Page 9 of Fire on the Ice

“Fuck me, please?”

Maisy nods once, crisp and determined, and grabs the lube to squeeze a bit into her palm, then slicks it on her dick, leaving it glistening in a way that makes my mouth water and my cunt clench.

“On your back, knees bent.”

I get into the position she’s asked double-time. Leaving my fingers curled around the edge of the desk, I tuck up my feet so they’re bracketed by my hands, and lean back, my legs spread wide. I don’t think I could issue a more obvious invitation than being splayed out for her like this. She must be able to see how slick I am between my own legs, how ready I am for her.

In only a few steps, she’s between my legs, and I can see why she wanted me here; the desk is the perfect height for her so she doesn’t have to be on tiptoes to screw me, she’ll be able to put her weight into it, use the leverage of the desk to thrust hard. Clever girl. And how many places did she imagine us banging before she settled on this one? Did she make a list?

Maisy grips one side of my waist while using a hand to steer herself inside me. Between the lube and my own copious wetness, it’s not a difficult slide until she’s fully inside me, and fuck all, does that ever feel amazing. Satisfying in a way that also makes me greedy. Maisy has excellent taste in cocks—one of the perks of it not being factory-direct is that you can vary the dimensions with ease. The thickness and weight is good, and it’s long enough to feel full but not so long that she won’t be able to give me a good pounding because she’s worried about punching my cervix—I like a lot of things, but that’s not one of them.

Once she’s inside, she uses her other hand to grip my waist as well and starts to rock, keeping her gaze locked on me.

“Is that what you wanted, Blaze? Happy now?”

“I will be, when you fuck me harder.”

She smiles, and I let out a gasp as she does as I’ve asked and drives hard into me. Yes. She doesn’t let up, either, but snaps her hips again and again while I hold on for dear life. I wouldn’t be surprised if the desk started moving across the floor because of the force she’s using. Luckily, the energy she’s putting into her thrusts doesn’t get wasted, but stays right inside me so I get this really satisfying pounding. Every time she pushes inside me, there’s an impact that steals my breath and I love it. Don’t even bother trying to rock toward her because my position makes that tough, but also because I think she likes looking down at me, having my body at her mercy to be pummeled, making my tits bounce on my chest. Yeah, she likes that a lot. As do I. Adds to the feeling of impact, of being outright fucked.

The more she drives into me, the higher I go, the feeling of satisfaction looming on the horizon, getting closer with every hard thrust. The pressure, the tightness, everything builds, and it doesn’t hurt that I get to watch her body above me, her abs working in these perfect contractions, her biceps tight as she grips me with her hands. It’s not so long until I’m not approaching anymore, but have finally reached the place where everything comes together, and I’m in the center of it. I knew it would be good, but not how good, not how explosive—the initial blast followed by an even more powerful second pulse like the canopy of the mushroom cloud rising up as I cry out. It’s so goddamn good, and she doesn’t stop.

I don’t tell her to, either, because if she thinks she can give me more? I’ll take it. Ride this wave of rolling aftershocks, see if I can’t get all the way to the next horizon. Turns out with her encouragement—Give it to me, Blaze, come on. Come for me again, I want to hear you again—and a bit of patience, I totally can.

If my first climax was good, this one’s better. Like it’s standing on the shoulders of the first so the drop is farther, the release bigger, my brain left more scattered, and my body rendered a puddle of twitching, clenching, raw nerves.

I’ve been shouting, mostly inarticulate noises, and a whole lot of filthy words, but trying not to say her name because the walls around here have a reputation of not being particularly soundproof. Now I’ve got to beg her to stop. I might be able to get another orgasm out of this, but I’d rather enjoy the glow, not press my taxed body into service again. At some point, believe it or not, coming stops being fun, and I don’t think Maisy would enjoy it enough to make another one worth the tradeoff.

“Mais, oh my god, you’ve done enough. More than enough. Any more and you might put me out of commission for the rest of the week. I . . . Fuck, that was good.”

She smirks at me, and I love the haughty look on her face. I’m sensitive, but not so much that it’s painful while she continues to glide in and out of me. Feels good, as if she’s trying to give me something to anchor myself to, give me a surface to slide down instead of free fall. I mean, I like that weightlessness as much as the next person—who am I kidding, I like it so much more, but at the moment, I’m grateful for the soft landing. Enjoy it even more as she covers my hands with hers and gently unpeels my fingers from the edge, weaving our fingers together before she turns my hands over and uses her thumbs to ease the tension out of my wrists, forearms.

“You’re going to need these in a bit, don’t want you to be sore.”

Oh, the things I would like to do with my hands to her. “I am here for that. Just give me a minute.”

Her expression is fond, indulgent as she continues to stroke my forearms, my hands, gently pulls at my fingers and presses the pad of her thumbs into the heels of my hands. Considerate, affectionate. Though that’s not usually something I look for in lovers—don’t really mind the whole wham, bam, thank you ma’am thing—I like it. If this is included in the cost of fidelity, I’ll pay the price.

“No rush, I want you at your best for this. You can have fifteen.”

Jesus fuck, this woman.

Chapter Five

Maisy

I lead Blaze over to my bed and let her lay down while I get out of the strap-on. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d give her fifteen minutes to recover. That should be good enough for a girl like her, and then we can make use of the other things I’d pulled out: gloves and lube? Hell yeah.

While I’m cleaning up and she’s lounging like a mermaid on a warm rock, her phone makes a sound from her bag, and unlike some of the other sounds she’s ignored, she gets up only long enough to retrieve it and then collapses back on the bed, actually checking her message. Must be something really good, and I try not to let thoughts of someonereally good who might be texting her get to me. There’s no way in hell Blaze has the time to see anyone else. Unless she doesn’t sleep . . . does she sleep?Ugh, of course she sleeps, self, knock it off.

To shush my insecurities, I try to figure out something to say. She didn’t seem keen on talking about her races, but I want to make her feel better about it somehow. I’m guessing even if she’s not showing it, she’s gotta be kind of torn up.

Whatever else I know about Blaze, she definitely has a sense of humor about herself, so, giving my trusty purple dildo a good wipe down before I tuck it back in the drawer, I tell her, “I think I know what was holding you back in the thousand.”

That gets her attention, and she gives me the side-eye from where she’s reclining on the bed. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your hair.” Yep, I toss it out, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Lucky for me, it gets her to crack a smile.

“My hair?”

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