Page 49 of Wine & Dine

“What experience?”

“You touching me.” My voice drops, rumbling in my throat. I want those hands higher on my thighs. I want his mouth on mine. I want to feel him everywhere.

Garrett’s lips turn into a full-blown mischievous grin. He abruptly stands and returns with his tie from the night before.

“Trust me,” he says, lifting one brow before placing the silky material over my eyes. I nod as I swallow. His fingers coast down the side of my neck, and my skin pebbles, oversensitive to his touch. I hear him shuffle and then the sound of the ice bucket. Cubes of ice fall inside a glass.

“Garrett,” I mutter. His presence fills the space before me like the uncanny sense of him when he stands behind me. A cold cube coats my lips until he presses it between them. Instinctively, I suck.

“You have the best fucking mouth,” he mutters. “Just watching you makes my dick jump, reminding me of when you took me with it.” Ah, yes, my overeager blowjob on Thanksgiving.

He removes the ice from my mouth and slides it down my chin and along my neck until he reaches my breast. My breaths accelerate. My heart races. He outlines the exposed cleavage above my bra, skating up one hill and then quickly sliding down the slope to curl up the other.

“It’s cold,” I say until his mouth covers the swells, licking the cool path he drew. The warmth of his tongue over the cold trail peaks my nipples. I’m sensitive to the scrap of silk over them, the drag of his tongue on my skin, and the tickle of his fingers skittering up my side. He slips a palm behind my back and unclasps my bra, drawing it down my arms. Without my eyes, I feel naked and raw, wanting to cover my chest because I know he’s observing me. The chilled cube circles one nipple, bringing it to a firm nub, and I yelp, arching into the cold instead of away. Something rumbles from his throat. Approval? Then he moves to the other but hesitates. He doesn’t cross the nipple, and my chest heaves. What is he waiting for? I wonder until his mouth covers the firm nub, sucking at it with a suddenly cool tongue.

“Gah.” I squirm under a mess of chills and heat. I reach for his head and hold him to my breast.

He pulls back abruptly. “I don’t want to tie you up, but I will if you don’t keep your hands to yourself. Grip the armrests. Let me lead.” I nod, slowly swallowing, and curl my fingers over the short arms of the chair. He returns to my breast, nipping at the sensitive tip, and my hips buck. My legs are already spread to accommodate him between them, but they spread wider, hoping to find friction.

“Stunner,” he mutters into the swell of my left breast. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” I exhale, breathless and panting. Another ice cube clinks in the glass, and a new cube draws down the center of my stomach. My belly quivers with the icy touch until he dips lower, pressing the cube to my core over my underwear.

“You’re so hot down here, it’s melting.”

Oh yes, I’m burning up for him. He removes the cube, and his fingers find the edge of my underwear. Somehow, the tip of the ice hits my nipple again. Does he have it in his mouth as he undresses me? I lean slightly, inhaling the scent of him. His hair. Definitely holding the cube in his mouth.

I lift my hips to allow him to remove the last of my clothing. The red heels remain on my feet. I feel sexy and seductive—bare, raw, and ready. I’m convinced I’ve never been so turned on in my life, so vulnerable but willing.

A cool breath blows across my warm clit, and my fingers tighten on the armrest.

“Did you go through my drawer when you stayed at my house?”

It’s a strange question, considering our position, but I also know what he’s asking me.

“I did,” I whisper. The vibrator. The metal balls. The clamps.

“I should punish you for being a nosy neighbor,” he teases, and suddenly, the cube of ice swipes up my sex. I whimper at the cold against my hot center. “But I’m curious which item you imagined me using on you.”

I gasp.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters with a chuckle. “Which one?”

I don’t answer him. I hadn’t imagined the toys in my fantasy. I only wanted him. His skin on mine.

“I should have brought one with me,” he murmurs, “but I have other ways to play with you.” A new cube comes between his fingers and slips inside me. I cry out, and he lifts my leg, hitching it over the low armrest.

“Place your hands above your head. Hold the back of the chair.” I do as he says, my breasts thrusting forward, accentuated for him. He tugs my other leg over the opposite arm, and I realize my breasts are the least of his focus.

“You are so fucking stunning, Dolores,” he says, his voice the roughest I’ve ever heard from him. He returns the ice cube to my slit, and my head thrashes with the sensation of melting cubes, dripping, coating my core. Then the warmth of his tongue covers me, and I jolt. One hand reaches for him.

“Uh-uh-uh. Obey the Wizard, Dorothy,” he teases, catching my wrist. I return my hand to the back of the chair, clutching at it like my life depends on it. Like my heart does. His mouth returns to my core where he laps and licks, bringing me close to the brink but then stopping short. He pulls back, and I want to scream. Instead, I whimper in disappointment.

A thick finger enters me, and I hear his breathing shift. Is he watching what he does to me? Another finger joins the first, and my hips rock against the drag of his digits. In and out. Slicing into my center. Carving a niche in my heart. He owns me at this moment, and I’d give him everything—all of me—as long as he doesn’t stop touching me.

“You respond so easily to me,” he groans, and the tension builds again, creeping, crawling. My toes twitch, and then he removes his fingers.

Son of a bitch.