“Like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Mmm...more,” she demanded.
He took orders well. He followed the ice cube with his mouth, his tongue exploring the skin he’d chilled. Heat. A tingling chill. A jolt shuddered through her as the erotic sensations washed over her. When his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking, she bit her lip at the raw feeling.
“I’m not cold anymore.” If her words came out more moan than words, that was entirely Mason’s fault.
“Good,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s see you how like this.”
His devilish fingers, chilled from the ice cubes, slid through her folds. It was too much and not enough, a raw, erotic shock that had her arching up against him. Except...she wanted to touch him, too.
Go big and own it. She peeked in the bowl, hoping for inspiration. And, hello, naughty idea. Not only had he brought ice, but he’d brought Popsicles. She’d had no idea her villa’s kitchen was so well stocked. Or that Mason had such a creative imagination.
She grabbed a cherry Popsicle, which was definitely her new favorite flavor. At least her mouth wouldn’t turn bright green or purple. Unless Mason had undisclosed alien sex fantasies, that wouldn’t be a hot look.
“It’s still my turn,” he growled, still fingering her pussy.
“You bet.” This was all about making him feel good after all. She eased the Popsicle into her mouth, pretending it was a certain part of Mason. Sure, the Popsicle was way too small and cold, but she worked it for all she was worth. Moving her mouth up and down the icy treat, swirling her tongue around the top. When it popped free with an audible sound, he groaned.
“You play dirty.” He sounded approving.
Absolutely, and always in bed. Handing him the Popsicle, she reached for him, intending to go down on him. “Hold this and hold on. I’ve heard guys love this.”
“Now that I’ve got this?” He waggled the Popsicle. “Nuh-uh. It’s still my turn, sweetheart.” He dropped down the bed, maneuvering his shoulders between her thighs, pushing her wide. She had just enough time to wonder what she looked like before something cold slicked over her pussy.
“Mason—”
“Shh. I’m working here.” He parted her and then he ran the damned Popsicle around her clit. Oh. The shiver working up from her toes had absolutely, positively nothing to do with being cold, because she was hot all over.
* * *
MADDIE SHRIEKED SOMETHING. Mason couldn’t tell what, didn’t care, because her hands were pulling at his shoulders. The sounds she made were more erotic than the dirtiest words because she didn’t hold back. This was his Maddie, letting him touch her.
He’d make this good for her. He’d make this fantasy come true, and then he’d find out what else she dreamed about and do that, too. Whatever she wanted, she got it.
He moved his mouth over the skin of her thigh. She tasted sweet, felt even softer, and the heat of her...the speed with which her Popsicle was melting pointed out the flaw in this plan of hers.
“Mason,” she pleaded, her hips moving against his hands. More words followed his name, disjointed and throaty. He loved that he could make his smart, funny Maddie stop thinking and lose her train of thought.
Abandoning what remained of the Popsicle, he tossed it away. Maddie opened her mouth, but he didn’t think she was about to criticize his lack of housekeeping skills. Just to be sure, however, he moved his mouth higher, closing the distance between him and her sweet spot. He licked her where she was cherry red, swiping his tongue up her slit. The icy cool of the Popsicle burst on his tongue, a bright hit of artificial flavor, followed by the taste of Maddie. And that taste? Absolutely exquisite.
He tipped her farther back onto the bed, cradling her hips with his hand. She sprawled on the mattress, her fingers pushing first into the sheets, and then fluttering to his shoulders. His head. Touching him in as many places as she could. Not good enough, not yet. He went back to her cherry sweet spot and covered her with his mouth.
She shrieked his name, her hands grabbing on to his head and holding on. Yeah. Just like that, sugar.
Her legs fell open and he ate his sweet treat. Licked up her cream as he found her clit and pressed with his tongue. Flicked and rubbed as he pushed the tip of two fingers inside her slick channel. She shrieked some more—when she let go, she let go, which was just one more thing he loved about her.
Love.
Wait.
He froze for a moment and the chill sweeping him had nothing to do with ice or Popsicles, because that L-word wasn’t supposed to pop into his head right now. Or ever. But her hands tugged on his head, her hips bucking against his face, and now wasn’t the time to ask himself which it was, love or sex, because he could feel her thighs tensing, her heels digging into his back, and she was so close. Instead of thinking, he gave her more, sliding his fingers in, rubbing the pads of his fingertips against that one particular spot that makes her clench.