Page 21 of Ice & Steel

“What?” I whispered.

He cocked his head. “Come here.”

I went and he lifted my chin. His eyes were like black ice, reflecting the obsidian around him.

“Open the suitcase, baby,” he ordered.

My mouth felt dry. I broke away and lifted it, setting it on the bed and pulling the zipper. It fell open to reveal our overnight clothes and a velvet bag. I hadn’t packed that.

“Go on,” he said.

I untied the satin drawstrings and shook it onto the bed. Everything spilled out in a jumble. Handcuffs. A black leather crop. A collar. Chains. A remote vibrator and a silver plug. A lot of lube.

“Oh my,” I whispered.

He was behind me, his body pressing into my back. His rock hard cock pushed hungrily against my ass. Hot breath spilled over the nape of my neck.

“I’m going to have dinner with you, baby,” he murmured. “Then I am going to fuck you the way I want to fuck tonight. You have your safewords, you know how to use them.”

My mouth was dry and my pussy had a heartbeat.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He turned me around. I dragged my eyes up, my cheeks hot. Even after all this time, I still felt the way I had on our wedding night. Burning with anticipation and confused by how badly my body wanted him.

At least now, I knew I could trust him.

I reached up and cradled his face. His lids flickered.

“Are you alright, Lucien?” I asked. “Sometimes you fuck hard when you feel…adrift.”

He was quiet and I waited, knowing how hard it was for him to articulate himself.

“I feel like I take you and take you and it’s never enough,” he said, his voice husky. His hands slid up my waist and pulled me closer. Bending me to the shape of his body. “I want to love you so deeply I can feel your blood pump in my veins.”

I shivered. His right hand came up and he gripped my neck. Fingertips applying gentle pressure to both sides.

“You are the sweetest kind of torture, Liv,” he said. “I could take you all night and never be satisfied.”

“Nothing satisfies you, Lucien,” I whispered.

He didn’t deny it. Nothing was enough for him. No power, no amount of lust, no satisfaction was enough to fill the gaping hole ripped through the ice cold center of my husband. I had patched it, I had run my fingers through his intimate wounds, over his scars, but I could never completely heal him.

“What do you want out of tonight?” I asked.

His lips were parted, his eyes dead, but somehow glittering.

“You,” he said. “In every way possible.”

“Will that satisfy you?”

“For a time.” His lashes dropped.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Then let’s just have dinner and fuck like normal people,” he said, stepping back. “I don’t want to push you outside of your comfort zone.”

My hand shot out and gripped his wrist. Arousal pounded through my veins and my sex was slick between my thighs.