Shirayuki's eyes widened at the sight of his thick, veined cock bobbing free, already hard and leaking precum from the tip.
The cold air of the chamber made it twitch, but Akira felt nothing but heat surging through him.
Shira crawled forward on her knees, her breasts swaying with each movement, nipples still stiff and dark from his earlier torment.
"Suck it," he repeated. "Make it good, or I'll leave you cold and aching."
"Yes, Master," she breathed, leaning in.
Her icy fingers wrapped around the base, and the touch sent a shock through him, like dipping his dick into a minty snowbank.
It was nothing like Mei-san's warm, soft mouth; this was sharp, numbing cold that made his balls tighten instantly in a mix of pain and electric pleasure that had him hissing.
Her pale blue lips parted, and she took the head into her mouth. The sensation hit like a shockwave: a cold, soft texture as her tongue swirled around the crown, lapping at the slit with slow, steady strokes.
