Page 49 of On Thin Ice

Had I whimpered in disappointment or had it shown on my face, even underneath the mask? Regardless, he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Did you think your punishment was going to feel good, Annalise?”

Oh, but it had. It still did—but in a different way.

But I knew better than to say a thing. I’d known this man long enough to understand that anything I said could and would be used against me in his private court.

He made a sound, but I couldn’t tell if it was a hoarse chuckle or if he was clearing his throat to get my attention. As I lay there, I tried my best to ensure my face was as neutral as possible. Maybe if he didn’t know I was enjoying it, he’d bring me to satisfaction sooner rather than later.

Once more, he began stroking the feather over my skin—and as much as my back wanted to arch up in response, I forced myself to remain on the bed. Although there wasn’t much play to be had because of the straps restraining my arms and legs, I could still move somewhat. As I allowed my limbs to melt into the bed, I admitted to myself that even this position contributed to my feelings of desire. I didn’t think I would tell that to Sinclair, but there was something about being unable to respond like I normally would…and of being helpless to do anything that made me more desirous.

And something about it felt dirty…which also fueled my need.

I wondered if he already knew this.

The feather was again followed by the ice and I had to bite my lip when he slurped up the melted water. But he didn’t go back to the feather again. This time he took another ice cube and slid it between my legs and all I wanted to do was close them so he couldn’t continue tormenting me with the cold. But I couldn’t.

And, just as I grew used to it, he stopped.

Soon, his body took up residence between my legs again and he warmed everything up with his tongue, no doubt trying to bring me close to climax. This time, though, I fought against arousal, not wanting him to win this game. I kept telling myself in my head that I didn’t enjoy how it felt, and I tried to think of anything I could to keep my brain off the delicious sensations he was creating. But when I reminded myself that he was my enemy, that we shouldn’t even be here doing this…my body remembered that, oh, yes, it really loved his tongue.

What should have made me angry, upset, and able to fight him had the exact opposite effect.

And there was apparently no way I could hide it—because he stopped giving my clit the attention it wanted shortly after.

For hours, he tortured me this way. He’d take the feather to my body; then he’d play with a couple of ice cubes or pour more champagne into my navel. At one point, he actually poured a line of it from my collarbone down to my pussy, letting it drip between my legs, and he’d lapped it all up, starting at the hollow in my neck. One moment, he’d have me panting, close to the brink, and then he’d literally cool me off with ice. He even put a cube in my mouth one time.

Finally, I was exhausted—and, if he’d asked at that point, I would have told him he’d won. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized this had truly been punishment. He’d brought me to the edge and back so many times, I lost count—and, rather than feeling fulfilled and satisfied, I felt so fatigued, I couldn’t even remain frustrated. As if he could hear my brain talking out loud, he kissed me, and I tasted the champagne on his tongue. “Do you want me to make you come?”

I couldn’t lie. “More than anything.”

“Do you promise to stop disobeying me?” I was silent, knowing what he wanted to hear—but mustering up the anger below the surface despite the weariness that weighed me down, I resolved not to give him that satisfaction and clenched my teeth together. But his index finger slid between my legs where he lightly tickled my clit, just enough to remind me that I truly was at his mercy.

“Yes.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, when he muttered, “I have to admit, though, I think I like you naughty.”

As he snaked his tongue back down my body, I doubted I’d even be able to orgasm, though, because I was so exhausted, I didn’t even feel like I could lift my head.

“The things I could do to you,” he said, his mouth drawing in my nipple as if it were a delicate bit of chocolate. He circled it with his tongue, reminiscent of the feather. My body tingled all over, letting me know that maybe, just maybe I had it in me.

Still, I was like a lump of jelly melting into the sheets.

Soon, he was licking his way down my torso and I offhandedly wondered if he could still taste the champagne on my skin. As he lowered himself between my spread legs, he didn’t waste time giving my clit the attention it had been begging for all night. At first, it all felt numb, like it had been teased too much and refused to respond.

But then it was as if it woke up. It started with a little tingle, and my brain focused on that area as if it was all that existed. It wasn’t long before he slid a finger inside me, something he hadn’t done before, causing an entirely new sensation, dividing my attention. But as his tongue continued caressing my clit, my body tensed up again, willing to expend the last of its energy to take me to that place on a cloud where only extreme bliss existed. My breathing deepened as I had to take in more air, and Sinclair continued delivering that delicious sensation to the one area my body craved.

And finally my brain let go, an explosion of fireworks in my head causing me to lose all control. Sinclair didn’t let up, continuing to deliver stroke after stroke, each touch causing another shower of pleasure to explode in my brain.

When he stopped, I felt like I was going to die—or, at the very least, sleep until Monday morning.

I could barely feel him as he moved up the bed, grabbing a condom off the nightstand. I heard him tear the packet and imagined him sliding it over his rigid, thick cock. And, although I was overfatigued, I ached to feel him inside me.

“Would you take off my mask, Cory?”

Instead of answering, the warmth of his hands on my head gave me his response. Soon, I could see him in my line of vision, and I marveled at how bright the light seemed…and how beautiful he looked. This man wasn’t just the man I loved; he was the ideal, perfect for me.

And, as he slid inside me, fitting like we were made for each other, I knew I would never love anyone else like I loved him right now.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt refreshed and oh, so happy.

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