Page 52 of Break the Ice
“Sugar Tits,” he counters, his dimpled-grin popping back onto his face. Once he’s finished pouring, he walks the drinks over to where I’m sitting. “You should try it sometime.”
I arch a brow in judgment. “Going home with a random bartender I just met? Not my style.”
“No, getting laid. Finally give that tight little wet pussy of yours some relief. I bet she’s underfed. Damn near starving.”
Immediately, I’m losing any wit about me. I’m busy warding off the heat that’s begun flushing onto my face. Rafe picks up on the subtle change. His grin slashes even wider.
“Is that some… is that some blush heating up your face, Sugar?”
“I’m Black, Golding. I don’t blus?—”
“You’re blushing,” he laughs.
My stomach drops, beyond embarrassed. I start shaking my head.
He’s moved closer—he’s set down the drinks and gone into an intent study of me and my face. One that prompts him to stand over me, trapping me within the infectious masculine energy he exudes. He reaches out and strokes my warm cheek. His palm’s warm too, like he’s about to set me on fire.
He already has. All it took was a few simple words and his smoldering stare. His golden-hued eyes that flicker with the occasional spark of humor.
The tips of his fingers keep going, traveling along the shell of my ear, tucking back a stray curl.
Rafe Golding peers down at me as if I’m the only woman in his world. As if I’m a prize he wants so badly, he’ll do anything to win.
God damn, if it doesn’t make me feel special.
I forget to breathe for a second as I bask in the tingling effect of it—the hackles on my nape rise and my spine feels like I’ve been struck by electricity. It shouldn’t be this easy getting caught up in him.
I break our eye contact by picking up the drink he’s made me and taking a sip. The sweet tart flavor invades my taste buds.
“Decent.”
“It’s an Amaretto Sour and it’s more than decent. I made it,” he says, returning to the minbar counter. “Drink up. Time to get started.”
I hide my laugh by forcing another sip of my drink. Rafe’s arrogance comes so naturally to him I don’t even think he realizes how he comes across. Sometimes, it’s almost even endearing.
But it still won’t stop me from acting in my own self-interest.
“So, you brought me here for round two.”
“I brought you here because I was sick of remembering what it felt like to fuck your mouth. I wanted to feel those lips on my cock again.”
I raise a brow. “You want another blowjob?”
“I want whatever I’ll take tonight, Sugar. Do yourself a favor—stop trying to guess what’s up next. You’ll have a lot more fun if you stop thinking so much. Take off your coat.”
I don’t protest his order. I rise to the challenge. My fingers deftly undo the buttons on my peacoat, and I shrug it off my shoulders. The wool fabric slides away, and I’m trapped under his scrutiny.
He uses every last second to let his gaze peruse me. He stops and focuses on my breasts. I’m already aware of the tightness of my nipples and how they must be poking through my slinky dress. His desire flickers on like a spark.
The tables have turned. He’s become the speechless one.
He leans against the counter of his minibar, his arms crossed and biceps poking out from the short sleeves of his cotton t-shirt, and he stares me down. He eyes me like I’ve appeared here to sabotage him, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. Yet it only intensifies his hunger.
I’ve been brought here tonight because he has to have me.
It’s all over him. Dripping from him as he peers at me and tries to play it cool.
I sit up on my knees, holding his gaze, and I tug down the top half of my dress. My boldest, most teasing move yet. I stay perched where I am on his sofa, topless, nipples taut and erect. The ball’s rolled into his court.
