His breath hisses through his teeth with a sharp intake of air as the cold slips over his skin. You can swear you see steam rise from his sweat slicked skin as you move the bit of ice over his neck and down his chest. A low groan escapes him and his stomach tenses, a ripple of muscle as you drag the ice over that sexy little scar and down. His hips buck in reflex and you tighten your thighs around him, holding him in place.
"Please," he growls as you slide the ice over the dip of his hipbones.
He is lying in bed, already awake when your alarm goes off. You wake with a groan, reaching an arm out to slap the alarm off, pulling the blankets higher over your head. He chuckles softly, pulling you close to him, blankets and sheets and all.
"David!" you shout when you’re too tangled in the sheets to move. He just laughs and uncovers your head.
“‘Morning, love.” He says smiling down at you.
"Hmph." You would have crossed your arms but they’re trapped in the sheets, you settle instead for a pout. He leans down and kisses your nose, helping extract you from the mess of bedding. When you’re settled normally underneath everything, you wiggle close to him, curling your legs over his and wrapping your arms around his naked chest. "David, I don’t want to go to work." You sound like a petulant child, but three days off and no early mornings have spoiled you.
He slides down in bed, pulling you snug to him and wrapping you in warm arms. He kisses the corners of your mouth, teasing you. “I may have um—” He scratches his head, a nervous gesture of his. “I set your alarm an hour earlier. So we could— you know.” David winks at you and raises in eyebrow in suggestion.
You roll him onto his back and straddle him, kissing him hard. “I think I love you David,” you say laughing when he rolls you back underneath him.
"What do you mean you’ve bought a motorcycle?" You’re stunned. David is so not the kind of man you’d ever imagine riding a motorcycle, let alone owning one and a license to drive it. Whenever you thought of bikers, you though of big burly men with bald heads, beards, and too many tattoos. David was a bean pole with gorgeous hair and no tattoos to speak of. "A motorcycle?"
You just wanted to see him try on the coat. That long blue coat with the buttons that went on forever. It was mostly in jest when he struck the pose. But an actor to the core, he couldn’t stop the Hamlet persona from taking over.
“To be, or not to be—that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them.”
He moves closer to you, a slow slinking walk that is more Hamlet than David now.
“To die, to sleep— No more—and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.”
He reaches out to pull you against him, his arm going around your waist. You stare into that dark, magnetic gaze. He leans forward, pressing his lips to your neck before continuing the soliloquy in your ear.
“To die, to sleep— To sleep—perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.”
His voice sends shivers down your spine as his breath tickles your ear. “Like Shakespeare, eh?” His delicious Scottish accent is back and it’s too much to take. You pull his head away, hands fisted in his hair and take his mouth.
He tightens his arm around your waist, and presses his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips as his hands begin roaming your body.
The coats ends up in a crumbled heap on the floor.