the vanilla, he pops it into his mouth. “Delicious,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Amazing

how good plain old vanilla can taste.” He gazes down at me and smirks. “Want some?” he

teases.

He looks so freaking hot, young and carefree—sitting on me and eating from a tub of

ice cream—eyes bright, face luminous. Oh what the hell is he going to do to me? As if I

can’t tell. I nod, shyly.

He scoops out another spoonful and offers me the spoon, so I open my mouth, then he

quickly pops it in his mouth again.

“This is too good to share,” he says, smiling wickedly.

“Hey,” I start in protest.

“Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?”

“Yes,” I say more forcefully than I mean and try in vain to buck him off.

He laughs. “Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Ice cream,” I plead.

“Well, as you’ve pleased me so much today, Miss Steele.” He relents and offers me

another spoonful. This time he lets me eat it.

I want to giggle. He’s really enjoying himself, and his good humor is infectious. He

scoops another spoonful and feeds me some more, then he does it again. Okay, enough.

“Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat—force-feed you. I could get used to

this.”Taking another spoonful, he offers me more. This time I keep my mouth shut and shake

my head, and he lets it slowly melt on the spoon so that the melted ice cream drips, onto

my throat, onto my chest. He dips down and very slowly licks it off. My body lights up

with longing.

“Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele.”

I pull against my restraints and the bed creaks ominously, but I don’t care—I’m burn-

ing with desire, it’s consuming me. He takes another spoonful and lets the ice cream dribble

onto my breasts. Then with the back of the spoon, he spreads it over each breast and nipple.

Oh . . . it’s cold.Each nipple peaks and hardens beneath the cool of the vanilla.

“Cold?” Christian asks softly and bends to lick and suckle all the ice cream off me once

more, his mouth hot compared to the cool of the ice.

Oh my.It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream runs off me in rivulets on to the

bed. His lips continue their slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly— Oh please!—I’m

panting.

“Want some?” And before I can confirm or deny his offer, his tongue is in my mouth,

and it’s cold and skilled and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.

And just as I am getting used to the sensation, he sits up again and trails a spoonful of

ice cream down the center of my body, across my stomach, and into my navel where he

deposits a large dollop of ice cream. Oh, this is chillier than before, but weirdly it burns.

“Now, you’ve done this before.” Christian’s eyes shine. “You’re going to have to stay

still, or there will be ice cream all over the bed.” He kisses each of my breasts and sucks

each of my nipples hard, then follows the line of ice cream down my body, sucking and

licking as he goes.

And I try, I try to stay still despite the heady combination of cold and his inflaming

touch. But my hips start to move involuntarily, gyrating to their own rhythm, caught up in

his cool vanilla spell. He shifts lower and starts eating the ice cream in my belly, swirling

his tongue into and around my navel.

I moan. Holy cow.It’s cold, it’s hot, it’s tantalizing, but he doesn’t stop. He trails the

ice cream further down my body, into my pubic hair, on to my clitoris. I cry out, loudly.

“Hush now,” Christian says softly as his magical tongue sets to work lapping up the

vanilla, and now I’m keening quietly.

“Oh . . . please . . . Christian.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he breathes as his tongue works its magic. He doesn’t stop, just

doesn’t stop, and my body is climbing—higher, higher. He slips one finger inside me, then

another and he moves them with agonizing slowness in and out.

“Just here,” he murmurs, and he rhythmically strokes the front wall of my vagina while

he continues the exquisite, relentless licking and sucking. Holy fucking cow.

I erupt unexpectedly into a mind-blowing orgasm that stuns all my senses, obliterating

all that’s happening outside of my body as I writhe and groan. Jeez, that was so quick.

I am vaguely aware that he has stopped his ministrations. He’s hovering over me, slid-

ing on a condom, and then he’s inside me, hard and fast.

“Oh yes!” He groans as he slams into me. He’s sticky—the residual melted ice cream

spreading between us. It’s a strangely distracting sensation, but one I can’t dwell on for

more than a few seconds as Christian suddenly pulls out of me and flips me over.

“This way,” he murmurs and abruptly is inside me once more, but he doesn’t start his

usual punishing rhythm straight away. He leans over, releases my hands, and pulls me

upright so I am practically sitting on him. His hands move up to my breasts, and he palms

them both, tugging gently on my nipples. I groan, tossing my head back against his shoul-

der. He nuzzles my neck, biting down, as he flexes his hips, deliciously slowly, filling me

again and again.

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” he breathes against my ear.

“No,” I gasp.

He smiles against my neck, and his fingers curl around my jaw and throat, holding me

fast for a moment.

“Yes, you do. I’m not going to let you go.”

I groan as he picks up speed.

“You are mine, Anastasia.”

“Yes, yours,” I pant.

“I take care of what’s mine,” he hisses and bites my ear.

I cry out.

“That’s right, baby, I want to hear you.” He snakes one hand around my waist while his

other hand grasps my hip, and he pushes into me harder, making me cry out again. And the

punishing rhythm starts. His breathing grows harsher and harsher, ragged, matching mine.

I feel the familiar quickening deep inside. Jeez again!

I am just sensation. This is what he does to me—takes my body and possesses it wholly

so that I think of nothing but him. His magic is powerful, intoxicating. I’m a butterfly

caught in his net, unable and unwilling to escape. I’m his . . . totally his.

“Come on, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth and on cue, like the sorcerer’s ap-

prentice I am, I let go, and we find our release together.

I am lying curled up in his arms on sticky sheets. His front is pressed to my back, his nose

in my hair.

“What I feel for you frightens me,” I whisper.

He stills. “Me too, baby,” he says quietly.

“What if you leave me?” The thought is horrific.

“I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think I could ever have my fill of you, Anastasia.”

I turn and gaze at him. His expression is serious, sincere. I lean over and kiss him gen-

tly. He smiles and reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear.

“I’ve never felt the way I felt when you left, Anastasia. I would move heaven and earth

to avoid feeling like that again.” He sounds so sad, dazed even.

I kiss him again. I want to lighten our mood somehow, but Christian does it for me.

“Will you come with me to my father’s summer party tomorrow? It’s an annual charity

thing. I said I’d go.”

I smile, feeling suddenly shy.

“Of course I’ll come.” Oh shit. I have nothing to wear.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me,” he insists.

“I have nothing to wear.”

Christian looks momentarily uncomfortable.

“Don’t be mad, but I still have all those clothes for you at home. I am sure there are a

couple of dresses in there.”

I purse my lips. “Do you, now?” I mutter, my voice sardonic. I don’t want to fight with