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"What did I say you were supposed to call me," he asks her, shifting so he can slap her thigh with his free hand.

Mac whimpers a little. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to use the wrong name, I promise."

"I think maybe this is all to easy on you," he says, pressing that ice-cube back against her clit. "I'm clearly not on the right route."

"You're very good to me," Mac murmurs. "So good. You could be a little harder on me if you wanted."

"Little harder how, Mac?" he asks, rubbing that ice-cube backwards, along the cleft of her ass. He loves making her talk about these things.

"I don't know," Mac says, arching her back a little because Jesus, that's cold. "God, it's freezing."

"You asked for it, darlin'," he says, rubbing that ice-cube back and forth against her. "You're the one who's so damn hot."

"Hot as in attractive or temperature?" Mac asks, beaming at him. She can always stand to have a compliment.

He rolls his eyes and smirks, bending his head for a kiss.

"Darlin', you can take that as you will. But you're not becoming any less of a brat."

"I've seen you look at my breasts," Mac accuses gently. "I know you like them. Even if it's not going to get me out of trouble."

"Darlin', you're incredibly naked right now," he says, rolling his eyes. "Exactly where else am I supposed to be lookin'."

"Nowhere else," Mac says, grinning even wider. "I'm just saying, I know that you like to look at me."

"Like back in New York," he says, bending his head to suck on her nipple. "You touching yourself for me. Making yourself come."

"Do you want me to do that for you now?" Mac asks, shifting a little under his touch. "I could, you know."

"I don't know," he says, plucking three ice-cubes out of the bucket and lining them up along her belly. "What do you want to do, Mac?"

"I want to put on a show for you," she murmurs, stretching a little more to show herself off.

"Alright," he says, reaching up to untie her hands. "Where do you want me, darlin'?"

"Wherever it's going to be easiest to see me get myself off," Mac says, frowning a bit in concentration. "Because I want you to see."

"Yes, Ma'am," he says, shifting to the foot of the bed, still dressed in his underwear, though it does little ti hide his interest in all of this.

"Do you like watching? Or does it just frustrate you?" Mac slides a hand down to cup one of her breasts and tease her nipple, smiling the whole time.

"I like watching you," he says, tilting his head to one side. "Because I know I'll be able to take what I want, later. Got a lap-dance, once. Didn't do it for me nearly as hard."

"They had that in Victorian England?" Mac asks, slightly confused. "The more you know, I guess."

"They have it here," he says, stretching his back and watching her. "In ample amounts, as it turns out. We had...different things, back home."

"Oh, well. I guess there's that, then," Mac says, inexplicably nervous about that. "But you didn't like that as much as me?"

"You see me going back there or staying here?" he asks her, rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Figure it should be fairly obvious what I prefer, darlin'."