Country Mouse Read Online Free PDF Page B

really fucking cold, nearly searing his nipples.
    “That would be a knife blade from the fridge,” Malcolm whispered.
    Owen clenched his ass cheeks together and moaned. “Wasn’t expecting that in the dark,” he murmured. Then, “Oh God . . .” because that frigid pressure moved to his other nipple and he was shivering and painfully aroused at the same time. “Oh . . .”
    Malcolm left the knife lying on Owen’s nipple and moved back to his cock, only this time—
    “Oh you bastard!” The knife wasn’t the only thing Malcolm had gotten from the fridge, and the heat of his mouth was tempered with a burning cold as he pressed an ice cube along the length of Owen’s shaft with his tongue.
    Owen’s nipple was on fire, burning with the freezing metal, and his nerve receptors were swimming in delicious confusion from the heat and pressure and cold on his cock. He wasn’t near coming, not even close, but God, he had never been so aroused.
    And Malcolm gave him no respite, either, now seriously working his cock with his mouth and tongue (no hands, though), the ice cube keeping him too cold, the pressure and friction not nearly enough to set him off.
    The wet sounds around his cock, every small swallow, every breath was hyper-real behind the blindfold, and he found himself breathing and gasping almost in step with Malcolm, who had a wicked way of guessing exactly what Owen wanted to feel and then almost delivering it.
    Only when the ice cube had melted away and Malcolm’s mouth was beginning to warm up did the bastard bend down lower to suck on his balls, and Owen writhed at the touch of a mouth still cold enough for his balls to contemplate a retreat back into his body.
    “Ah, that’s beautiful,” Malcolm said against the inside of his thigh, and added a bite that, while near-painful, seemed less intense than the touch from the ice cube. “I’d warm you up with a cane now . . .” Intonation lifting at the end, turning the remark into a question.
    “Your hands, you bastard,” Owen panted. “You want to make my ass red, you’d better feel the sting on your own skin.”
    Malcolm hissed. “My God, you’re pushy.” But he was panting too, and Owen could feel the writhing of his body on the couch. He either liked the idea or liked Owen’s participation. Something was turning his key. “Any other requests?”
    “I don’t know— oh God!” Malcolm had brushed an ice-cold finger across his taint, teasing his anus. “It’s my fantasy. I’ll— oh!” That icy fingertip barely, barely penetrated, and then retreated.
    “Cane,” Malcolm breathed against his thigh. “Along your arse, your thighs, your back. That’s what I want. But you’re right—it is your fantasy.” He shifted weight, then leaned over Owen and kissed him again, mouth still tasting of the ice cube somehow, promising more of the same, or a variation thereof. His cock, still hard, pushed against Owen’s flank for a few moments.
    Malcolm reached up and held Owen’s wrists, pressed them against the cushion. “I’m actually pretty good with the cane, believe it or not.” He chuckled, warm breath ghosting over Owen’s face. “Follow my lead. Lie across my lap.”
    Malcolm took his wrists with one hand and his shoulder with the other, firmly guiding him into position across Malcolm’s lap. His erection, between Malcolm’s open legs, found no friction or purchase, and that open sensation alone was enough to make him flex his hips. Malcolm moved something, then Owen felt a big pillow pushed beneath his head and chest.
    He very nearly relaxed in that position, wrists now crossed at his back. He hoped for more stimulation, but suspected Malcolm would make him work for that. Or at least withhold it for a while longer.
    Malcolm ran a soothing hand along his back, up to his neck, fingers carding evenly though his hair, fingernails scritching his scalp, before he stroked down again, the sure, firm touch of a masseur, then down his back, the