Cold as Ice (MF)

Play On 2

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 72,866
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[Siren Sensations: Consensual BDSM Contemporary Interracial Romantic Suspense Romance, MF, bondage, spanking, sex toys, HEA]

Curious by nature, psychoanalyst Iceland Taylor likes knowing what makes people tick. Easygoing and gorgeous architect Lars Andersen is a puzzle Iceland seeks to solve.

A shameless people-pleaser, Lars doesn’t believe he’s that complicated. Iceland, however, knows there’s more to the happy-go-lucky bachelor than meets the eye and is determined to test the limits of Lars’ submission.

Haunted by a tragic past, Iceland has devoted her career to counseling the at-risk and disenfranchised—troubled teens, PTSD and domestic abuse and sexual assault survivors.

Lars’ lighthearted disposition is a welcome change when Iceland needs to unwind, and D/s with a skilled and willing submissive is the best way she knows to exorcise her demons. Lars is everything she’s ever wanted in a play partner, except he’s craving things Iceland is unable to give—permanence and her heart.

Lars, however, has set his sights on having Iceland, not just in the bedroom and the playroom, but in his life, in a lasting relationship.

Cold as Ice (MF)
0 Ratings (0.0)

Cold as Ice (MF)

Play On 2

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 72,866
0 Ratings (0.0)
In Wish List
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Cover Art by Harris Channing




Ice Princess.

Could he have been any more lame and irreverent?

Lars wished he could explain it, but when he got around Iceland, something in him wanted to tease her, needed to challenge her authority and bring out the Beast. He’d had a glimpse of the primal sadist that lived inside her. He’d peeped it at the fundraiser and had been hungry for more of it and her salty tongue ever since. The same salty tongue that both excited and unnerved him.

The want and need was probably the masochist in him.

He could have called her a hundred times over in the last several weeks, but he’d never found the time or, more accurately, the courage.

He could just see his friend and business partner, Edge Ryan, rolling on the floor laughing his head off. He had pegged Iceland when they first met her. He had said she had Lars’s number.

Lars had never been shy about pursuing a woman. Even at Collars and Cuffs he had never been afraid to let his desires be known. Once he was in a scene, however, he was all sexual submissive, do with him as you pleased.

Iceland’s Domme brought out all the shy, unsure feelings of his teenage years when other boys teased him about his looks and he had still been confused by his urges and kinks.

Then six years ago he discovered the scene where Mistress Gretchen taught him the balance between confidence and insolence and that he should celebrate and take pleasure in his kinks and uniqueness.

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

Lars’s heart juddered at Iceland’s low seductive tone as he paused with a chicken finger halfway to his mouth. Up until then, they had been enjoying their chicken and fries in companionable silence. “That sounds ominous.”

“I know. Don’t you love it?” Iceland glanced around then leaned forward as if to ensure no one could hear their conversation without going out of their way to eavesdrop.

They didn’t have to worry about Javie as he had hooked up with his friend Evan soon after they arrived. Javie and Evan often skateboarded in the Lower East Side Skatepark. Evan was at Sticky’s with his dad and they had saved seats at the front window for Javie with them and a couple of seats at a table across the room for Iceland and Lars.

From the evil grin with which Iceland currently graced him, Lars had a feeling they were going to need the privacy.

He inhaled and her deceptively innocent peach-and-cinnamon scent suffused his senses. He was so strung out on it he had to stop himself from gulping.

“What are you and Javie doing after this?”

 “He’s staying at my place until tomorrow night. We’re free agents.”

“How would you like to swing up my way? I’ve got a comics collection and PS4 that have Javie’s name on them. It’ll keep him busy while we…talk.”

“Talk as in—?”


Lars swallowed and placed the chicken finger back on his plate. He slowly wiped his mouth and hands with a moist towelette, gathering his thoughts. He didn’t want to fuck up his chances by saying the wrong thing, but he hadn’t expected her to move this fast. He had expected that she would test his patience and make him wait for a response to his earlier proposal. He realized that she was exercising her Domme prerogative, however, and keeping him off-balance by responding so fast and affirmatively. 

“Are you still with me?”

He considered her chestnut-brown eyes—the slight upward, Asian tilt that, along with her flawless caramel complexion, bespoke a striking multicultural heritage—and took full advantage of his freedom to stare. He knew once they were in a scene he probably wouldn’t be allowed the privilege.

The longer he looked, the more exposed he felt, more vulnerable than he had ever felt standing naked before a Mistress or Domme.

This woman was trouble, just as he’d known she’d be. But like a suicidal moth drawn to the flame, he couldn’t resist getting closer to her.

Lars cleared his throat. “I’m with you.”

“So, what do you think?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re not going to check with Javie first?”

“Please. You had him at Olaf. He’ll be thrilled to go.”

Iceland chuckled, then slid a napkin across the table to him.

Lars glanced at the neatly-written contract and wrinkled his brows at the numbers and bullet points. It wasn’t a long document, just straightforward.

He had been so busy surreptitiously staring at her every chance he got and enjoying that she enjoyed her food, he hadn’t any idea what she’d been busy writing between bites of her poppers and Fiesta fries and sips of her seltzer water.

Lars perused the basic agreement, noticed that she had already signed and dated it at the bottom. No surprise there. His glance zeroed in on the line for his signature beside hers.

“You can sign and date it now or you can take it home and look it over in more detail to think about it.”

Would he seem too eager if he signed it now? Would he seem like a wuss if he didn’t?

Damn, he didn’t know whether he was coming or going but he was excited at the prospect of the journey upon which he and Iceland were about to embark.

This was what power exchange was all about—one party taking the reins and seizing control, keeping the other party off-balance—and his selected Domme seemed to have an excellent handle on the concept.

He pulled the napkin closer and gave it a cursory glance before he folded and put it in his back jeans pocket.

Iceland smiled.

Had he pleased her?

She reached beneath the table as if she’d heard his thoughts and placed her hand on his thigh.




“Wiseass.” She rubbed his thigh where she had smacked him. “Wicca, huh? You ever worshipped skyclad?” Her expression was intense, as if she had a vested interest in his answer.

Lars loved having her attention on him and could feel the force of her chestnut gaze like a physical touch. He had felt it just the same last night even when he’d been blindfolded. “I might have performed some rituals naked once or twice.”

“Pain slut, SAM…are you an exhibitionist as well?”

“It was strictly for spiritual purposes.”

“Kind of like BDSM, I suppose.”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I had a heavenly experience last night.”

“Hmmm…” She leaned forward, just enough for her peach-and-cinnamon scent to waft beneath his nostrils. She balanced both hands on his thighs. “What about last night was heavenly? Was it the spanking?” She emphasized her last word with a slap to the side of his thigh and Lars was glad he was wearing only his compression briefs and could absorb every sensation of her impact play.

“Could be.”

“Or the bondage?”

“That’s like asking a parent which is his favorite child.”

Iceland laughed, a full-bodied sound that sent a shudder down his spine. “You are something else, you know that?”

“I know I am, but what are you?”

“Something else.”

 They stayed that way, close enough to kiss, breathing each other’s air, for several long seconds before Iceland pulled back and broke the moment.

She went to the coffee maker on the kitchen counter beside the stove and glanced over her shoulder at him. “I forgot to ask if you wanted any coffee. I’m not a fan, but I like to keep some on hand for guests.”

“Not really a fan either.”

She raised her brows. “Talk about wonders never ceasing.”

“I get that a lot. I don’t know what it is that makes everyone think I’m a coffee drinker.”

“Me too!”

“So, I’m guessing you drink tea.”

“But of course.”


“Green, black, plain or various herbal flavors. I’ve got your poison.”

They had gone from talking about the merits of S’mores fries to BDSM themes in comics. A not-so-simple conversation about religion segueing into what they liked to drink enthralled him. Lars didn’t need coffee or any form of caffeine. Just being in her company had him wired. He loved talking to Iceland and thought he could easily spend the rest of his life with her. If he could get her to open up about her past, it was a wrap.

He watched as she opened one of the overhead kitchen cabinets and pulled down two glass mugs with infusers. The one she placed on the island in front of her place had the legend “The beatings will continue until morale improves” written beneath a skull-and-crossbones.

Lars laughed at the caption. 

“You like?” Iceland asked.

“Yep.” He caught her around the waist before she could escape. “Later, though. I’m in the mood for an earthier elixir than green tea right now.”

“And what might that be?”

In response he pushed their plates to the side and lifted her up onto the island top.

Iceland obligingly spread her thighs and Lars stepped between them.

He held her gaze, playing chicken and damned if he didn’t look away first. Not, however, before catching her glimmer of doubt.

He was going to have to work on erasing that and if he had to resort to making her come as many times as he could without taking anything for himself in return, then so be it.

Lars glanced at the wall clock behind Iceland and decided he had plenty of time. Usually he didn’t like to rush these things, but he really wanted to taste her again.

He put his hands beneath her ass and drew her forward on the island.

Iceland leaned back on her hands, arched her neck, closed her eyes and moaned.

His cock jerked at her ready reaction.

Lars slid his middle finger into her pussy and curved it up until he reached her G-spot right behind her bellybutton. He stroked it as he got on his knees, lining his mouth up with her cunt, ready to work while Iceland draped her legs over his shoulders. 

He removed his finger and put his mouth on her for a proper taste. Her flavor was just as tempting—tangy and sweet—this time around. He thrust his tongue deep, lapping her juices as he teased her clit with his nose and Iceland grabbed him by the ears as if they were handlebars and he was a bike she was trying to steer.

“Lasse, please…”

His sobriquet on her lips, that soft sexy murmur, drove Lars to the edge. He returned the favor, licking, sucking and teasing with his mouth, tongue, and nose until Iceland pushed her hips forward, forcing her pussy into his face with an exultant cry.

Lars reveled in the tremors racking her body and made sure to slurp every drop of her dew as Iceland slowly came back to herself.

She moved her legs off his shoulders and slid back on the island, allowing him to stand.

Lars caressed her thighs, staring at her caramel face. He brushed stray tendrils of hair behind her ear, wanting to assure her that she could trust him but knowing it was too soon. Knowing he still had much work to do.

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