I remembered an old technique from my trauma therapy training. Something to bring him back into his body, to ground him in physical sensation when emotions threatened to overwhelm.
"Can I try something?" I asked. "It might help."
He nodded once, sharply, suspicion and curiosity warring in his expression.
"I'll be right back," I said, slipping past him to the kitchen. I returned with a small bowl of ice, the chill radiating from it as I set it on the nightstand.
His eyes tracked my movements, wary but curious, like a predator assessing unfamiliar prey.
"This is a technique I've used with trauma patients," I explained, sitting beside him with the bowl. "Usually they'd just hold the ice in their hands. The cold sensation creates an immediate physical anchor to the present. But I thought, given our relationship, we might adapt it a bit." I offered a small smile. "Same principle, different application. Lie down on your back."
To my surprise, he complied, stretching out on the bed, his body tense as a drawn bow. Every was muscle defined beneath his skin, ready for flight or fight. I sat beside him, taking an ice cube from the bowl. It immediately began melting against my fingers, water trickling down my wrist in cold rivulets.
"This is just about sensation," I explained, holding the ice where he could see it, the cube glistening in the low light. "Physical feeling. Nothing else." I hesitated. "May I?"
"Do it," he said, an edge of challenge in his voice, something almost desperate beneath the bravado.
I brought the ice to his collarbone, trailing it slowly across his skin. He hissed, body jerking slightly at the cold, goosebumps erupting in the ice's wake like a visible wave.
"Focus on the sensation," I instructed, moving the ice in small circles. "The cold. The wet. The way your skin responds."
His eyes drifted closed, face tightening as the ice melted against his warm skin, droplets trailing down his neck and pooling in the hollow of his throat. I watched carefully as his breathing slowed, some of the tension melting from his muscles like the ice beneath my fingers.
I took another cube, drawing it down his sternum. The frozen surface immediately clouded against his body heat. A thin trail of water followed the ice's path, glistening in the low light. His stomach muscles contracted, a small, involuntary response to the cold, skin pebbling in its wake.
"That's it," I murmured. "Just feel. Nothing else matters right now."
The third cube I traced around his nipple, watching it harden instantly, drawing into a tight peak. His breath caught, a small sound escaping him that wasn't quite pain, wasn't quite pleasure.
"Too much?" I asked, watching his face for signs of distress.
"No, keep going."
I continued my careful exploration, using the ice to map his body—chest, arms, stomach. Bringing him back into himself through pure sensation. With each cube, his breathing deepened, his muscles relaxing incrementally. The melting ice left glistening trails across his skin, like tears he would never allow himself to shed.
When I traced the ice along the waistband of his boxers, his eyes snapped open, focusing on me with an intensity that sent liquid heat pooling low in my belly. The frozen barrier between us had melted, replaced by something molten and alive.
"Come here," he said, voice rough but present now.
I set the ice aside, moving closer. His hand came up to grip the back of my neck, pulling me down until our foreheads touched. The chill ofthe ice lingered on my fingertips, a stark contrast to the burning heat of his skin against mine.
"You're bringing me back," he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. "How are you doing that?"
"Sensation," I explained. "When emotions are too much, physical feeling can ground you. Bring you back to yourself."
He nodded, our foreheads still pressed together, his breath mingling with mine. "I can feel it. The cold. The heat afterward. It's...clarifying."
"Good," I said softly. "That's what I wanted."
His hand tightened on my neck. "I left her with him," he said, the words raw but controlled now. "But I'm going to rescue her."
"Yes," I agreed. "We will."
His other hand moved to my hip, fingers digging in, hot and possessive against my skin. "I need—" He stopped, swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. "I need you."
"How?" I asked simply.
His answer was to pull me down, mouth finding mine in a kiss that wasn't gentle but wasn't brutal either. It was desperate, needy. His lips pressed against mine, warm and firm, his tongue sweeping into my mouth without hesitation.
