In Too Deep (Winter Games Book 4) Page 5

  I felt the breath from his laugh on my neck just before another brush of his mouth right over my carotid.

  “Sometimes more than one at a time,” he added hoarsely with a cheeky grin.

  And my practical cotton panties were soaked. I would have literally had to be wearing rubber, rainboot-esque underwear for this not to be a problem. However, I was not that prepared because I’d never had to be.

  “Is that what you want from me? Sex?” he pressed on.

  I stumbled backward, the back of my legs bumping into the ottoman. Shaking my head, I felt myself crumbling. Too many questions. Too many answers that I couldn’t bring myself to say.

  I’d been overwhelmed when I put my car in park, but that was nothing compared to this. My whole body was in a suffocating fog of need. I’d never felt like this before. The air was being pulled out from my lungs molecule by molecule—ripped away by the breathtaking ice-god in front of me.

  And he didn’t relent.

  I’d come here. I’d asked for this. I knew that I couldn’t leave now even if I wanted to.

  He was in front of me again. This time, his body pressed flush against mine. Chest to knees. I’d never been so close to a man before. In these close quarters, I couldn’t see, but I could feel that even though he was demanding that I beg for it—his body begged for it just as badly. Hard and hot I felt his erection pressing against my stomach and my mouth went dry, wondering—imagining—that length fitting inside me.

  His hand came up, gripping my chin punishingly and lifting my face up to his.

  “Tell me what you want from me, Tamsin,” he growled. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  My mouth parted, his fingers digging into my cheeks. He wasn’t forcing my mouth open—he was forcing the words out of me. Words, thoughts, desires that I’d neatly organized and expertly packed away in a storage closet in my soul.

  “I want everything about you, Nick,” I whispered. His name slipped off my tongue like a sin—like a naughty treat that I never let myself think about having. “I want your hands.” I tore my chin from his grasp. “I want your mouth.” My boots squeaked as I rose slightly on my toes. I was tall, but to be eye level—to put my lips in front of his—I still needed another inch or so.

  I watched the tense muscle of his jaw carve another harsh plane in his sculpted face.

  “I want your touch.” I drew a ragged breath, unable to stop myself from blabbing like a beggar for scraps from the altar to his sex-god status.

  His hands settled for my waist, his fingers digging in through the thick sweater to mold me against him. God, this was insane. My body was going insane—and we were both still clothed. Well, for the most part.

  In this desirous delirium, I watched his pulse beat in his neck. I stared at it, with every beat his body told me in Morse Code: ‘Taste me. Touch me.’

  “Everything right now is too much. I’m put together all wrong, Nick. I need you to take me apart; I need to feel nothing except for you.” The strangled words escaped me, whispering up to his ear. Maybe once I was crumbled, I could find a way to piece myself back together again.

  Ever so lightly, I reached out and licked the side of his neck. Just once, I wanted to catch a snowflake and melt him on the tip of my tongue.

  Who was I?

  Reckless. Uninhibited. Passionate. No one would have recognized this Tammy; I barely did.

  “Fuck,” he swore and then his head turned, and my lips were on his.

  To say he kissed me was like saying that a tornado was just a little bit of wind. To detail my lack of experience in this area would be pointless. The brief trail of his tongue over the seam of my inexperienced lips was the only warm-up and warning that I received; I knew nothing, and he wasn’t going to give me the opportunity to learn. He wasn’t giving anything. He took. He took my lips, my tongue. He used every last millimeter of my mouth in ways I was sure were just to show me that I was completely under his control the second I stepped through the door.

  Air was optional. Nick was not. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I did it anyway. Licking his tongue. Sucking his lip into my mouth. I mimicked—just like all the little children I was responsible for every day. My arms cinched around his neck, pressing myself as tight as possible against him. All the while, the thick rod of his erection grew longer, harder, and angrier against my stomach.

  The hands gripping through my sweater now dug into the knit, lifting it up and over my head and tossing it to the floor. And then his fingers found the clasp of my bra. At least it was going to be off before he could see how entirely un-sexy it was.

  This is what you asked for, I reminded myself.

  I didn’t call Nick Frost for a fairytale night to forget my future; I called him because everything else I’d ever wanted was now out of my reach.

  Nick bent down, biting, sucking, traumatizing, the sensitive skin along the side of my neck heading for my tits that were swollen and aching to be his mouth’s next victims. The warmth from the fire climbed over my back as my blush heated my front.

  His hands pushed their way between us, finding the waistband of my jeans.

  My whole body tensed as the button popped open.

  No guy had seen me naked before.

  It was like he’d heard a pin drop. His mouth released the suction from the latest step in the hickey trail he was leaving over my collar to look at me.

  “Are you a virgin?” he asked. I suppressed the urge to cough; what was more shocking—his bluntness or his perception? Then again, inexperience was written all over me like white on rice.

  “Y-yes,” I stuttered. “Is that a problem?”

  His mouth thinned in annoyance. “Well, it’s certainly not a plus,” he sneered.

  I winced, knowing I should have realized that for men like Frost, being with me was like being forced to ride down the bunny slope on the mountain when the only thing that gets your heart racing is a double-black diamond trail.

  My eyes fell onto my rapidly rising and falling breasts. I saw his hand slide up from my waist to cup one, weighing its heaviness in his palm before his fingers grabbed my nipple and pinched. Another surge of wetness squeezed from between my thighs. I shifted subtly to rub them together, trying to hold together what he was making fall apart.

  My eyes darted to his as I gasped. “Don’t look away from me.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” I asked so quietly because I was afraid of what the answer might be.

  His free hand gripped my chin with that same punishing hold.

  “You said no questions,” he growled at me and then added, “Follow the rules.”

  My pants and underwear were down around my ankles a second later. Boots and clothes cleared completely from my body in another as he stood. And then, I was standing naked… in front of Nick Frost.

  It was the stuff of my nightmares. Like the one where you are on stage in front of a whole audience in your birthday suit. Except my whole audience had only ever been this man. And now, it was reality.

  I stood uncomfortably underneath his gaze. I knew I was flushed all over. Goosebumps littered my skin like garbage in the streets of New York City. But I didn’t move. I didn’t cross my arms or try to hide. He’d had his chance to tell me to go. This was me. And I was staying.

  His eyes crawled up me like impassioned ivy. “Not bad, Miss Priss.” My chin ticked up a notch. He was taunting me. I might not know a whole lot, but I could spot an aroused male when I saw one. And the tent in the front of his pants told me that he wasn’t as callously unaffected as his tone pretended.

  He smirked, turning back to the mantle to grab his… empty… glass from the ledge. I stared at the lights and shadows that the fire painted on his naked chest. To me, he was the fire and I was just one more night of fuel. I bit my lip to keep my mouth from dropping open, anticipating every inch of him touching me. My eyes finally rose to his; he was staring intently at me—his eyes white-hot with desire. The show was over.

  He prowled b
ack to me, the tick of his jaw announcing every step.

  In front of me again, he dropped to his knees.

  “Oh!” I half-gasped, half-exclaimed as his mouth clamped down over my sex. No warning. No preparation.

  My knees gave out and I reached for his head to steady myself—and to pull him closer. His tongue licked a patch from my entrance to my clit where he stopped and sucked on the tense little bud.

  “Oh my God,” I gushed. There were no words to describe what I felt as his mouth devoured the most protected part of me. Now I knew exactly why Ally and Jessa had… what they meant… Oh, God.

  With a purposely loud smack, he pulled his lips from me. One hand on my stomach, he pushed me back to lay on top of the ottoman.

  “I always wondered if your pussy was as prissy as you are,” he said, blowing over my sex that was completely open before him. I quivered at the chill of pleasure that stole any response I could attempt. “I never dreamed she’d be this warm… and wet… and welcoming for me. And fuck, have I dreamed, Priss.”

  He crawled over me. I wished his stupid sweatpants were gone. I arched off the cushioned support as his teeth clamped down on my nipple, pulling at my tit before sucking it into his mouth.

  His fingers slid up my inner thigh to where his mouth had been, slipping between my folds. Whimpering, my eyes closed at the onslaught of the war inside of me—fighting for release.

  There were a thousand reasons why Nick Frost was able to tear my body to shreds with a few calculated touches. Just because I didn’t want to know their names, didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful; the man he was was exactly the kind of mistake I needed.

  Two fingers pushed inside of me, spreading muscles that had never been touched before.

  “But, she certainly is tight,” he rasped. “Just like you.” Angry breaths fell over my nipple before he pulled it back in his mouth with a growl. Sliding his fingers in and out of me, my body shamelessly coated his hand with my need to fall apart.

  And then he did something, and my hips shot off the edge, my nails digging into the fancy, floral embroidered fabric of the furniture.

  “Hello, Tammy’s G-spot.” I heard his grin. I couldn’t see anything but stars as he did it again, curling his fingers into the bitterly sensitive spot inside of my sex that had been ignored my whole life.

  “Nick…” I begged.

  “Do you want to come, Tammy?” he whispered, his face now by my ear. “Is that what you want?”

  “Please…” I was pathetic.

  He looked at me. I could feel the heat from his gaze almost as strongly as I felt his fingers buried in me. But my eyes were closed—drawn tight because I was on the edge of something that I had no words to describe.

  “Since you asked nicely,” he said coolly as his fingers twisted inside my clenching core.

  I cracked like thunder and sparked like lightning as I came, my hips riding the fingers that had found and destroyed me with a few fatal flicks. I lost control; my only tether to reality was that I could still feel his stare on me, watching as my body came apart underneath his touch. When the seismic waves that he’d caused began to subdue, I could hear how labored his breathing had become and how hard his body turned. Desire seeped from my body onto his hand, onto my thighs, and probably onto his fancy furniture.

  “So, that’s what someone’s first orgasm feels like,” he rasped. I pried my eyes open; his were hazy with need and shadowed with anger-laced lust. “I wonder if it tastes as perfect as it felt.”

  I gasped just as much at his words as because his finger abruptly left me, still clenching, begging for more.

  Broad shoulders separated my thighs once more. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. The fire behind him illuminated him like some sort of pleasure god, here to worship and sacrifice my body all in one shot.

  “You look hot, Priss,” he spoke directly to my swollen sex. Tamsin Lucas should have been offended and mortified. Instead, I only felt powerful and entirely too turned-on. “Slick, quivering…”

  I couldn’t look away from him. The hard planes of his face, his even harder gaze that was locked between my thighs.

  “I think I’ll have this cocktail served on the rocks.” I heard something clank on glass before his hand rose over my core, dripping with water.

  Ice.

  I stopped breathing. Frozen. Literally. By the ice cube that he just pressed on my clit.

  Oh, my God. It was so cold. It was so—

  Hot.

  His mouth joined the ice. Hot and cold. Fire and ice. I watched his dark head moving between my thighs. His fingers dug into my legs forcing them wider, letting him in deeper.

  Forget about jumping off the deep end… I’d dove head first into the coldest ocean.

  This was not beginner-level sex. I felt like I’d skipped right over addition and subtraction and gone straight to calculus. His hand moved the ice back and forth over my exquisitely confused bud while his tongue laved at my entrance. And then the ice slipped lower.

  “Nick!” I shot up off the ottoman as he pushed the ice cube inside of me. My muscles tensed at the frigid invasion, my heat rapidly working to melt the intruder.

  “You’re almost damn perfect, Tamsin,” he growled, and I felt my sex tighten even further. “Almost…” I was numb, and it had nothing to do with the ice buried deep inside of me.

  He may have said almost, but that was far more than I would have expected. And he may have said almost, but he looked at me like I was the penny machine that had just won him the jackpot.

  His fingers left the ice in my sex and his mouth closed back over my entrance, licking up my chilled juices as they squeezed out of me. He sipped me like he’d sipped whatever was in his glass when I’d arrived—like I was a twenty-thousand dollar pour of the finest, single malt scotch—savoring every intoxicating sip.

  I’d asked for this.

  I’d come here to be ruined—and with every thrust of his tongue, Nick was dotting every ‘i’ and crossing every ’t’ on the deal of my destruction.

  This time I knew what was coming, even though it was already levels past the first orgasm that he’d ripped from me. My body spiraled out of control. The fire and ice waged World War Three on my sex, and in one final act of battle, the ice was tossed to the floor, his lips closing over my clit and three fingers slammed deep inside of me nuking every last vestige of reality.

  Screaming his name, I fell apart. Completely obliterated. Destroyed. Demolished. Senseless.

  I’d asked for this—and it was more than I ever knew I wanted.

  Nick Frost had taken me like a storm in the night—the extent of the damage I wouldn’t know until morning.

  “Always resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty.”

  —Jane Austen, Sense & Sensibility

  BREATHE, HEART.

  Beat, Heart.

  Don’t give up, Heart.

  I stared at Becca’s travel mug of iced tea sitting on her desk. All I could see was the ice. A thing that I probably saw every day but could no longer look at the same way. Pure, pristine, ordinary—it had transformed into something dirty and delicious and taboo. I rubbed my legging-clad legs together under the desk even though it hadn’t helped the ache between them yet.

  “You sure you’re okay, Tammy?” my co-worker asked.

  I nodded and squeaked out, “Yeah,” focusing on the paperwork that sat in front of me.

  The good thing about last night—well, there were many good things—but, one of them was that it kept my mind occupied away from my cancer sentence. Don’t get me wrong, that devastation had come in full force—but it had held off until I’d started to brush my teeth, of all times. Then, the dam broke. Tears fell down my face, landing against my pillow with the steady taps of keys on a keyboard. Faster and faster. And then the sobs came, wracking my body so hard that it wasn’t red eyes this morning that gave away my tears, but the fact that it literally hurt to breathe because of how forcefully I’d sobbed, straini
ng the muscles in my chest and stomach.

  Frost. Think Frost. And ice. And his mouth. On you.

  He was how I held it all at bay. The shock of what he’d given my body was greater than the shock of what the cancer was going to take from it. The bad thing about Frost occupying my mind was that it also made my body ache for more of him. Painfully ache for more.

  But more hadn’t happened and more probably shouldn’t happen, the more I thought about it. Nick Frost was a bad idea wrapped up with a pretty bow, tempting me to open his Pandora’s box. But, I couldn’t. And I don’t think he wanted me to either.

  After what I now thought of as my own personal illicit scene from Frozen, Nick had calmly stood, looked down at what I only could imagine was a body inked with a bad tattoo job of a blush—all red and splotchy and probably going to look like crap in the morning. And in spite of the giant ridge in the front of his pants—calmly said, “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

  Even as groggy as I was from an experience that I was sure I was never going to recover from, my mouth fell open. But no words came out. I had no idea what to say at that moment.

  “I think I’d like more please.”

  “Don’t you want to have sex with me?”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  Instead, big fat silence. He murmured something about letting me get dressed and took his glass that contained the remnants of more frozen sex toys and walked into the kitchen. Embarrassment fought for control over my pleasure-sated cells as I stood shakily and pulled my clothes back on.

  Hearing the sink turn on, I walked over to the giant gilded mirror hanging in the hall to check how I looked. What greeted me in the glass was how Lindsay Lohan must have felt seeing Jamie Lee Curtis staring back from her mirror in Freaky Friday… Unrecognizable. My hair was in disarray, messed and full from the rain. My cheeks were pink. And my green eyes that normally looked like crisp emeralds had darkened to a mossy haze. I looked like a Victoria’s Secret model-turned-pornstar posing as a librarian.

  As if in slow motion, I’d closed my eyes for a second and then opened them again—and was greeted by the same result.