Page 10 of Cross Ice

“Please,” I heard myself say. “Don’t make me wait.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, and I felt the loss everywhere. The rustle of the condom wrapper. The wet sound of more lube. Then his weight settled over me, the heat of his body covered mine, his thick and hard cock pressed against where I was slick and open.

“Look at me,” he said.

I met his gaze.

When he finally pushed inside me, we both groaned—his rough and strained, mine breaking into pieces. The stretch was intense, bordering on too much, but I breathed through the burn while he held perfectly still. He went slowly, giving me time to adjust to the thickness of him, the overwhelming fullness. Inch by inch, letting my body open around him. But I could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back, his muscles locked, breath coming hard. The tension was visible in his jaw, in the way his thick arms shook where they braced beside my head, biceps flexed and trembling.

“Okay?” he gritted out.

“Yeah. Keep going.”

He pushed deeper, and when he was fully seated inside me, we both went still. The fullness was almost too much—stretched wide, completely filled—but it was exactly what I’d needed.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, locking my ankles at the small of his back. He bottomed out with a groan, the angle making me see bursts of color. I bit down on my lip to keep from making too much noise.

“Move,” I managed, voice wrecked. “Please.”

He pulled back, slowly at first, the drag making my nerve endings light up, then thrust back in. Not gently. The second thrust was harder, deeper, and I forgot entirely about being quiet.

“Like that?” His voice was gravel.

“Exactly like that.”

He moved. Raw and desperate, nothing gentle about it. We found a rhythm that shouldn’t have come so easily, with him driving into me, and me meeting every thrust. He shifted his angle and hit the spot that made electricity shoot up my spine, my back arch off the bed, and my fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“There,” I gasped. “Right there.”

He did it again and again, nailing my prostate with a precision that made my vision blur.

His forehead dropped to mine, close enough that I could see nothing but his eyes, dark and intense and locked on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. His pupils were blown wide, sweat beading on his temples, lips parted as he panted.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

Our breaths mixed in the small space between us. Harsh pants, bitten-off sounds I couldn’t hold back. The slap of skin on skin. The creak of the hotel bed beneath us. I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. Just heat and friction and sweat and the relentless build of pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my gut.

His hand slid between us, wrapping around my cock. The dual sensations of him inside me, his fist stroking me, shattered every coherent thought I had left.

“Oh God—” I tried to warn him, but it was already too late.

His name broke from my throat louder than I’d meant, helpless and raw, as I came hard, shooting onto my stomach. My body clenched around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seemed endless.

All of it—my voice breaking on his name, the way I tightened around him—took him with me. He cursed, hips stuttering out of rhythm, then buried his face in my neck as his whole body went taut. He planted himself deep, his groan vibrating through his chest into mine, and he pulsed inside me as he came. It wrung another aftershock from me, pleasure sparking through my oversensitive body.

He collapsed onto his elbows, careful not to crush me but unable to hold himself up any longer.

Our breathing came in ragged gulps. Sweat cooled on overheated skin. The rapid rise and fall of his chest pressed against mine with every exhale, and I could feel his heartbeat hammering just as fast as my own.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Couldn’t move. My hands were tangled in his hair, his face still buried in my neck, our bodies still joined.

After a moment, he eased out and padded to the bathroom. The water ran, and then he was back, settling beside me with a warm washcloth. He cleaned me carefully—my stomach, my tender ass—and the gentle attention felt more intimate than anything we’d just done.

I should have left. I’d lost control… said yes when I should have said no, followed him here when I knew better, let him in when I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be vulnerable to a man’s charm again. Staying would just compound the mistake.

But Nico pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and I was too tired to move. Too satisfied to care about leaving.

“That was…” he started.