Page 19 of Fire on the Ice

“Say it, say it, say it!” Her exuberant chant is accompanied by tickles to my sides while she holds me fast, and I squirm on her lap.

“You better cut it out, or you’re not going to get anything.”

God, she’s like a puppy sometimes. But it works, and she stops her torture.

“If I say it, then you’ll show me your collection, and then you’ll do whatever I say.”

“I say yes!”

At which point she dumps me off her lap and stands bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of me. That was easy.

I get myself into a slightly less licentious pose, my ankles crossed in front of me with my tucked up legs hiding my breasts, and then primly demand, “Blaze, won’t you be a dear and fetch your . . . your. . . .”

Her eyes light up and you’d think she was on the podium about to get a gold medal instead of hearing me say some slightly off-color words. She’s practically dancing on her toes, which is a hilarious picture. Ugh, fine No use prolonging the agony.Get it over with, Harper.

“Your sex toys. Get your goddamn sex toys, okay?”

Blaze breaks into a victory dance, arms in the air, whooping and calling out while I bury my—on fire—face in my hands. Look at what this woman does to me. Probably a good thing I only see her every four years because any more than that, she’d surely be the death of me. Or would she? I’ve really been enjoying her, and in a way I don’t think I’d be likely to tire of quickly.

The shouts of conquest stop, so I peek through my fingers, and there she is, grinning like a shark in full bloodlust. And then she curtsies. Of all things for her to do . . .

“Yes, ma’am.”

I toss a pillow at her retreating ass as she hustles over to what is apparently her dresser. I hope anyhow. “Don’t ever call me ma’am again, or no more orgasms for you.”

Her grin is wicked, and I can tell the words are on the tip of her tongue, but she also knows I’m not kidding, so she bites it back. Then she grabs an armful of stuff from the drawer and tosses it on the bed in front of me. And here I thought I was traveling in style with a strap-on and a few dildos . . .

There’s a veritable sex toy smorgasbord in front of me, but I don’t want anything fancy, just something that’s going to make my infuriating lover get her rocks off. While I watch. Yep, this is all about the watching.

So I take up a relatively harmless-looking egg. Twist it at a seam about two-thirds of the way down, and yep. It starts to vibrate in my hand. As I turn it more, the sensation intensifies. This will do nicely.

I flip it off and toss it to her. She snatches it out of the air easily, making me think that if she weren’t a speed skater, she could’ve made a decent hockey goalie. She’s got the reflexes, the complete and utter lack of fear, is seemingly unaffected by pressure, and actually enjoys objects flying at her face—sticks and pucks equally, as far as I can tell.

She weighs the neon pink thing in her hand and then looks at me from under her heavy brows. “This is it? I give you a porn set’s worth of sex toys and you want me to use this?”

“Yep.”

Blaze shakes her head. “Okay, dude, it’s your call. But if you get bored, feel free to pick something else off the pile. I’m well-versed with the use of everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and come sit over here.”

I gesture to the head of the bed that’s pressed up against the wall, and unlike mine, the ceiling’s not at an angle. She’s got plenty of room to sit up straight. But that’s not precisely what I have in mind. While she’s taking the few steps over, I swoop in and pile up some pillows for her to lay back against.

“You know how I was sitting earlier?”

“Sprawled out on my lap with your pussy on display like a Georgia O’Keefe painting? Yes, I do.”

Okay I’m impressed with her allusion, but not with her sass or reminding me of precisely how wanton I must’ve looked. “Yeah. That’s how I want you up against the pillows.”

She doesn’t hesitate but climbs up, leans back, and spreads her legs. Just like that. Christ, this woman is . . . Does it make my admiration for her less pure, or make my father’s assertion that I’m only a lesbian because I’m a narcissist true, that I think she’s maybe what I would’ve turned out like had I not had all those messages drilled into my head? Not to worry now, I’ve got my very own puppet to make her do as I will, or perhaps as I would.

“Put the egg in front of you, within reach but so you can see it. I want you to think about it. What I’m going to make you do with it.”

Her eyes go delightfully wide, and she sets the toy down in front of her almost gingerly. Aha, I got her. “Okay. Now what?”

“Now I want you to touch yourself.”

Her hands go immediately to her full breasts, but I tut at her. “I don’t think so, not yet. Start with your hair.”

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