My girl.
My stunning girl. Long legs, narrow waist, perfect tits. Her flawless skin is radiant in the dusky light and her eyes glint darkly with carnal longing as she waits.
I’m a lucky guy.
My body stiffens in agreement.
“I could look at you all day, Anastasia.”
The mattress dips as I crawl onto it and straddle her. “Arms above your head,” I demand. She complies immediately, and, using the sash, I fasten her wrists together, then to the metal spindles of her headboard.
There.
What a mighty fine sight she is…
I give her a quick and grateful peck on the lips and climb off the bed. Once I’m standing, I pull off my shirt and jeans and place a condom on the bedside table.
Now. What to do?
At the end of the bed once more, I grab her ankles and pull her down the mattress so that her arms are fully extended. The less she can move, the more intense the sensations will be.
“That’s better,” I mutter to myself.
Grabbing the ice cream and spoon, I straddle her again. She bites her lip as I lift the lid and try to scoop out a spoonful. “Hmm, it’s still quite hard.” I contemplate smearing some of this on me and inserting myself into her mouth. But as I taste how cold it is, I fear it might have a negative, shriveling effect on my body.
That would be inconvenient.
“Delicious.” I lick my lips for effect as it melts in my mouth. “Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste.” I watch her and she grins at me, her expression luminous. “Want some?”
She nods—a little uncertain, I think.
I take another spoonful, and offer her the contents so that she opens her mouth. I change my mind and pop it into my mouth. It’s like taking candy from a baby. “This is too good to share,” I declare, teasing her.
“Hey,” she starts.
“Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?”
“Yes,” she exclaims, and surprises me by trying to buck me off, but my weight is no match for her.
I laugh. “Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
She stills. “Ice cream,” she whines, pouting in frustration.
“Well, as you’ve pleased me so much today, Miss Steele.” I scoop some more onto the spoon and present it to her. She regards me with amused uncertainty, but she parts her lips and I acquiesce, tipping the vanilla into her mouth. My erection hardens as I imagine her lips around me.
All in good time, Grey.
Gently, I ease the spoon from her mouth and scoop up more ice cream. She takes the second spoonful greedily. It’s a little runnier, as it’s beginning to melt from the warmth of my hand around the tub. Slowly, I feed her another spoonful.
“Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat. Force-feed you. I could get used to this.”
She clamps her mouth shut when I offer her more and there’s a defiant gleam in her eye as she shakes her head. She’s had enough. I tip the spoon and oh-so-slowly the melted ice cream drips onto her throat and as I move the spoon the drips fall on her sternum. Her mouth opens.
Oh yes, baby.
Bending down, I lick her clean with my tongue.
“Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele.”
She tries to flex her arms, pulling against her robe tie, but it holds, keeping her in place. The next spoonful I dribble artfully over her breasts and nipples, watching with fascination as each nipple hardens under the cold assault. With the back of the spoon I spread the vanilla over each pebbled peak and she squirms beneath me.
“Cold?” I ask, and, not waiting for an answer, I gorge myself, licking and lapping wherever there are rivulets of ice cream, sucking at her breasts, elongating her nipples further. She closes her eyes and groans.
“Want some?” I take a large mouthful, swallowing some, then kissing her, thrusting my tongue and ice cream into her waiting mouth.
Ben. And. Jerry’s. And. Ana.
Exquisite.
I sit up and scoot back so I’m straddling her thighs and dribble melted ice cream off the spoon from the bottom of her sternum and down the center of her abdomen. I leave a large dollop of vanilla in her navel. Her eyes spring open in heated surprise.
“Now, you’ve done this before,” I warn. “You’re going to have to stay still, or there will be ice cream all over the bed.” I pop a large spoonful of vanilla into my mouth and return to her breasts, sucking each of her nipples in turn with my cool lips and tongue. I crawl down her body, following the melted ice cream, lapping it up. She writhes beneath me, her hips pulsing in a familiar rhythm.
Oh, baby, if you kept still you’d feel so much more.
I devour what’s left of the ice cream in her navel using my tongue.
She’s sticky. But not everywhere.
Yet.
I kneel between her thighs and trail another spoonful of ice cream down her belly and into her pubic hair, to my ultimate goal. I dribble the remaining vanilla onto her swollen clitoris. She cries out and tenses her legs.
“Hush now.” Leaning down, I slowly lick and suck her clean.
“Oh. Please. Christian.”
“I know, baby, I know,” I whisper against her sensitive skin but continue my lascivious invasion. Her legs tense again. She’s close.
Abandoning the tub of vanilla so that it falls to the floor, I ease one finger inside her, then another, enjoying how wet, warm, and welcoming her body feels, and concentrate on her sweet, sweet spot, caressing her, feeling her, knowing that she’s nearly there. Her climax imminent.
“Just here,” I murmur, as my fingers slowly pump in and out of her.
She lets out a strangled cry as her body convulses around my fingers.
Yes.
I withdraw my hand and reach over for the foil packet. And even though I hate these things, it takes only a second to put on. I hover over her while she’s still in the throes of her orgasm and thrust into her. “Oh yes!” I moan.
She’s heaven.
My heaven.
But she’s sticky. All over. My skin is sticking to hers and it’s disconcerting. I withdraw and flip her onto her elbows and knees. “This way,” I mutter, and reach forward to undo the sash, freeing her hands. When she’s free I pull her up so she’s sitting astride me: her back to my front. I palm her breasts and tug on her nipples as she groans and tilts her head back so that it’s resting on my shoulder. I nuzzle her neck and begin flexing my hips, driving deeper inside her. She smells of apples and vanilla and Ana.
My favorite fragrance.
“Do you know how much you mean to me?” I whisper into her ear as her head is thrown back in ecstasy.
“No,” she breathes.
I gently wrap my fingers around her jaw and throat, stilling her.
“Yes, you do. I’m not going to let you go.”
Never.
I love you.
“You are mine, Anastasia.”
“Yes, yours.”
“I take care of what’s mine,” I whisper, and my teeth graze her earlobe.
She cries out.
“That’s right, baby, I want to hear you.”
I want to take care of you.
I curl my arm around her waist, holding her against me while I grasp her hip with my other hand. And I continue to thrust inside her. She rises and falls with me, crying out, moaning, groaning. Sweat beads on my back, on my forehead, and on my chest, so we’re slipping and sliding against each other as she rides me. She fists her hands and stops moving, her legs braced around me, her eyes closed as she lets out a silent cry.