Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three

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Before I can so much as blink, Frost is towering above me, his broad chest suddenly a mere whisper away from my face. One second, the tray is in my hands and the next it's flying out of my grasp. My heart lurches into my throat at the abrupt commotion, skipping several beats as my wide, alert eyes follow the platter and its items on reflex, watching them leave my grasp and clatter loudly as they skid and topple across the table. It happens so fast I can barely track it, and before I can even draw my next breath, my feet leave the floor without my consent.

Devoid of any warning, I find myself hauled into the air, the wind getting knocked out of me for a split second, my head spinning with the jolting intersection of flying and falling at the same time.

Powerful, unyielding hands grip at either side of me, lifting me onto the edge of the table far too easily, as though I weigh no more than the Band-Aids they just put on mine. Before I know it, Frost is roughly yanking at my robe, pulling back the thick fabric in harsh, forceful strokes. I reach for his hands impulsively, trying to stop them even when they so easily overpower me, fighting even when it's obvious that my efforts are futile.

He grabs at the cincher, his fingers dipping under the belt before pulling in a single tug, and it comes undone instantly, easily unraveling before being carelessly tossed in the opposite direction. Cool air grazes my skin, and the weighty robe slides off my shoulders almost immediately. More of my body quickly follows, and my entire torso comes into view as he continues to pull on its front, stripping me unapologetically. Palpable fire scorches my entire face when I feel my breasts jiggle slightly from being exposed so abruptly, and I watch as his eyes zone in on my bare chest briefly, his tongue darting over his bottom lip before the intense pair of diluted sapphire rise to mine again.

My ass comes into contact with cold, hard marble, but I barely even process the sensation before I'm pushed further up the table, feeling the hem of the robe stretch to capacity as the sinister, unpredictable man in front of me positions himself between my feet. Frost practically picks me up like a utensil and places me next to the discarded tray, and almost immediately, I feel his fingers on my calves, sliding up the back of my legs before he hooks his hands under my knees.

And then he lifts; pulling intently, raising my legs off the table. The action is precise. Eager. Efficient. But inertia quickly takes its place, forcing the rest of me to topple like the breakfast items laying less than a foot away. And then his grip is on my knees, forcing them apart and spreading my legs wide open, taking advantage of both my current physical handicap and the sheer shock it spawns, and in one swift motion, he hoists my lower body up to his face, simultaneously dipping his head between my thighs. The sight quite literally makes my heart stop, and a strained croak stutters out of me as his fingers dig into my skin, pulling me closer to him.

And then...it happens.

His mouth meets my flesh.

Wet heat melds with wet heat, and his tongue parts my nether lips in one long, hard, consuming lick. There's no easing into it. No tenderness. No hesitation. No restraint.

My legs slam closed impulsively, but he keeps them apart, his hands insistent, lifting my ass slightly off the table roughly and pressing my pussy against his mouth like a madman even when my thighs clamp frantically around his head. He gruffly drapes them over his shoulders, unapologetically demanding more access to my core. He forces my knees apart, hooking his hands under them again and pushing down, spreading my inner thighs, keeping me open for him. I feel impossibly exposed, bared wide open and vulnerable to his whims, his mouth, his roughness.

Involuntary tears form at the corner of my eyes, welling up fast even when I blink rapidly against both them and the actions of the man responsible for their existence. My legs kick at him impulsively, and I can't decide if I'm trying to hurt or scurry away from him. Either way, my attempt is unsuccessful, my feet swinging at air before they're effortlessly stilled by powerful hands, dangling in their vise-like grip, my resistance only seeming to feed his ruthlessness, spurring on the new, pristine insanity that's come over him.

He sucks on my sensitive flesh forcefully, firmly pulling and tugging my swollen lips between his, cupping me with his mouth, and the lewd slurps and popping sounds create a billion blasts of fire on every inch of my skin. My hips buck without my permission, and my hands fly out impulsively, struggling with everything in me to push his head away, but he's relentless, unwilling to let go.

My back arches off the table even when their stiff muscles cry out in pain, bending sharply against his unyielding assault. A harsh, unrecognizable groan fills my ears, and I realize it's mine, my nostrils flaring around rapid, labored exhales until I can no longer even breathe through them, my own mouth parting wide, taking and releasing the short, shallow pants in its place.

The empty, now overturned oatmeal bowl comes into my peripheral view, quickly blurring as more tears stain my widened, alert eyes.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"Oh, I most definitely will."

I suddenly recall his answer to my idle question just moments ago, realizing that this is what he meant. Now that I really think about it, the implication was clear, mirrored in both his voice and icy eyes even though I didn't want to believe it. And, as always, he's making good on his word—this time, a lot sooner than I thought.

I bite my bottom lip against a loud moan threatening to escape, my free hand clamping around the edge of the table, using it as an anchor to brace myself against his unrelenting mouth while the other grips his hair, my fingers pulling on it involuntarily, digging into his scalp. He growls into my pussy, the low, primal sound reverberating through my slippery folds, making my exposed flesh hum even more than it already is.

And then I feel this indescribable pressure, this jarring, delicious suction, and I know I'm done for. My entire lower back lifts off the table without my consent, and before I can stop it, I'm pressing myself into him, pushing my mound against his mouth, and it seems the action only eggs him on, spurring long, hard, licks to my flesh, the wet heat of his tongue pushing on my clit too much to process, producing a sequence of sharp, delicious tickles that seem to build on one another, cumulating alarmingly fast, and I'm powerless to stop it.

His tongue is rough against my slippery folds, merciless in its fast, hard strokes, licking me so hard and insistently, almost frantically, and he doesn't slow down, doesn't let up even when a broken scream stutters out of me.

"A-ahhhah!!!" I want to tell him to stop. Need him to. Right now. But I can't even voice a single coherent word.

He lifts me even further, until I'm literally upside down, touching the table from only my shoulders up. He sucks on my clit almost fanatically, like he's trying to dissolve it, pulling the raw bud into his mouth again and again adamantly, not skipping a single beat, not letting up for even a fraction of a second.

A sharp, high-pitched gasp claws its way out of me, quickly followed by a guttural moan I can't suppress. My neck quickly gives out under the physical stress of being wrong-side up and the deliciously crushing pressure on my clit, my head whipping left and right, my hair falling into my face, briefly covering my glasses and my view of Frost and his icy, devouring eyes. I curve into my shoulder impulsively as my own eyes squeeze shut, biting down on my lip against another moan that threatens to spill out of me. A powerful, abrupt spike promptly forces them open, the concentrated sensation quickly scattering into an army of sharp, heightened tickles. My hips pump upward against my will in response, thrusting against his face fervently, trying to get closer to his mouth, demanding more friction from him even when I beg them to stop.

And, as if in response to that, a sudden, blunt but palpable pressure attacks my slick flesh, forcing a loud, stuttered yelp from me. My mouth remains parted in a silent 'O' even after the shocked, raspy sound comes tumbling out of my raw throat, my brows furrowing instantly when I realize what just happened.

He...he bit me.

Frost just straight-up bit my pussy.

The dulled spike immediately amplifies the jumble of sensations bombarding me, turning the chaotic mesh of sharp tingles and buzzing vibrations into a heightened, overwhelming feeling that I can't even truly describe.

"Y-yes," I hear myself whimper as his teeth sink into my engorged flesh, nibbling on me. I feel hot moisture instantly escape my core, trickling down the crack of my ass and moving up my lower back, the small stream propelled by gravity just as much as its source is propelled by the mouth dominating it. And soon, I feel the tip of Frost's tongue at my entrance, lapping up the sticky, viscous trail as he prods my flesh with his, pushing insistently against my opening...

And then he thrusts.

Hard.

My eyes bulge like onions behind my glasses, and I feel my muscles clench ferociously, tensing against his invasion even as they're forced to accommodate him, clamping around the wet heat of his tongue.

His nose pushes against my mound, the tip inadvertently sliding up and down my slit as he drives his tongue deeper inside me, inhaling sharply with each fervent plunge. Every harsh, ragged exhale that leaves him directly fans over my clit, each tiny blast of hot air stroking my raw, exposed bud again and again, speeding up my own breaths until they out-pace his a billion times over.

I damn near die on the spot when I feel his chin nudging against my ass, obscenely tucked between my bruised, wide-spread cheeks, only a whisper away from the puckered hole at its center.

My heels dig into his back, registering the hard, broad muscles below his shoulders as I anchor myself to them, and my own back arches mid-air against a sequence of intense, almost angry thrusts, my upper body contorting like an agitated snake, in tandem with the one between my legs.

He vigorously pumps me with his tongue, practically shoving his oral member inside me again and again, flicking it back and forth against my walls faster and faster.

Stretching me until I scream.

Licking me until palpable fire emanates from my core.

Sucking me until my eyes roll all the way back.

He's gone berserk. There's no doubt about it: his tongue moving like an unattended fire-hose, whipping in every direction at once, as though it's an entity itself, burrowing even further of its own will, in search of something its life depends on finding.

A particularly hard, greedy slurp spawns a tremor up my spine, producing the kind of unparalleled, immense sensation that makes me cry out and shamelessly grind my pussy against his face.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!

My entire groin throbs vigorously, eclipsing the severe pounding in my chest, and my own tongue swipes lewdly over my lips even as my cheeks burn to a crisp when I feel hot fluid leak out of it uncontrollably.

This isn't oral sex. Not by a long shot.

This is...crude. Vulgar. All types of wrong.

And yet...and yet...

Pent-up tears spill from my eyes without restraint, streaking down the sides of my face and into my hairline as I feel the last remnants of control I'm so desperately clinging to quickly exit my body.

"Please," I sob, my breath coming in quick gasps, gripping his hair even harder, blatantly pushing his head further into my core, unsure if I'm still begging him to stop or to keep going. I rock my hips against his mouth, bucking in an obscene, desperate rhythm, and before I know it, I'm practically fucking his face, aggressively rubbing my pussy against his wicked, unrelenting mouth and not giving a shit.

A sharp, extended inhale punctuates my wheezing gasps, my muscles tensing to the point of pain, and I can feel myself just inches away from a familiar yet novel edge, already tasting whispers of a violent, quickly-encroaching orgasm...when he stops abruptly, his mouth parting from my incinerating core, his face retreating from between my trembling thighs.

I look up at him dazed, my lips parted in confusion and a twisted sense of disappointment as I shake on the table, feeling my pussy spasm involuntarily, grasping at air when its target is no longer within reach.

Frost's tongue darts out, licking at the sticky wetness glistening on its owner's distracting lips. I watch as a faint little string of my cum starts to trickle down his chin, but he swipes at the moisture with his thumb, placing it in his mouth and sucking on it nonchalantly.

Calmly, he moves away from my spread legs and proceeds to take out a folder from his suitcase, acting as though nothing just happened—as if he didn't just eat my fucking brains out!

I scramble on the table, my legs slamming closed with record speed as if a light switch just got flipped in my head, and an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and humiliation sweeps over me. I clutch the now damp robe to my chest, shielding myself as from his icy eyes, holding onto the fabric as though it's armor, as if it can actually protect me from him when it has already proven it can't.

He pulls out some forms and hands them to me, much to my shock and incredulity. I take them on auto-pilot as I stare blankly at him, and I barely register his voice over the blood-driven ringing in my ears when he speaks.

"These are the lab results that I tested for yesterday."

My brows furrow in confusion, both mental and physical whiplash engulfing my mind as it searches for what he means amid thoughts that are irrevocably mangled from the sudden switch in gears...when another light bulb goes off.

STD tests.

I stare at him with a blank expression, which quickly morphs into one of complete and utter incredulity at how casual and nonchalant he is, speaking so calmly and in a matter-of-fact tone about it right after he just ravaged my pussy like a beast with that same mouth.

He arches his brow intently. "You wanted proof, did you not?" he shrugs, misinterpreting the reason for my astonishment—or perhaps simply mocking it. "Plus..." a knowing grin tilts his full lips, "I'm sure you'll agree it was the responsible thing to do," he adds, mimicking the same sarcastic words I uttered to him last night.

I huff in disbelief, finding myself absolutely speechless even though a billion spiteful remarks flood my brain. I look at the forms closely, choosing to ignore his snide comment since he is giving me what I asked for...until I realize every single one of them is loaded with a bunch of technical, medical jargon and obscure values and metrics that I have no hopes of deciphering on my own; the kind that, of course, only a doctor would understand.

"How exactly does this prove anything to me?" I frown, managing to find my voice. "I can hardly understand a word on it. For all I know, you just handed me a Russian recipe."

"I can assure you, they all say that I'm clean," he states confidently. His voice is even, but the haughty amusement in his eyes begins to dissipate, subtly giving away any impression of aloofness.

"And so I should just blindly take your word for it? Because you said so? Because you're trustworthy? Because you're a doctor? Ha. Please," I spit bitterly, feeling an ocean of irritation bubble to the surface. "You're still a man; a man with a dick who wants to get laid and is willing to pay some girl he barely knows to fulfill his sick fantasies!"

The words leave me before I can stop them, my pent-up anger at him finally erupting, belatedly making its appearance. My voice rises in spite of my efforts to stay calm, my entire body vibrating with rage and exasperation that stem from both the memories of what he did to me last night and the frustration of what just transpired between us—as well as what didn't.

I can see his jaw clenching, as though he's fighting for some control, the hard lines of his frighteningly beautiful face flexing against gritted teeth before turning to steel, the motion subtle yet noticeable; the first of its kind I've witnessed--one that signals his own irritation.

I clearly struck a nerve.

Good.

A smirk tilts my lips, and I don't even try to suppress it, genuinely happy to see him lose his cool and be on the receiving end of someone else's dishing spoon for once, no matter how briefly.

A tense, lengthy pause ensues, and Frost remains mute for several moments, his eyes directly on mine, his gaze unwavering, not shifting even for a second.

My flash of triumph over him is even more fleeting than I'd hoped, and I quickly find myself on edge again, his quiet glare more unnerving than the obvious gesture of his irritation, and I shift uncomfortably in spite of myself, inconspicuously leaning away from him, placing one foot behind the other.

"Go upstairs to your room and wait for me there," he commands suddenly, and I nearly jump from the jarring break of silence.

My brows furrow instantly. "What?" I blurt, more out of sheer impulse than a need for clarification, the hairs on my neck rising, my heart speeding up.

"Ramona, I believe I told you before that I don't like repeating myself." Even the tiniest hint of humor in his eyes is vanquished, the pair turning menacing as they narrow at me, his voice low. Deep. Resonant. "Upstairs. Now."

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