Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)
Iced Out: Chapter 22

“Where are we?” Oakley asks as I pull into the parking garage of the high-rise I grew up in. Turning into the spot reserved for my vehicle, I kill the engine and look over at him.

“You ask a lot of questions. You know that?”

He shoots me one of his death glares. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Tell Me Something Real.”

I let out a sharp laugh, his point valid. But I still leave his question unanswered, instead popping the trunk and pushing the driver’s door open. Oakley follows me to the back of the car where I grab both our bags.

“Oh,” Oakley says as I hand him his bag. “We’re staying here for the night.”

“Do you still think I’m planning to make you fish food or something?” I say, a smirk sitting on my lips.

He laughs. “We’re well past that. If you were gonna kill me, you would’ve pushed me out the door of the damn Ferris wheel.”

Another valid point. “I don’t make it a habit to commit murder on the weekends. It’s strictly a weeknight kind of thing.”

His eyes roll. “He’s got jokes, ladies and gentlemen. Too bad for him, they aren’t very good.”

“And I’m the comedian?” I laugh when he nods before grabbing hold of his hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, and together we cross the garage to where the elevator is.

“What hotel is this?”

Again with the twenty questions.

I arch a brow at him. “Who said anything about this being a hotel?”

A crease lines his forehead as his brows collide in the center. “Then where the hell are we?”

I don’t answer, just keep leading him toward where the elevator leads to my parents’ penthouse. But Oakley almost rips my arm from its socket for the second time tonight when he stops dead in his tracks.

“Jesus,” I mutter, releasing his hand to roll my shoulder. “A little warning would be appreciated.”

But when I look back to see why he stopped, I replace him staring at me in abstract horror.

“Oh, my fucking God,” he whispers on a sharp exhale. “We’re at your parents’, aren’t we?”

I nod, pulling him to keep walking. “Sure are.”

“And we’re going up?” I try not to replace the way his voice goes up half an octave endearing, but it’s difficult. “Aren’t your parents here?”

Giving him a reassuring smile, I shake my head before hitting the call button for the elevator. “They’re out of town this week. I made sure before bringing you.”

It’s not that I’m wanting to keep Oakley hidden from my parents. It’s more than I’d rather save him from their judgment, especially when I know that’s all they’ll give him. And not just because of his choice to also follow a career path into the NHL.

Plus, after all the shit I told him while on the Centennial Wheel, I don’t think meeting either one of my parents is high on his priority list.

And even if it was, what would I even introduce him as anyway?

Yeah, we’re kind of friends now. But calling him a friend doesn’t feel right, yet neither does an enemy. He’s just…Oakley now. The guy I like to taste and touch and turn on at any given moment.

Information that would go over wonderfully with my parents if they overheard the extracurriculars I have planned for us in my bed tonight.

When the elevator reaches the top floor, the doors open straight into the front foyer.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, peeking through them before shifting his attention to me.

“Yeah, it’s a lot.”

I haven’t brought anyone here in a long time, but it’s the same reaction I’ve gotten from everyone who has visited Casa de Haas. Hayes included, and his family has just as much money as mine.

Per Oakley’s request, I give him a quick tour of the lower level, starting with the living room. But even though the place is massive, there’s not a whole lot to see. How could there be when it’s more of a museum than a home?

But I introduce him to Marta, who we accidentally scare half to death as she’s prepping meals for the week in the kitchen. Though the interaction was brief, from the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when Oakley was asking her about the chili recipe she was making, I could tell she liked him. Which made me feel infinitely better about giving him yet another hidden piece of me. A piece I haven’t shown anyone in a really long time.

“She seems really nice,” he whispers as we climb the stairs to the second level of the penthouse, occupied by all the bedrooms besides the master.

“She’s…amazing,” I supply, though the word doesn’t seem adequate to describe Marta in the slightest. Not when she’s been more of a parent than either of mine have been for almost twenty-two years.

Oak nods and offers me a smile before grabbing my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I keep hold of him as I drag him up the stairs, the heaviness in my chest quickly subsiding as we near the only place I care about bringing him.

My bedroom.

Pushing the door open, I lead him into my only sanctuary as a kid; complete with twelve-foot ceilings, wall-to-wall windows, and a massive, king-size bed in the center of the room.

“This is your room?” he says slowly, eyes taking in the space.

And yeah, it’s nice. Big and spacious, lots of light during the day.

But it’s cold. No photos or memorabilia anywhere in sight. It’s been that way since I left for college. My parents had Marta clear out the room, box up all the things I didn’t take, and shove it in the corner of the walk-in closet off to the left of the en-suite.

Now it’s just another one of their five guest rooms, any traces of my existence wiped clean from the space.

Oakley’s expression gives little away as he looks around the room, but from the set of his spine, stiff and rigid, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. But rather than mentioning it, he crosses the room back to me, a seductive smirk on those sinful lips, and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Are you planning to let me do dirty, despicable things to you in your childhood bedroom?”

My teeth scrape over my bottom lip. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

One hand shifts up to the back of my neck, pulling me in until our lips are a breath apart. “Good, because I think I’m ready to claim my prize from our race.”

He doesn’t give me time to think, his mouth slamming to mine with a ferocity like no other. His tongue prods at the seam of my lips before sliding through to replace mine. They twist and mate together while his fingers anchor into my hair, and he uses his grip to tilt my head, gaining better access to pillage my mouth as he sees fit.

He holds me so tight against him, I can barely breathe.

Or maybe he’s stolen all the oxygen in the room.

He breaks our kiss far too soon for my liking, and I try to reel him in for more, but he shakes his head.

“Strip,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I’m almost ashamed by how quickly I rip my body from his and shed my clothes. Within a blink of an eye, I’m down to only my underwear. Oakley’s not far behind, naked from the waist up and already working his belt open.

After shucking my last remaining layer of decency, my hands are on him. Unbuckling the damn belt, I shove his pants and underwear down in a single fell swoop. I go with them, my knees crashing to the floor, about ready to take his thick cock in my mouth when he wraps his palm around it, effectively keeping me from getting a taste.

“What the—”

“Not happening,” he scolds, pulling me back to my feet with his free hand. “It’s my prize, remember? Now get on the bed.”

Fucking hell. Leave it to him to wanna claim that shit at the most inopportune time.

And if this is gonna go anything like the shower did, I doubt I’m gonna survive it.

He practically throws me onto the giant mattress, sending pillows flying from impact before he covers my body with his own.

And then, with absolutely zero dexterity or self-control, we maul each other.

Oakley’s lips trail down my throat, biting and nipping along the way. My hands anchor in his hair, his grab me by the hips, and we grind our bodies together. The ache in my balls is already present, and I know it’ll be too much to bear soon.

I capture his lips again, spearing between them to take needy pulls of his tongue. He meets me with his own carnal lust, dragging moans and pants from deep within my chest as his hips rock against mine.

I’m enamored by him. Touch, taste, scent. All of it.

Every part of me craves every piece of him.

Shifting again, he positions his cock between my cheeks and slowly ruts against my skin and the silken sheets below. A slight flutter of panic races through me when his crown brushes against my hole. But still, the want and desire are there.

Oakley’s not small by any means, and how in the hell he’s gonna fit inside me is…well, it just doesn’t seem possible. Just the first few inches the day in the shower felt like I might be split apart, even when I finally relaxed enough for it to feel good.

But it’s the pleasure I know he can give me that has me saying what I do next.

“Fuck me.”

“Quinn—” he starts, but I shake my head and cut him off with a kiss.

It’s urgent and needy and downright desperate, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if we’re crossing all kinds of lines we shouldn’t. It’s like he said, fuck the rules. Fuck every damn one of them.

I just wanna know how it feels to be owned by him, even if it’s just once.

“I want you,” I whisper, like a secret in the night. “I want you so much, I can’t stand it.”

Tormented doesn’t even describe the expression etched into his face as he looks down at me, two brown eyes watching and searching for…I don’t know what.

“Are you sure?”

Rather than answering, I haul him in for another tantalizing kiss. I have no words of reassurance for him because…I should be freaking out right about now.

No, not should.

Am.

I actually kind of am flipping my fucking lid, fear and adrenaline and anxiety all mixing together in a potent, reckless concoction I know I should stay far, far away from. But I take it anyway, the desperate need for him inside me stronger than that for oxygen.

“My bag. Side pocket,” I mutter, shoving him away from me to grab the lube.

He’s gone for barely ten seconds before he’s sliding his body between my thighs again, peppering kisses across my skin. Any piece of it he can replace. My hips, my stomach. Pecs, throat, lips, taking his time to explore every line and muscle like it’s the only thing in the world he wants to do.

All sorts of nerves twist and knot my stomach, the mixture of anticipation and a little fear sending my pulse skyrocketing as he pops the bottle of lube open, applying a generous amount to his fingers. Watching him only heightens the torrid emotions rippling through me, goosebumps breaking out over my skin.

The second a cool, lubricated finger slides up my crease, my senses go into hyperdrive. Every ounce of anxiety is gone, only need and desire left in its wake as he prepares me.

He massages my rim with deft fingers, ones far more skilled than with just holding a stick, dragging out moan after tortured moan while he does. I gasp when the first one breaches me, the long digit sinking inside me. The way he touches me and fucks me with his hand has my heart ricocheting against my ribs so hard, I think they might crack.

When another finger slips past the puckered ring of muscle, my need intensifies with the burn. I welcome it. Crave it, even.

My lips part on a gasp as he continues to stretch me, and when he curls his fingers against my prostate, I see every star in the galaxy.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I hiss, my ass bearing down on his hand.

It’s a feeling I can’t describe. Of being so full, I might burst at the seams, but also the desperate need for even more. And God, I want more.

I don’t want to stop until I know what it’s like to be shattered by him. Dismantled piece by piece until I’m just a messy heap on the floor only he can put back together.

His mouth descends over my aching length then, the dual sensation of it and his fingers setting all my senses on high alert. Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of where he’s touching me, fucking me, owning me.

I lose myself in him, my head falling back against the pillow as he takes from me as much as he gives. But it’s not long before even that’s not enough, and I’m pushing him off my cock, desperate and ready to come.

And I refuse to let it happen until he’s buried deep inside me.

Like he can read my mind, he adjusts his positioning and slathers his dick with lube. The ache in my balls intensifies at the sight, and only gets worse when he lines himself up against me, the red, angry crown of his cock nudging up against my ass.

And just like that, the nerves and anxiety come barreling back at break-neck speeds. Oakley must read it all over my face too, because his expression softens as he looks from where we’re almost joined back to my face.

“Quinn…we don’t have to.”

“Yes, we do,” I tell him. Because there’s no other option. There’s no other person I want to do this with. Who I want to give this part of me to.

He nods, as if reading my thoughts. Seeing what I so desperately need.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.”

I know he will, just like I know he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that doesn’t have to happen. Even if it means sliding in one millimeter at a time.

His hips press forward in a gentle thrust, allowing the head of his cock to slip past the rim. And similar to when his fingers entered me, every nerve ending might as well be on fire. My ass throbs where he’s penetrating me, barely lodged inside my body. Pulsing with an aching need only he can feed.

“Oh, Jesus fucking fuck,” I mutter, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

“Can you take more?” he asks after a second.

I can tell he’s doing his best to keep his own shit together right now. If the pinch of his brow and set of his jaw are anything to go off, he’s barely hanging on from thrusting all the way in.

“Mhmm,” I groan between gritted teeth, not trusting myself to form complete words. And for good reason, because all I can do is gasp when he flexes his hips forward, tunneling in another inch.

“Fuck, Quinn. Are you okay? I need you to say something.”

I know he needs an answer, but I can’t fucking breathe, let alone speak, so I just nod and dig my fingertips into his hips hard enough to bruise. A signal to keep going.

The look on his face is wary at best, but he continues his assault on my body by taking me another inch. Another excruciating but blissful inch.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my jaw. “Relax for me, babe.”

I do my best to listen, but damn, it’s difficult. I feel like there’s a damn hockey stick shoved up there, and he’s not even completely inside me yet. Nowhere near close.

His hand wraps around my cock, the lube left on his fingers making it easy for it to glide up and down my length. The smooth strokes momentarily take hold of me, allowing my mind to focus on the pleasure shooting through me rather than the burning ache from where he’s lodged inside me.

Oakley rains kiss after kiss down my neck, jacking me in long, languid strokes until I relax for real.

“I got you,” he whispers against my ear, smooth as silk. “I got you, Quinn.”

My brain immediately wants to read into his words and the unchecked emotion in them as he says my name, maybe replace some double meaning. But that’s just about the stupidest thing I could do, so instead, I wrap my legs around his ass and pull him toward me.

The movement causes him to tunnel in deeper, and I let out another tortured groan. One laced with both pleasure and pain.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me with those noises,” he pants, his voice more strained again.

“And you’ll kill me if you don’t start moving.”

All talking ceases after that, Oakley’s focus kept solely on sliding inside me deeper and deeper until he’s completely seated inside.

And I’m delightfully surprised that once he is, the stinging burn has almost disappeared entirely. In its place is an aching, desperate need for—

“More,” I moan, my hand squeezing his thigh. “Fuck, baby, give me more.”

His forehead dips down, brushing mine as a bead of sweat drips from his cheek onto my lips. I’m quick to lick it away, the salt exploding on my tongue as the hand around my cock picks up the pace, jacking me in quick, hard succession.

His thrusts become harder and more punishing, and each time his head swipes my prostate, a tingling sensation works its way through my extremities. I can feel it take over, the impending sign of release, and I welcome it. I need it.

I feel wholly consumed by him.

Owned in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“Just like that, Quinn. That’s it,” he soothes, his hand anchoring on my hip as he impales me with his cock.

My body lights up like the city skyline, release barreling down my spine until I’m helpless to stop it. So I don’t bother trying, instead letting it shoot me into outer space, going higher and higher as the stars behind my eyelids become blinding balls of light.

And I explode with them.

“Ohmifuckinggodyes.” The sentence comes out as a single word of incoherent babbling while I lose myself in rapture. Transcending to a place I didn’t know existed.

He works me through my orgasm with expertise, milking me for all I’m worth. Cum spills from my cock onto my stomach and chest, coating me with the white, sticky liquid as my ass clenches around him. Every pulse and squeeze brings him close to his climax until I finally drag him over the edge with me.

“Yes, Quinn. Yes,” he rasps, sounding just as wrecked as I feel.

I feel his release jet out of him, each thrust he makes into my body filling me with more of his cum until he can’t hold himself up any longer and collapses on top of me.

My arms weave their way around his back, and I cling to him like glue, no part of me willing to let go. The heart pounding in my chest syncs with his as we come down from our high. Exhausted, sated, and wrapped in each other.

We stay there, my fingers dancing along his spine as our breathing slows, for I don’t know how long. Seconds. Minutes. Hours, maybe. But no part of me wants to move and risk popping the perfect little bubble we’ve fallen into.

He lifts his head from where it lay on my chest after a while, those brown eyes damn near unreadable as I stare into them. Lose myself in them and the depths they hide, like every canyon and crack in the Earth’s surface.

And he stares at me too, like he’s seeing me for the very first time.

He bridges the tiny pocket of space between our mouths, his lips brushing against mine in a feather-light kiss. One so soft, it’s barely a kiss at all. And I sink into it. Into the pure innocence of it. Into the intimacy of it, until I’m unable to escape the hold it’s got over me.

But I don’t want to escape. Not now, not ever.

I want to bottle this entire moment up into a single heartbeat and cherish it in all its glory. Because come morning light, one of two things are bound to happen.

He’ll wake up beside me and regret every moment of what just happened.

Or he won’t.

But either way, I need to save it. File it in my memory as something pure and perfect. Something to remain untouched, no matter what happens tomorrow.

And then pretend this doesn’t change anything between us.

Even if I know it’s a lie.