I find myself rendered motionless, frozen in place atop Frost’s lap…until he leans forward. His muscular chest presses into me, feeling like both an incursion and a canopy. Twisted as fuck.
Eyes wide, I watch his hand extend toward the ice bucket with a purposeful grace, delving into its chilled contents, the ambient sounds dull in comparison to the rattling of ice. Each time his leg shifts around the chair’s seat, mine follows in a helpless dance, as if I’m nothing more than a puppet on strings. He picks up a cube, and my heart races as he holds the ice aloft, pinched between his thumb and fingers in a sinister, captivating display.
My heart pounds as I eye the ice cube in front of me, a shiver crushing my spine as Frost’s breath caresses the shell of my ear.
“Water is a peculiar molecule,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin. “It can exist in three different states—solid, liquid, and gas. The form it takes depends on temperature and pressure.”
He brings the ice to my lips, the frozen surface smooth and slick. “Right now, with the cold temperature, the water molecules are locked in a crystalline structure. The hydrogen bonds hold them tightly together in an orderly lattice.”