You lean up and kiss Ice, a firm and hard press of your lips against his, before you roll over, pinning him underneath your own body. “Nope. No nightmares.” Grinning down at him, you grab his hands and hold them up above his head, pinning them in place while you begin to nip at the sensitive skin of his jaw and throat.

Ice lets you take control. Just for a few moments and you think that it comes more from relief you’re not in a depressed funk than anything else. He lets you nip and lick at his skin and you moan low in your throat, tasting Ice against your lips. You slide your other hand down over Ice’s chest and stomach, towards his groin, where you gently grasp his member in a firm, sure grip.

Ice growls low in his throat and pins you with a gaze filled with heat. “I didn’t give you permission to do that.” He tugs his hands free of your grip and rolls you over, gently pressing you down on the bed. His hand travels down the length of your spine. It reaches your backside and he rewards your squirming with a light swat before rubbing away the sting. “Behave, brat.”

“Brat?” You pout at him over your shoulder, wriggling until he swats you again. This time a fraction harder. On the same spot, but on your opposite buttock.

You squirm again, arching your back and lifting your torso off the bed. Ice pushes you down; swats you firmly until you’re moaning. Then, he glides his fingers between your legs. Gently grips your half-hard member. His other hand pushes against the base of your spine; knuckles up your back, over your shoulder and your neck. He presses firmly against muscles taut and tense, relaxing them under his magic touch.

“God, Ice.” You groan the words into the comforter. You grip on tight; because otherwise, you’ll throw your hands back. Try to dictate his movements. How he touches you. You’ll try to take control; and just for once, you don’t want to do that.

“Feels good?” Ice’s chuckle is warm breath ghosting over the back of your neck. He kisses and then bites your neck, a sharp sting that makes you cry out, before his tongue is there, licking and soothing the tiny hurt. And his hand still grips your member firmly, rubbing along the sensitive flesh.

Groaning low in your throat, almost mindlessly now, you thrust into his hand.

Ice releases and smacks you; a harder cuff to your left buttock that draws a sound like a cross between a purr and a groan. “Do I need to tie you up?”

His words go straight to your erection. You put your hands behind your back and he grasps them. But there’s no cold metal imprisoning your wrists. No cords wrapping around your wrists. Just Ice. His hands, holding you in place. Restraining you.

It feels good. You let Ice take control and he makes you feel good. Touching, biting, stroking. You lose all sense of yourself, only focusing on him. His warm breath on your damp, stinging flesh. The nips and licks he gives to soothe them. His hand caressing and stroking your member until, at last, you release. You let go, muffling your cry in the comforter.

You come back to yourself to find him stroking your hair and your face. Pressing featherlight kisses to your closed eyelids. He withdraws and you open your eyes, looking into his.

“You back with me, Mav?”

You nod, stretching your body like a cat before pressing in close, nuzzling into his shoulder. Part of you wants to stay like that, held close and snug in his arms. But you also want to start enjoying your mutual day off with him.