Chapter 7: An Ice Cube and a Birthday Gift 🌶️

Adelaide was in Owen's lap now, her butt right up against his stomach, both of her bare feet sliding up and down his shin like she couldn't help it.

Pilar didn't dare close the kitchen door because the second Adelaide noticed she was being watched she'd lose it. She'd torn into Owen about that once. So Pilar just stood there.

Two or three minutes later there were small wet sounds, the kind of sounds that came from lips or other parts of bodies. Pilar didn't want to know whether his hand was on Adelaide's chest or below.

"Don't — don't rub it, it hurts—"

"How else will the swelling go down? Open."

Through a small caught sob she said, "Don't go in. Owen — don't put it in. Not even a finger—"

He laughed low. He said "okay." But then she watched as he picked two small cubes of ice out of his drink. Each the size of a fingernail. Smooth oval. He'd had the housekeeper round the edges this morning. Pilar had wondered why.

She was going to use ice cubes on her there?

Adelaide pushed away from him and tried to stand up. He locked her by the waist and pulled her back into his lap. "Don't, you sick—"

"I'd never punish you, baby. Only ever make you feel good."

She shook her head fast. "It still hurts down there. I don't want to—"

She knew showing him fear was the worst thing. He couldn't help himself when she did.

"I promise," he murmured against her hot cheek, "I'll be good to you today."

Pilar registered that even his voice had changed. Softer. Deeper. There was a word for that. Doting.

Owen didn't put the ice cube on her right away. He held one in his mouth first, to take the bite off the cold. Then he slid the warmed ice down toward the soft delicate place between her legs.

She trembled.

He caught the back of her head and made her kiss him. Mouth open, tongues moving, the ice cube traveled between them, slick and obscene.

He swirled the tip of his tongue with hers, deliberately. She made small wet sounds.

"Mm... mm..." Her lashes shook. Saliva slipped at the corner of her mouth.

Owen kept himself clean. He was a man, but he didn't reek of anything. His mouth was warm and faintly sweet. Honestly, she didn't mind.

He lifted her ass and slid her tighter against him.

A sweet faint scent rose off her warm skin. He let her mouth go and started kissing down the side of her neck, her collarbone, the upper curve of her chest.

He kissed her hard. A piece of the ice slipped between her breasts.

The cold dropped down the cleft of her chest like a tongue. She gasped, jerked. Just on her skin it was that strong. He was going to do this where it would actually count.

She rocked unconsciously against his thigh. She could feel the hardness building behind his suit pants.

The full softness between her legs was sealed against the firm muscle of his thigh — close to him.

He could feel her open and pulse, a slow leak of warm slick.

She was this sensitive because he'd made her that way. She belonged to him.

He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to drive into her until he hit the deepest part.

He pulled her thin panties down her thighs and let them hook around her ankle.

He spat the warmed ice cube out into his palm. He slid his hand down between her thighs and pressed it against her.

"—ah!" She jerked so hard she nearly slid off him. He caught her by the waist.

He pressed the small ice cube along the seam of her, slowly, top to bottom, tracing the entire shape of her.

"Ah..." The second sound was softer. Her brow pulled in. Her face was flushed dark.

The cold, the chill, the slow stroke — it dragged her right back to last night's memory of his tongue at her cunt.

Filthy.

The heat at her core dropped and then came back doubled. Where the ice traveled left clean wet trails — not the sticky kind that slick made — and yes, it was good. It was, a little, good.

After a few passes the ice had melted small enough that it caught between her labia, perfectly cupped.

"Now tell me. Does it feel good." His fingers stroked the soft full wet of her.

The slick was running. The little ice cube was about to be gone.

"Mm — it itches—" she clutched at the front of his shirt, her body twitching with each ripple of pleasure. Down below the inner channel was starting to spasm.

He rocked the ice slowly in the seam, rolling it against the inside flesh. "Where does it itch. Tell me."

She wouldn't. She gritted her teeth, breathing hard, and rode out the cold and the slow pressure.

It was ice. Why was her body burning. Why was she itching there as if a tongue had pushed into her, the soreness from last night blooming back into the same hot tingle.

The ice was completely gone now. Just a clear drop.

He picked her up under the arms and put her on the edge of the table.

Her lips were dripping. Both sides leaked clear trails onto the glass of the breakfast table.

Owen smiled small and tilted. Half certainty and half — something close to fond.

He picked up the whiskey glass and tilted the rest of it into his mouth. He didn't tell her there were three ice cubes still in his cheek.

The cool flat of his tongue hit her swollen heat.

"Ah!" She gasped sharp, head tilted back, hands gripping the table edge.

Now the wet sucking sounds came in earnest. Louder than at the kitchen island. More shameful. More exciting too.

Fire above, ice in him, and her caught between.

Help. She bit her lower lip, face fully red. She held her cries in her throat. She wasn't going to come undone where Pilar might still be on the other side of the door.