As I knock my boots clear of the snow and wetness that seems to have completely saturated them, caking on to them, almost sneaking into all of the cracks and crevices, we look at each other and sneer first, then full on laugh, almost falling over.
You’re not really supposed to do THAT trail with the tubes, but hey, it wasn’t outright forbidden, we’d just endured a lot of whistling on the way down the hill, and not of the encouraging kind. But man o man. The adrenaline rush was undeniable.
The lodge was empty. We were so early in the season that the only sign of life was the huge roaring fire at the massive rock hearth, the music echoing throughout and the one lone dude behind the desk, more dedicated to beating the current level on his game than paying any attention to us.
But we’re not interested in hanging out here. We splurged for a hot tub room, with a view of the forest and slopes beyond. We knock our way up to the room, me grabbing your butt from time to time, taking a chance on that look of “um, really???” that you flash my way in response.
In the room, you turn, zip down my show suit, pulling it to my ankles and then standing back, looking at me rather hog-tied by my own clothing for a moment. You wag your finger at me, essentially “don’t move.”
You slowly, far too slowly, remove the rest of your gloves, your goggles, kick off your boots. You slowly unzip your own outfit, that long zipper never seeming longer than it does right now. As you clear your upper body, all I see is skin and black lace. That look on your face is pure fire.
The adrenaline that just re-surged through me, is the same.
I start to step toward you, you stop unzipping, raise an eyebrow at me, daring me to finish that step. I choose not to.
You finish unzipping… all. the. way. down. and make a striptease show of sliding the full-body jacket off of you. You turn, bending over to pick things up, doing this “bend and flip” type move – and then toss it all on the bed.
You grab your drink, head for the sliding glass doors and the deck beyond. I can see the trees, the darkness outside with little lights flitting around, people skiing I suppose. It strikes me that they look like little fireflies outside.
As you get to the door, the lace comes off – bra, panties – you slide open the door, walk outside and sit in the hot tub in this slow-motion, torturing move that I can’t help but laugh at myself over, just standing here, in my altogether, roped by my own outfit.
You waggle a finger at me to join you and I do this almost comical “how fast can I exit these clothes and get to you” run. Hopping on first one, then the other foot, pulling off clothes as I go.
I get to the hottub and you stop me – “I need some ice please, for my drink.” You’re holding your drink up, shaking it a bit for effect. I’m freezing outside, but run back inside to get the ice bucket. I don’t want to make this trip again, so I bring a full stock.
I put the bucket down, climb up into the hot tub and feel around for somewhere to sit. Yes, to get out of sight a bit, but also to get warm because it’s absolutely frigid outdoors with nothing on and snowy weather about.
But, of course, you stop me. “Stand please. Here,” as you splash the water.
I’m shivering now. It’s so cold. And yet… I’m also standing about 3 inches from you. Hard as a rock. Waiting.
You run your nails softly up and down me. From the base to the tip, playing with my ring, the finest of touches, but while I’m raging below, I’m positively freezing above.
You reach over, put several ice cubes in your mouth and lean forward. You kiss me first, then draw me into your mouth, full of ice, full of hard ice cubes and slowly, oh so slowly, feed me into you. The shock, the edges of the ice, your nails on me guiding me, the freezing temperature outside, the hotter water up to about my knees, it is all totally messing with me.
You pull me entirely into your mouth, then pause. Somehow, you’re moving the ice around in your mouth, around me. It’s crazy. My mind is screaming “YES!” and my body is yelling “NO! Stop that shit!” You pull me slowly out of you, scraping just hard enough on the edges of the ice to dull those edges, to melt them. As I am just about out of your mouth, this solid drip of water starts out of your mouth from the melting ice. It’s hot as hell.
You pull me back in, then out several times, repeating this weird dance of heat and cold and exhibitionist thing that is going on.
And then you stop. Just … stop.
You pat the water, tell me to sit.
You prop your legs across my lap and offer a drink from your glass.
“Thanks for the ice….”