Page 52 of A Storm of Fire and Ice

“Brontes . . .” I moaned softly into his mouth as he palmed my breast through the thin fabric of my nightdress, desire coiling hot and tight within me.

Our tongues danced eagerly together. In between our hungry and passionate kisses, he grasped the hem of my sheer nightgown, drawing it up and over my head in one smooth motion. I sat before him naked, suddenly self-conscious under his smoldering gaze. Sensing my hesitation, he gently cupped my face in his hands.

“You are so beautiful, my queen. Let me remind you how much I adore every inch of you.”

His words dissolved the knot of anxiety in my chest. I needed him . . . needed to relinquish control and trust Brontes to chase away my worries, if only for a few blissful hours.

He bore me backward onto the bed, the familiar pressure of his strong body both exhilarating and comforting at once. Our hips pressed against each other, igniting a spark within me. I could feel his arousal through his clothes, making me wet with need.

He sat back to remove his own clothes. My eyes drank in the sight of his muscular body, lingering on the hard length jutting out from between his legs.

“Tell me what you want,” I whispered, feeling bold and empowered by the effect I had on him. “Tell me how to please you, my king.”

Brontes made a low noise of approval, desire darkening his eyes. I lay bare before him, flushed with need and trembling with anticipation.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, guiding my hands to rest on my breasts.

His eyes followed the curve of my fingers as they gently glided over my breasts. He licked his lips, watching intently. I kneaded and caressed them into erect points that begged for attention. My head fell back, and soft moans escaped from between my lips. His breathing turned into gasps for air as I pleasured myself. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The sight of me following his orders, willingly submitting to him, only served to heighten his arousal.

“More,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his hands gripping my hips tightly. Obediently, I spread my legs for him, exposing my core.

I dipped my fingers between my thighs, sliding them gently back and forth to coat them in my heat. As I moaned again, lost in the sensation of my own touch, I relished the effect of my actions on him—his erection throbbing against his stomach, beads of sweat running down his muscled chest.

Brontes growled and straddled me. He trailed hot kisses down my neck and collarbone, nipping gently at my skin.

“You have no idea how much I want you.” He suddenly pinned both of my wrists above my head, causing me to gasp, and fiercely consumed my left breast in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud before sucking it greedily. One hand continued to hold my wrists down against the bed, and the other hand roughly pinched the sensitive peak of my right breast between its fingers.

“Brontes!” I writhed helplessly beneath him, aching for more of his touch.

As he continued his assault on my breasts, I freed my hands and traced the heated lines down his abdomen until I reached his firm manhood. Brontes sucked in a sharp breath as my fingers encircled him. His eyes closed with bliss as I ran my hand up and down his throbbing length slowly, deliberately. I increased my pace, savoring the way his body trembled and quaked beneath my touch.

A low grunt rumbled in Brontes’s chest, and he abruptly grasped my hand. “Enough teasing, or I won’t last.”

He stroked the inside of my thighs as I stilled underneath him before zeroing in on the throbbing spot between my legs and kneading it in circles. I gasped from his masterful touch. His fingers found my entrance and circled slowly, teasingly. My cold fingers kneaded his shoulders, digging into his skin, urging him on.

I gasped for air as he pushed two fingers into my folds, then three, stretching my tightness. My body begged for more, clenching around them and demanding he delve deeper. He pulled back and growled, his lips finding my neck as he worked his fingers in and out of me with shifting rhythms, leaving me guessing at his next move.

I wanted him. I needed him. I ached for him . . .

“Brontes,” I moaned, “make love to me.”

“Oh, I will. I’m going to make love to every inch of you. I’m going to make you scream. I’m going to make you beg. And you are going to love every second of it.”

“I already do,” I responded softly, my eyes drifting closed.

Brontes kissed me fiercely, settling between my legs.

“Make me yours, my king,” I firmly commanded, gazing into his eyes.

He entered me with one smooth thrust, stretching and filling me so exquisitely that I cried out.

We moved together, slow and deep, savoring the intimacy of our joining. His muscles rippled beneath my fingers as I gripped his scarred back. His skin was hot against my cool touch, the friction from our movement creating a scorching heat. The coil of desire in my belly tightened with each roll of Brontes’s hips, pleasure building and intensifying until I thought I might burst.

“Brontes,” I murmured, “I’m so close.”

“Tell me what you need, snowflake,” he panted, his firm hands raking over my breasts and torso.

“Harder,” I begged.

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