Page 95 of A Love That Broke Us
I do as I’m told, opening my mouth as he places two pills on my tongue. Then he takes my hand and wraps my fingers around the Hydro Flask I keep on the nightstand.
I take a sip, washing down the pills. Once I’ve swallowed, Jensen takes the bottle from my hands.
His breath warms my ear. “You’re about to get a halftime show you’ll never forget.”
Shivers ripple down my spine as his lips brush against my skin, trailing slowly down my neck, each kiss intensified by the darkness behind my sleeping mask.
A gasp falls from my lips, and my hands instinctively reach for him, but strong fingers close around my wrists, guiding them down to my sides.
“Try not to touch,” he says, his voice low and grave.
I force my hands to stay put, but I’m aching to pull him closer, to feel his skin against mine, to make him feel what I’m feeling.
A warm palm presses against my chest, guiding me back until I’m lying flat on the bed. He holds it there for a moment, and I savor the comfort of it.
Slowly, he drags his hand down my torso, over the curve of my stomach, until he reaches my waistband. His fingers hook around the sides of my underwear, dragging them slowly down my thighs, over my calves, until they fall to the floor.
He opens my legs, splaying them flat against the bed, cool air sweeping the center of my thighs, sending goosebumps down my legs.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t you move.”
The door opens and closes, and I’m left here—legs spread, blindfolded, vulnerable—wondering what the hell he’s doing. I almost laugh at the thought of someone walking in. What a scene that would be.
The door opens again a minute later, and I rely solely on my ears to piece together what’s happening.
There’s a soft rattling sound, then the shift of weight on the bed as Jensen hovers over me. His lips lightly sweep across mine, taunting. I lift my head, reaching for him, my mouth grazing skin.
He pulls away. “I said no touching.”
I let out a dramatic whine, playing it up. He loves that—the need, the want, the desire.
A moment later, his mouth finds mine again, cold and wet.
Ice.
He drags an ice cube from his mouth across my lips, my tongue instinctively licking the moisture from my lips.
The cold trails down over my jaw, along my neck, across my collarbone. I shiver, breath catching as it continues lower. When the ice hits my nipple, I gasp, my back arching.
He chuckles wickedly, swirling the ice around the hardened peak. Then there’s warmth, cooled heat, his mouth replacing the ice as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his hand palming the other breast.
“God, babe, that feels so good,” I breathe.
My hands slide up, gripping his shoulders out of pure habit, but his teeth clamp gently around my nipple—a warning.
“I said no touching.” His voice is rough, heated, and it’s so damn hot.
He moves again, trailing a line down my stomach. My hips shift beneath him, the chill of the cold mixed with pulsing desire, sending a rush straight to the center of my thighs.
He kisses, then sucks at the sharp edge of my hip bone.
Then, more rattling.
More ice.
The cold returns in an instant, trailing down my thighs, teasing all around where I’m aching with need. His fingers follow the path, tracing over my skin.
Then—nothing. No touch. No sound.
