If he were an ice cream, he’d be Karamel Sutra without a doubt.

His voice as rich and smooth as the caramel itself. Vocal sin. Seducing her into wanting more of the Sutra part; each act more daring, more satisfying. His skin creamy under her fingers, as she bruised it, bit it. He was as inventive as she was cruel, always hoping for better. There was little they hadn’t tried together.