos adorn his nightstands, no souvenirs or figurines or décor of any kind.

  My throat gets tight because all I see when I look at this is a reflection of his pain.

  “Oh, Saint,” I say as he pauses next to the bed and glances over at me with his blue eyes. He watches me as I survey the room, stopping to open a random drawer on his dresser. Maybe I'm snooping, but this thing between us, it feels too big for something as small as this to matter, to be offensive. He … essentially gave himself to me. So I open the drawer and I dig through the contents—mostly pajama pants in completely random colored patterns. There's a red pair with green Christmas trees, a green and blue diamond patterned pair, a set with yellow stars spread across the navy fabric.

  I smile and rub my thumb across one of the pairs. This house might be empty and white, but in here, there's all of this carefully hidden color.

  I glance over at Saint and find him watching me still, eyes focused, lips parted. His silver rings keeping my attention locked on that perfect mouth of his.

  “Do you … have a plan for tonight?” I whisper, because it sure looks like he does, glancing away toward a curtained window next to his bed. I realize I must be the first woman he's ever taken to bed here—maybe the first one he's ever had in his house. Hell, I don't even know if his brothers come over here. Probably not.

  My heart constricts as I turn toward him and try to take a few calming breaths.

  “A guy we picked up, a rogue dealer,” he says randomly, reaching a hand up and rubbing it over the back of his head, “he had a bunch of priors. Several of which involved … a minor. A seventeen year old girl.”

  My skin goes cold and I cross my arms over my chest with a rustle of leather.

  Glacier looks back at me, lifting his chin, my eyes sliding from the tattoos on his neck, to the ones across his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his fingers. I move my gaze back to his face as he sighs and flicks his tongue against the right piercing in his lip. Other than those, he's got a ring through his nose and two in his right brow, rings along the entire curve of both ears.

  “What about this guy and his priors?” I ask as Glacier sits down on the edge of his bed and opens the drawer on his nightstand with two careful fingers, reminding me of that night in the dorm when he went for the condom.

  “He … society considers him a rapist.”

  Glacier looks over at me.

  “There are thirteen years separating us. And you're only seventeen.” He pulls a red length of silken fabric from the drawer and sets it in his lap, using his knee to push the drawer back in. “Some people might consider me a predator or a rapist.”

  “Is that what you feel like?” I ask, trying to stay calm here. I understand the gap in our ages is something to be concerned about. Hell, I'm concerned about it, too. But Glacier … fuck, I love him. I've loved him since I was fifteen and I know without a doubt that without me, he's lost. Forever. He will never be saved. Nobody will ever look at him the way that I do. It's been thirty fucking years and no one's even tried.

  “I want you to take this growling beast,” he says with another one of those very faint almost-smiles, “between your thighs—and control him.”

  Glacier pulls his boots and socks off, swings his feet up onto the bed and leans back into the pillows, holding out the length of red fabric.

  “Tie me up,” he says, and he sounds almost uncomfortable. “Take the power back. Make the decisions. All I really care abou
t is feeling your skin against mine.”

  I stare at him, my hands shaking a little as I reach up and start to unzip my jacket. Underneath, I've got on a loose pink tank that falls to just above my belly button. My jacket goes onto the floor along with my boots and my leather pants. I have to really peel them down my hips to get them off, and by the time I look up, Glacier's got this tight, desperate look on his face.

  I pad over to him in my tank, bra, and lacy panties, climbing up on the bed and taking the cloth from his hands. I'm not sure what it's made of, but when I tug on it, it feels sturdy enough. Silk, maybe? I look up at Glacier and watch as he lifts his hands up, putting his wrists together over his head. Watching all of that color and art press together turns my stomach in the best way possible.

  I have to swallow three times before I climb onto the bed and straddle his lap, loving the sound that escapes unbidden from his throat, the hot bulge underneath the denim of his black jeans. He never wanted to fuck anyone before me and now … he's basically always ready. Years of pent-up need, maybe?

  “God, Saint,” I say and he makes another sound, closing his eyes tight, like he's seconds away from unleashing his monster on me. I almost want him to, but this … we need to establish this trust first. I need to show him that I am in control here. “You're mine,” I tell him firmly, draping the silk around his wrists in a figure eight and then wrapping the loose end around the center several times before attaching it to the wrought iron headboard.

  Glacier breathes low and deep, keeping his eyes closed. I can imagine he's used to being in control—always. Hell, he … tortures people for a living. I wonder when or if he's ever been the one in restraints? This is huge right here. Really fucking huge. The gravity of his trust in me strikes so deep.

  “I've been watching you,” he says, as if he can read my mind, “since that day.”

  Glacier's eyes come open as I pull my hands away from his wrists, watch him put pressure on the binding. A little at first and then more, more, more. The muscles in his arms bulge, but the silk manages to hold—for now.

  “You're always around and you think nobody knows you're there—but I do.” I sit back on his lap, wish I'd taken his shirt off before I tied him up, and then just push it out of my way, revealing his belly and all the gorgeous tattoos on his midsection. “You listen, but you don't judge. You exist within the club, but outside of it at the same time. And you make your own rules. I've always liked that.”

  “This is literally the most I've ever heard you speak,” I admit and Glacier sighs, letting his head fall back as I drop my mouth down to his nipples, flicking my tongue experimentally across one, putting my right hand over the blackbirds on his chest, just like I did on our first night together.

  “I've never had anyone I much felt like talking to,” he tells me as I kiss down his tummy and watch his muscles flicker and jump with my touch. His knees come up and when I glance over my shoulder, I can see his toes curling in the white sheets.

  I scoot back a little and reach for the button on his jeans, popping it open and then dragging down the zipper. I get my fingers under the waistband and start to pull, getting them down just enough to free his cock, his balls.

  He watches me the entire time, his face a mask of cold hell mixed with hot desperation.

  “What are you doing?” he asks as I scoot even further back and take a huge breath, flicking my eyes to the hard, curved circumcised length of him. His dick really is beautiful, pale and thick with blue veins that I trace with a single finger.

  He grits his teeth at that.

  “Do you want your own safety word?” I ask and he laughs.

  “I want no safety word,” he tells me, but I purse my lips.

  “Glacier …”

  “No. Fucking. Safety. Word. Serenity, none.”

  “I … well, if you change your mind, please say regroup, okay?”

  Before Glacier can protest, I'm wrapping my right hand around the base of his cock and squeezing, drawing a sharp sound from his throat. I look up at his face for a brief moment and then drop my mouth down, sliding the smooth head between my lips.

  “Fuck.”

  That's all I get, just that one word, but it's enough to let me know that I'm doing something right, easing down until I've got as much of him inside as I can take. Holy shit. This is hard. I mean, like difficult.

  I sit back up and saliva catches in a thin strand from my lips to Glacier's shaft, making him growl low in his throat as I touch my fingers to my lips. I can barely look at him as I stare down at the shiny surface of his cock.

  The room is silent and tense, but I don't let that get to me, readjusting my position and starting over, keeping my right hand wrapped around the base and using my tongue to swirl a circle around his head.

  “Have you … ever had a blow job?” I ask cautiously, pressing my lips to his skin, tasting sweat and something else, a clear fluid that leaks from the tip. Pre-cum, I guess. I'm not a complete sexual idiot; there is education for this shit.

  “No.”

  Just that one word, delivered in a tight, tense sort of a voice. When I look up at Glacier again, I notice his eyes are closed. His entire body is stiff, too, all his muscles locked in place, like he's tolerating rather than enjoying this. I need to figure out a way to get him to relax.

  “You don't like being tied up, do you?”

  “No.”

  I smile a little at that.

  “You want me to untie you?”

  “No.”

  Blue eyes flick open and stare me straight in the face as I examine some of the tattoos on his underarms, some of which I don't think I've even seen before. There's a broken heart, cracked in half and leaking blood, as well as a small family of silhouettes, done entirely in black ink. I wonder what those are for? I decide now is not the time to ask, reaching back and removing my hair tie. I toss it onto the floor and lean back down, blonde and red strands sliding forward and brushing over Glacier's rigid shaft.

  He seems to like that, his body tensing up, arms pulling at the red silk restraints.

  I reach back and sweep more hair over my shoulder, teasing his dick with it, flicking the ends against his skin, trailing them down and watching him writhe. A moan escapes his throat as he stares down at me with a heavy, drooping gaze, pupils dilated, mouth parted with pleasure.

  I drop my mouth down again, open my lips as wide as I can and take as much as I'm able into my mouth, sucking and teasing with my tongue, pumping his shaft with my hand. Just a few seconds of this gets him excited, gets his hips bucking up off the bed towards my face. The more into it I get, the more I relax, the more of him I can take.

  The very act of what I'm doing turns me on so badly that I have to reach a hand between my thighs and touch my clit, rubbing at the hardened flesh through my lacy pink panties. When I feel wetness leaking through the fabric, I adjust my hand and slip it inside, running my fingers down the moistness of my slit.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper, sliding my mouth from Saint's cock, adjusting myself on all fours so I can get my fingers inside my opening. White-hot pleasure ricochets through my body, making me gasp against the wet length of his dick, drawing another sound from his throat. The headboard makes a creaking, grinding sound and I glance up to see Saint's arms tight and straining, the color of his tattoos bulging with the motion.

  He's trying to escape.

  I smile and push my fingers in a little farther, getting them wet, soaking them with my arousal as I breathe hot and frantic against the thick heavy insistence of Glacier's shaft. As I watch, he pulls harder, but the way I've wrapped the silk, it's not likely to tear.

  My fingers slide out of my warmth with a groan of disappointment on my part, and I reach over with my slickness coating my hand, using it to wrap Glacier's shaft and pumping hard and fast, lubing him up with my fist and my saliva and my own juices.

  By now Glacier is breathing hard, little beads of sweat slicking across his skin. I climb up over him, kiss as much off
as I can before it becomes too hard for me to resist his mouth.

  Our lips clash and I can feel this barely suppressed violence brewing in him, this terrifying need that I know I haven't even begun to see the beginning of. He's holding back for me, giving me the power and the strength. As soon as he feels comfortable though, he's going to fuck me in a way I could never even dream of. I keep that safety word tucked close to my heart and wonder if I'll ever have to use it.

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?” he snarls as I pull back, taking his lower lip between my teeth and then retreating so that I'm out of range. The headboard groans and creaks again, and I eye the metal warily, wondering if it'll even hold. Then I decide that I don't care. Either way this'll be fun. I fuck him; maybe he breaks out and fucks the hell out of me.

  I want it all. Everything.

  I scoot back just a little, enough that his cock is pressed into the ass of my lacy boyshorts.

  “Do you like this?” I ask and his face twists up with need and want and demand, but he doesn't answer me. That's okay; I can see it written all over his face. My touch, it soothes some of that pain inside of him, calms his beast.

  I sit up, crossing my arms and grabbing onto the bottom of my tank, tearing it over my head and tossing it to the floor. Using my knees to rise up, I push the panties down a little and then stand up, right on the bed over Glacier, shoving them down my hips, almost falling when I yank them over one foot and then kick them off the other.

  There's blonde hair between my legs, just natural, normal whatever. It's not very thick, pale and thin really, and why the hell would I have shaved or waxed or whatever anyway? This is just me, and I like me the way I am.

  Glacier's definitely panting now, his lids half-cocked, his tongue running across his lower lip.

  “You'd best keep going or I might just snap these shackles and have at you.”

  “If that's supposed to be a threat,” I say, flipping my long blonde hair over my shoulder, “it's not. I want it either way.” I kiss him again and the decadent flavor of his lips puts me over the edge. He tastes like mint, but also a little salty-sweet, like the pre-cum I sucked off his cock.