Page 8 of Fire on the Ice

She manages to drag her gaze away from the supplies and up to my face, and then gets ahold of herself, her face breaking into a grin. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted it all, so I think you mean where would I like to start?”

Challenge accepted.

Blaze

If anything has ever been sexier than a shy, understated girl like Maisy breaking out a pile of sex toys, I must’ve missed it. It’s not easy to blow my mind with sex stuff, because if it’s a thing, I’ve probably done it. Or at least had the option to and passed for whatever reason. On the grand scale of things, a strap-on and a kit for fisting aren’t anywhere near the kinkiest I’ve gotten, but somehow Maisy’s outward appearance and attitude everywhere except in the bedroom make it seem kinkier, more illicit, and it’s got my motor revving pretty hard. Also that she trusts me enough to break this stuff out with me. Yeah, I’m a loud-mouthed attention whore, but as far as I’m concerned, what happens behind closed doors is no one else’s business. Unless my partner’s an exhibitionist, too, in which case, I’m happy to make it other people’s business.

“So, where would you like to start?”

My mouth waters with her invitation. Where indeed? The images going through my head like the world’s filthiest flip-book are giving me all sorts of ideas, and are also rendering my baseline low patience into nonexistence.

I don’t have the patience it’ll take to let Maisy work her small hand inside me, as appealing as that is. Someday, though, because I’d kill for that view; her wrist and slim forearm evidence of what’s inside me, and if she dipped her head to lick me? Yeah, that’s going to happen sometime, just not right now.

Right now I want penetration and I don’t want to wait for it, not to mention that something resembling a dick will be fine.

“I want you to fuck me with the strap-on.” Less work than fingerbanging for her, and lucky for me, she’s not going to lose her erection and leave me looking around wondering where the fuck my orgasm is. I really fucking hate it when that happens.

A smile widens her mouth and shows her teeth. “Can do. Take your clothes off.”

Don’t have to ask me twice. I don’t need to make a meal of it because she didn’t ask me to. I can’t do a whole lot of things faster than I skate, but getting naked is one of them.

When I’m done, I stand in the center of her room, waiting for her to tell me what to do next. Maisy’s gaze rakes over me, and in this she’s not shy, not at all. I wish she had this same amount of swagger on the ice, though I don’t think that kind of strutting would earn her high marks in her performances, which is too fucking bad. Now that is figure skating I would watch. Is burlesque figure skating a thing? I would so like it to be. Badass, not the mincing sashays and prancing they seem to favor. Except for the jumps. Those are fucking awesome. I would be on my face or my ass so damn fast even if I traded in my speed skates for figure skates. The toe picks alone . . .

Maisy’s looking around the room. Other people might be annoyed about having to stand around naked, but honestly, I try to only wear clothes in polite company. Most of the people I hang out with aren’t all that polite.

Finally she makes a decision and waves me over to the desk. “Hop on up, ass at the edge.”

I’m not a short girl, nor am I a wisp like her, but the desk seems sturdy enough as I use my hands to lever up and park my butt at the edge as asked. I swing my feet and wait for Maisy to do whatever it is Maisy’s going to do. She’s delicate and elegant as she moves about the room, but always with an edge. Certainty, confidence, ease. Yep, she’s sexy as fuck.

Sexier still when she starts to strip her own clothes off, slipping off the leggings she has on, baring her strong shapely legs and her sculpted ass. Her hips are narrow, her waist a small nip in which I barely get to appreciate before she’s stripping off the baggy sweatshirt, followed by a slim-fitting and almost translucent ribbed tank. Christ, if she’d been wearing that when she’d answered the door, we’d already be panting our satisfaction on the floor.

As things are, I get to appreciate the lacy confection wrapped around her small tits which she’d probably refer to as a bra, but no effing way. That thing is only built for aesthetics, not function in any way. It is pretty, though. She’s pretty. And gets prettier when she pulls off the minty green excuse for boob support. They don’t even move, lucky bitch.

She’s slim and strong and lovely with her hair falling down past her shoulders, and I cannot wait for her to fuck me. Of course, she takes her damn time, picking up the strap-on as if she’s never used the thing—so much bullshit—and leisurely gets herself into the contraption. Luckily from what looked like a heap of straps and a purple dildo has emerged a hella fine woman with a cock I’d love to suck.

She takes a few minutes to fine tune, and it drives me wild, makes my fingers curl around the edge of the desk, sitting here, watching her. Hell, can I not wait for her to put that thing to good use whether that’s having me on my knees to blow her or her lubing it up and pushing it inside my cunt, pounding into me until she makes me come.

Maisy finishes up her adjustments, and then flashes me a smile. “Like it?”

“Yes, I do. Very much. You’re the best thing I’ve seen with a dick for days.”

Which of course makes her laugh. It’s true, though. The last few people I’ve been with have been women, and not the kind who like to make liberal use of things that can be found in sex shops and wide swaths of the internet. Honestly, I’m surprised little Maisy Harper is that kind of girl, because it’s hard to imagine her walking into a sex shop and perusing all manner of toys. But when the image comes into my head, my engine revs even harder. Maisy walking through the crowded aisles, picking up plugs and examining them at her leisure; weighing dildos in her hands to test their length, width, and heft; possibly jangling the chains that join a pair of fuzzy handcuffs or god help me, nipple clamps. Christ.

But the real Maisy I have in front of me is better than any dream Maisy could ever be, and right now, she’s strutting over here, led by her dick. When dudes do it, it’s kinda eyeroll inducing, but when Maisy does it? Fuck me. No, that’s literally all I can think of. Fuck me. So it’s what I say out loud because no one’s ever accused me of being subtle.

“Fuck me.”

She’s standing there in front of me, leisurely stroking her dick, as if she could and would do that all day. “What’s the magic word?”

“Now?”

She shakes her head and reaches out with the hand that’s not jerking the dildo, tweaks my nipple, making me yelp. In a good way. Yeah, there’s some squirming now. She doesn’t leave it at that, either, but pinches, twists, and rolls. It’s the sex version of patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time.

“Try again. And FYI, every time you sass me, you getting fucked gets further away by five minutes.”

She looks meaningfully at the clock on the wall over my shoulder, and I pinch my lips together. God, so tempting, but she’s not one of those people who just says shit. She will honest-to-god make me wait and I’m not down for that right now. I’m frustrated by my performance today. It’s not so much the losing. That happens and I wasn’t counting on a big win today. My best events are later—the ones that require stamina, not short bursts of speed. But if I can’t win, if I have to get disqualified, I could at least do it in style, in a way that’s going to get me some attention, not in some boring-ass way no one gives a shit about. If I can’t be victorious, I’d like to be notorious.

So do I have the patience for Maisy to dick me around? Or rather, not? The answer under the best of circumstances is probably not, and right now I am uninterested in foreplay. Walking into this room was foreplay, taking off my clothes was more, and the minute she outfitted herself with that cock I was a goner. So do I need more than that to get ready for her? No, and I don’t want it.

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