He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.

When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”

You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.

His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”

“Now, suck.”

Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.

Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.

He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.

Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.

The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.

“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.

His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.

“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”

He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.

The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”

He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.

Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”

Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.

“Yes?”

“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”

A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”

Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.

Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.

His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”

His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.

A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”

You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.

“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.

Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.

Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.

He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.

“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”

Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”

He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.

He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”

You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”

He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”

֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ 

𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated!

The bed creaked, springs whining in protest as he pinned you down with a hand braced between shoulder blades. The hypnotic plap-plap-plap of his hips colliding with your plush ass bounced off the walls, melding into a chorus of your pretty mewls and his animalistic grunts.

Fuck. You hated how your pussy was drooling nonstop for this limp, spiteful son-of-a-bitch.

You gritted your teeth, fighting for some semblance of pride, even with your face smashed into his pillow. It was threadbare, scratchy, reeking of cheap aftershave and whatever brand of arrogance he sprayed on just to offend people in elevators.

“Agh! You’re such a fucking—-”

“Amazing lay? Genius? Local humanitarian?” He cut in, again—so fast it made your blood boil. There was that familiar curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth as he quickened his pace, practically bullying your brain through your cunt at this point. “Come oooon. Say it. You’ve never had trouble using that mouth before.”

And there goes your traitorous insides twisting tight around his cock. Pathetic.

Whatever snark you’d been choking out died somewhere in your throat once he yanked you back onto him, the grip on your waist bruising as he rutted into you faster on a series of vicious snaps and grinds, like a greedy mutt claiming something he didn’t plan on giving back—hellbent on teaching your gummy walls exactly what shape they were supposed to take around him whether you liked it or not.

“Because from where I’m standing—”

Thrust. Your body jerked, sweat sliding down the valley of your back.

“You’re dripping on my sheets—”

Thrust.

“And still trying to argue like you’ve got a leg to stand on.” House leaned in, his tone silk-wrapped blade. “Newsflash: you gave up that moral high ground as soon as you started creaming on a misanthropic drug addict.”

Your fingers curled in the tangle of sheets, knuckles bone-white. God he was insufferable, yet you still rocked helplessly to his rhythm while his cockhead battered that hypersensitive knot in you to a raw pulp again. And again. And again.

Why? Because deep down, House was right. Obnoxiously, inhumanly, always-so-goddamn-right. And worse—he knew you knew it too.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, blue eyes darkening as they drag over where you were joined. Slick shine glistened along the veiny base of his shaft, your arousal clinging in obscene webs every time he pulled back. Smug didn’t even begin to cover what he felt. “Squirming like I just dug up your favorite trauma and fucked it into a coping mechanism.” He smirked, lips ghosting down the arc of your clavicle, the scrape of stubble pricking at your skin.

“Lemme guess, daddy didn’t call you a good girl either?”

You choked on a sound—half sob, half moan, your frame wracked with white-hot sensation, caught between shame and delirious want.

“House—”

“Mmm, there it is,” he crooned mockingly, teeth grazing your pulse point. “That’s the real you, huh? Not the mouthy brat—this one. The one that only comes out when she’s pinned under a miserable bastard with a limp and zero respect for her boundaries.”

He let up just long enough to deliver a smack across your ass—hot, piercing, a crack that lit your flesh on fire—before he rammed back in, fucking you down hard into the mattress, dick jabbing so deep you swore he rearranged something vital.

“Mmmf—- ohmygod!! F-Fuck!” You cried out.

“Keep selling that ice queen act to idiots who buy it,” he rasped, voice laced with a razor-edged venom. “But judging by the mess you’re making on my cock? I know exactly what gets you off.”

His thumbs dug back harder right below the tender spot of your ribcage—almost punitively—enough to leave crescent evidence blooming there and make you wince. It only made the ache worse. Your cunt stretched taut around him, pleasure ricocheting through your core until it felt like your whole body was tuned to the point of shattering.

“And lucky for you, I’ve got the bedside manner of a goddamn saint.”

֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ 

He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.

When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”

You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.

His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”

“Now, suck.”

Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.

Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.

He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.

Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.

The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.

“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.

His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.

“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”

He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.

The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”

He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.

Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”

Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.

“Yes?”

“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”

A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”

Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.

Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.

His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”

His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.

A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”

You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.

“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.

Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.

Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.

He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.

“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”

Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”

He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.

He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”

You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”

He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”

֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ 

𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated!