Page 40 of Sinful Mafia Santa

She moans when I slip in one finger. She’s wet, soaked, and she clenches her muscles around me, pulling me deeper.

She’s been so good, taking her punishment. She deserves a reward. She’s my babygirl, and I’m the only man who can tame her.

I add a second finger, pumping slowly, with a tap of my thumb to her clit each time the web of my hand settles home. She’s chanting something behind her gag—I think it’smore, more, more.

My babygirl is greedy, but I’m the one who wins. I add a third finger, curling at the end of each thrust, scraping at the tightest bundle of nerves inside her hot, slick hole.

Her hips rock off the table. Her feet flex above the stick. Her ribcage freezes as she holds her breath, as she wills me to free her, as she waits for sweet release.

I pull my hand away.

Her scream would break a lesser man.

She wants me. She needs me. But she’s running far too hot. I need her to hold on for a few more minutes.

I roll the stool back in case she tries to catch me with the stick between her feet. I only have to take six steps to reach the ice bath. The stainless steel monster beside it sends out a steady hum. When I slide back the door, I find a waiting mountain of ice.

I scoop a handful of cubes into a plastic bin kept there for just that purpose. Well, maybe not thatexactpurpose—I remember long nights spent icing sprained fingers, others when a trainer wrapped packs around my aching joints after particularly brutal games.

Aeryn is lying still on the table when I return. Her breathing has slowed to something deep and steady. She’s staring at the ceiling like she’s reciting recipes to herself, or maybe trying out a prayer.

Her fingers are still knotted tight around the bandage.

I settle on my stool again, rolling back between her legs. This time, I go straight for her clit, sucking, licking, scraping with my teeth. She writhes above me, and now I think she’s saying my name—Gage, Gage, Gage—begging.

She’s primed after all the other teasing, ready to go off in less than a minute. One last lick is all she needs to finally set her free.

I slip a cube of ice inside her.

She screeches at the cold, her ass rising off the table. I stand between her legs, setting one chilled hand across her belly, retrieving more ice with the other.

I trace her nipples, which I didn’t think could get any darker, any harder. I was wrong. I trail a melting cube across thefurnace of her throat. I palm her mound, letting a handful of ice melt into her pubes.

When she’s cool enough, calmed enough, I cross the room and retrieve one last thing from a bowl on the counter. Her eyes are closed when I get back to the table.

She’s sobbing now, gasping into her panties, tears streaming into the halo of her hair. Her bra is pushed up under her chin. Her arms stretch over her head, sagging now, as if she’s given up.

But she still holds the bandage.

“Babygirl,” I say.

She lies there.

“Look at me, babygirl.”

Her eyes flutter open. She looks dazed. Confused.

But she watches as I rip open the condom’s foil packet. The fingers on her left hand, the empty one, flex as I roll the rubber onto my aching cock. She shifts her ass, pulling closer to the end of the table, splaying her knees even further apart.

I touch the tip of my cock to her entrance. She raises her head, as much as she can.

I mean to go slowly, to ease into her, but she’s too ready. The ice I put inside her has melted, smoothing the way, and I drive home so fast she shudders. The tendons in her neck stand out. Her eyes strain wide.

She clutches the bandage like it’s the last life preserver on a sinking ship.

“That’s it, babygirl.” I pull back, almost leaving the furnace between her thighs. “You can take it.” I sink back in. “You’re incredible, babygirl. You’re amazing. You’re so brave. So strong.”

My pace picks up as my words carry us both away. My fingers clamp tight on her hips. Her feet stretch. Despite my size, despite the ice, despite the bonds that have to be nearing her limits, she’s ready to fire in seconds.