Page 59 of Break the Ice
“Sugar Tits,” I croon from the other side. “Open the door.”
Steam clouds out from the crevice under the door. She’s making the most of the shower.
It’s another minute or two before the shower knob turns off and she pads over to the door to open it. Water glistens on her skin. The towel she’s wearing clings to her body. She bats her lashes like she’s not standing half naked dripping wet in front of me.
I bite down on my jaw. “Enjoying all my hot water, Sugar?”
“Great water pressure.” She rolls her head onto one shoulder as she stretches her neck and I catch notice of a single drop of water cascading across her clavicle.
I’d lick it off her in a fucking heartbeat—and every other drop of water dripping from her naked body.
Sudden, intense arousal slams into me. My attraction for her mingles with the usual morning arousal I experience and morphs into some kind of powerful hybrid.
In need of a moment to cool it, I grab Sugar by the shoulders and switch places with her. I steer her out of the bathroom doorway into my bedroom and then I slide straight into my bathroom.
It takes five long minutes to work through my erection. Get it under control and calm myself down from how suddenly turned on I was.
I splash cold water on my face and force a fresh breath into my lungs.
“She didn’t notice,” I whisper, then I shake my head at the thought. “Who gives a fuck if she did? Get your shit straight.”
“Everything okay?” she asks the moment I open the bathroom door. She’s propped up on the foot of the bed, moisturizing. Her limbs have never looked more supple as she smooths moisturizer into her skin. She shows off her flexibility, stretching to reach her shins, her legs bent in front of her at the knee.
I’m speechless for another second, drinking in the sight. One that could be construed as totally innocent or totally enticing.
My dick chooses the latter, giving a twitch in my sweatpants.
But that’s the game Marisse is playing right now—she knows exactly what she’s doing putting on a sexy little show moisturizing her legs like this.
In a fucking towel.
With this in mind, I’m able to play along. I flash her a teasing grin and then mention coffee and breakfast. I stroll ahead into the kitchen knowing that she’ll follow me.
It’s how this game works. Tit-for-tat. Back-and-forth. Offense and defense mixed with calculated moves that serve our interests.
Marisse has found her niche—she’s aware of the temptation she is. She understands the power she wields because I want her. On some level, she understands the obsession that’s begun to form.
Still doesn’t know just who she’s messing with though. She doesn’t get what we’re really doing.
This dark and twisted game we’re playing is for keeps.
And I never lose.
“What does a sophisticated career woman like you eat for breakfast, Ms. March?”
She quirks a brow, sliding into one of my kitchen stools. She’s slipped back on her slinky dress from last night. “You’re calling me Ms. March now? Is this some backward manner of yours? Sleep with a woman and then respect her?”
“Avocado toast,” I guess. “Nah, you’re much more an overnight oats kinda girl, right?”
“The last time I had oats, I was twelve years old.”
“Nope, I’ve got it this time. Egg whites. Turkey bacon. Some fancy fruit like mango. Coming right up.”
“Mango is… fancy?”
“Some of us are meat and potatoes kind of people.”
She smiles despite the eye roll she gives. “I have a theory about you, Rafe Golding.”
