Page 20 of Iced Out

The grin on Quinton’s face turns devious. Predatory even, as he pushes off the door and stalks toward me. And he doesn’t stop until he’s—quite literally—backed me into a corner. Like a hunter after his prey.

His icy gaze turns liquid. Molten even, as he places his palms on either side of my hips on the sink. The proximity has my heart ricocheting off my ribs, pounding hard enough I swear one might crack. A feeling that only gets worse when he leans in closer, the scent of his cologne wafting over me sending a lightning zap straight to my balls.

Fuck, what is he doing?

Like the guy can read my mind, he whispers against my neck, “You’re saying it’s not obvious? We’re here to silence your doubts.”

His lips brush against the shell of my ear at the same moment his chest presses into mine. A thrill rushes through me at the feel of his firm, sculpted pecs, and my dick twitches behind my zipper.

“You’re joking,” I breathe, hoping the tremble in my voice is only apparent to my own ears.

“I’m joking?” he taunts, one hand leaving the counter to cup my cock behind my jeans. “I think the only one joking is you, telling me you’re not interested in what I’m offering.”

Shit.

My body betraying me before my sworn enemy isn’t the way I thought this night would go.

“Get the fuck out, de Haas. This isn’t happen—”

The rest of my dismissal is cut off somewhere in the back of my throat when he rubs the crown of my cock through the denim. Pair it with the way his lips are now trailing down my throat, and I doubt I could remember what I was in the middle of saying.

All I can focus on is the zap of electricity coursing between us, sparking where our bodies are in contact.

Andfuck,it feels good. Too good.

My fingers form fists in the fabric of his shirt, and I do my best to shove him away, no matter how much my body is begging for him to keep touching me. But every ounce of fight and willpower I have left in me isn’t enough. Hell, even brute force wouldn’t be enough.

I’m trapped, completely at his mercy.

And he knows it.

“Fight me, baby. There’s nothing I want more.”

The deep rasp in his voice sounds likehe’sthe one being touched, and…fuck. It does something stupid to my brain. So much, I let desire outweigh common sense and allow him to unbutton my jeans. Tug the zipper down. Shove the denim and my underwear past my ass so he can take me in hand.

The second his fingers wrap around me, I swear I could come on the spot.

Quinton doesn’t waste time, stroking my length until I’m painfully hard as his lips explore the skin of my neck some more. Teasing and taunting; two things I’m more than used to when it comes to him. But never like this.

Truth be told, this is the first time I’ve wanted more of his torment, though I’d ever let him in on that little secret.

“I thought the plan was tosuckit?”

Goading him is a tried-and-true way of getting under his skin, maybe even letting the hot-headed side out to play, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take to call his bluff. Because there’s no way in hell he’s actually going to—

A sharp hiss escapes between my clenched teeth when he suddenly bites into the muscle between my shoulder and neck, sucking like he’s Edward fucking Cullen or something. Though, with his nearly-black hair and those ice blue eyes, he gives off more of a Damon Salvatore vibe.

Yet as sexy as it might be, it doesn’t mean I want to play vampire.

“What the fuck?” I ask, shoving at his chest until he releases me.

He pulls back to meet my glare, and I swear to God, bats his eyelashes like he’s the picture of fucking innocence. But the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips gives him away.

“You said suck. I was listening.”

Oh, that’s fucking it.

My fingers latch on to his shoulder, and I attempt to push him down. “My dick, not my throat, de Haas. It’s time to put your money where your mouth is.”

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