The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

12

Weston

Her body bucks, her spine curves, she opens her mouth, but no sound emerges. Her eyes roll back in her head as she shatters. I tilt my head, lick up the cum from between her pussy lips. So fucking sweet. Is she made of the sugar that she likes to bake with? Her climax seems to go on and on. Her shoulders jerk, her head thrown back, and the arch of her throat beckons.

I crawl up her body, fit my mouth to hers. I slide my fingers inside her pussy, she moans, and I swallow it up. I swipe my tongue over hers, tasting our joined-up essences. I drag my other hand up the curve of her waist. She shivers. I cup her cheek, lean back and peer into her features, "Look at me."

Her eyelids flutter. Those blue eyes peek up at me, pupils blown, still high on the orgasm. Something hot stabs at my chest. I flip over on the bed, pulling her with me. I coil her over my chest. Another spasm runs up her spine. I tug her closer, wrap her up in my arms.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I doing?I hadn’t meant for it to get this…intense, this complicated. Keep things light, stay away from all entanglements, has always been my motto. And I’ve succeeded so far, haven’t I? I had asked her to stay…because I’d thought it would be entertaining. Okay so that's not the full truth. The last time I’d spoken to my mother, she’d asked me if I’d met anyone yet. It is the one thing—the only thing—she wants from me. For me, I guess. It had been a flash of instinct that had had me stipulating she come along to the Christmas dinner. My family… They’d pulled me out of the depression I had fallen into after the 'incident' when I had been kidnapped along with the rest of the Seven. They’d reassured me, never allowing me to falter.

The incident had turned everything upside down. The only people who had seemed to get me after that were the rest of the Seven, and not only because they were, each of them, mean motherfuckers, as unfeeling as me… It was the shared experience of the days that had changed our lives, scarred each of us in similar, yet unique, ways.

Still, my parents had been encouraging, supportive, taken me to therapy, tolerated my outbursts at them as I’d struggled to come to terms with what had happened. They had been stellar in their roles and duties toward me. It’s not their fault I’ve turned out to be an asshole. Blame that on me… Maybe it’s the way I was born.

So, it had been a spur of the moment decision that she accompany me to see my family for Christmas. The hell had I been thinking?

This pint-sized woman with the sassy attitude, honeyed mouth, and a cunt that tastes like all the forbidden delights she specializes in baking—has clearly addled my thought processes.

I drag my fingers down the waterfall of her golden hair. Softer than cookie dough— What the fuck? I do not think in food metaphors. Her proximity is definitely affecting me. I stay still, watch her eyeballs move behind her now-closed eyelids. She snuggles into me; her breathing deepens. I stay still until her body twitches. She’s definitely out cold. Apparently, I tired her out. Too bad I can’t say the same about me. My muscles coil and bunch, my mind racing. I need to figure out what the hell to do with her. My proposal stands, but the boundaries are blurring… Hell, I am still here, holding her, caressing her, watching her as she sleeps. The fuck is up with that? I ease her down onto the bed. She doesn’t stir. Good.

I slide out of bed, pull the duvet over her. Turning, I crash into her suitcase, which plops over. I glance over to find she’s still sleeping. I shake my head. What I wouldn’t give to be able to switch off like that, huh? Since the incident… I’ve never slept for more than three, maybe four hours a night. Useful when you’re at medical school and need to study before exams… A bitch at any other time. I pull on my jeans, a sweatshirt over my long-sleeved T, socks and boots.

Grabbing my phone from the side table, I walk through the living room, Max stirs from his rug near the fireplace, lifting his head. I go over, pat him on his flank. He licks my hand, then burrows into the special cushion I’d ordered for him. Hey, don’t go all gooey-eyed. It was simply to ensure he’d be comfortable enough to not want to share my bed, okay?

I slip out onto the back porch. Early dawn lights up the horizon as I head toward the shed at the back of the property. I open the door and walk in, then head for the work bench. I switch on the desk lamp, and when my phone buzzes, I slide it out of my pocket, swipe the screen.

"Hey, motherfucker," Damian’s image fills the space.

"Same to you, dickwad," I mutter.

"What’s gotten into you?" He peers into the screen as if he’s there in real life with me.

"What’s gotten into you?" I growl. Now I’m doing the fucking NLP mirroring shit Buttercup had talked about. Why the hell am I thinking about her, huh? Didn’t I come here to get away from her? Huh? Had she actually pushed me out of my own space? I scratch my jaw. Now, that would be the first.

"Uh-oh." Damian clicks his tongue, "I’ve seen that look before."

"What bloody look?" I frown.

"The one that says you’re about to fall."

"Fall?"

"For her."

"Who?"

"The woman who’s there in the country manor—"

"Cabin," I correct him.

"Whatever." He grins, "Admit it. You’re attracted to her.’

"What shit are you talking about?" I grumble.

"You denying you hooked up with a woman in a difficult-to-reach place?"

"It’s four hours away from London."

"My point exactly," he smirks.

"You city fox."

"So are you," he replies, "which is why, when Saint mentioned that you were going to be there, and not alone..."

"Hold on." I rub my temple, "Saint told you I was going to be here with a woman?’

"Aren’t you?"

"That’s not the point." I tilt my head, "How did he know that I was here…ah!" I stiffen. "That cunt," I growl. "He fucking played me, didn’t he?"

"Hold on, I'm adding Arpad to the call," Damian says.

"What? No," I protest.

Too late. The screen blinks, then Arpad appears in another window. "Hey, bitches, you’re chin-wagging like old ladies, I see."

"Hey, fuckface," I growl, "why aren’t you in a boat in the middle of somewhere with no reception?"

"I have my own satellite, dickwad."

"Of course, you do." I rake my fingers through my hair. "Why are you guys calling me, anyway?"

"Checking in, ol’ chap." Damian chuckles, "Making sure you’re still alive after that face-off."

What face-off?

"You and Amelie…?" Damian prompts.

"What is it with you guys?" I crack my jaw from side to side, "Can’t you give a man space?"

"Space?" Arpad cackles, "Did he just say what I think he did?"

"Aww, cho chweet," Damian makes kissing sounds.

Arpad cracks up laughing.

My face reddens. "That’s it; I’m hanging up now."

"Hold on." Damian pretends to wipe the tears from his face, "You haven’t told us what you intend to do with her?"

"What’s it to you?" I growl, "And don’t talk about her."

"So, it’s like that, huh?" Arpad snickers. "You seeing what I’m seeing, Rockstar?" he asks Damian.

Damian stares at me, then shakes his head, "My, my, the doctor who had his arse splashed all over the internet for making a sex tape has met his match, huh?"

"It’s a damn fine arse," I grumble, "and if you don’t have a sex tape to your credit, you technically are persona non grata in the online world."

"But does she know about it?" Damian asks.

My neck heats and my heart begins to thud. "Why would it matter to her?"

"It would matter if you didn’t tell her," Arpad points out, "Hold on, I'm adding the Father to our chinwag, so he doesn't feel left out."

"What the fuck?" I growl as Edward's face appears in another window on the screen.

"Hey Doc, how’s it going?" Edward asks.

"It was going all fine and dandy until you lot decided to intrude."

"Sorry to cut in on your alone time with your lady—"

"Not my lady," I grumble.

Damian snickers.

Arpad chortles.

"What the fuck are you jokers laughing at?"

"You, arsehole, and how you’ve been played."

I scowl, "Fucking Saint."

Damian nods.

"He double-booked me with her. Wait until I get my hands on the dickwad; I’m going to throttle his neck.

"Victoria won’t like you getting your hands on her husband."

"Man," I rub the back of my neck, "not that I begrudge them their happiness, not after everything they’ve been through... But he could have not intruded in my life," I grouse.

"Jace, then Sinner, and Saint," Damian drawls. "You’d think it was catching…all that happiness."

"Bull-fucking-shit." I sink into my chair, tip it back. "I’m not falling for whatever madness possessed those knobs to get hitched."

"Just make sure you give me enough notice," Edward pipes in.

"Notice?" I crack my neck, "The hell you going on about Father?"

"If you plan on getting hitched—"

The two front legs of the chair land on the ground with a thump, "Hitched? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your last-minute plan that you don’t know about yet." Edward stabs a finger at me, "If you’re planning on doing it, I need a little notice. I have a life too, you know. I can’t always drop everything and put in an appearance to marry you guys, you know—?

"Wait, what?" I run a finger under the collar of my shirt. "You lost me there."

"A million?" Arpad asks Damian.

"Money is beginning to lose its appeal," Damian grumbles.

"You wankers," I growl, "the fuck are you all betting on?"

"We need to up the odds," Arpad replies, as if he didn’t hear me. What a tosser.

I grip my phone with such force that my fingers hurt. "Shut the fuck up, you bitches."

"It’s happening, all right. You see how he’s losing his shit, huh?" Arpad continues.

"What do you suggest?" Damian talks over me, "Wanna play with something a little more personal?"

"What do you have in mind?" Arpad rubs his jaw. "Property? Shares…" He snaps his fingers, "I have it."

"What you thinking of, dipshit?" Damian drawls.

"If he gets married, accept the gift I send you."

"Ooh, thanks darling, for thinking of me," Damian deadpans.

Arpad grimaces, "Cut that shit out. You won’t be laughing when you see what is it."

"A woman?" He waggles his eyebrows, "A hot honey, no doubt. Why would I refuse it, huh?"

"You on then?" Arpad asks.

And if he doesn’t?" Damian jerks his chin at me.

"I’m here, you bitches."

"Oh, he will." Arpad smirks, "I present to you exhibit A… Also known as, the man who has no idea that he’s counting his last few days of freedom."

"Newsflash, you toffs, I ain’t planning on giving up my bachelor status anytime soon, and PS," I growl, "you can’t go around placing bets involving the lives of others."

Damian’s gaze widens, "Since when has Mr. Obnoxious here, developed a conscience?"

“Since he’s the one about whom such bets are being placed?” Edward offers.

"Since he decided to shack up with her?" Arpad replies.

"I am not shacking up with her, you reprobates," I snarl.

"The two of you...in a cabin...in the middle of nowhere…" Arpad waggles his eyebrows.

"It’s four hours from London," I remind them again.

"Wait until it snows," Edward chimes in… "I am not marrying you in a remote ceremony."

"For the final time," I jump up from my chair so fast, it crashes back, "I’m not getting married. She just happens to be here, and I’m putting the time with her to good use."

"No doubt," Damian says with a straight face. "If that’s the story you’re going with."

"I am taking her home to meet my family."

Silence, then Damian addresses Arpad, "Shit, can I take back that bet I agreed to?"

"Too late, old sport." Arpad chuckles, "Told ya, he won’t last the holidays, but wow." He scowls at me, "You’ve only been with her since yesterday. Isn’t that a little too soon…?"

"What are you talking about?" Clearly I am being slow on the uptake here. "And how do all of you know about her—?" Realization dawns. "That fucker—Saint." Anger sweeps my blood, "He let you all in on his dumbass plan?" I roll my shoulders, "Don’t you have anything better to do than trade gossip?"

"Aw, he’s no longer any more fun," Arpad shakes his head.

"Wankers gone for a toss." Damian grins, "Does that make him a tossing wanker or a wanking tosser?"

"Guys, go easy on him." Edward grins, "He’s one dropkick away from having his heart broken."

I raise my phone and bring it down, intent on smashing it, then stop myself. Fuck, if I don’t need the bloody device right now. Not that I can’t replace it, but if what the Father said is true and snow is on its way... Then hell, all the money in the world couldn’t deliver me an alternative mode of communication. Maybe I should have insisted on having the helicopter parked on the helipad in the field. Damn, missed opportunity.

"For the last time, there’s nothing between us," I growl. Why the fuck am I even explaining it to these douchebags, huh? Maybe it’s because they are the closest I have to non-blood family; though right now, I’m not sure if they are my friends or my enemies.

"You don’t have to convince us," Arpad nods.

"Right, I don’t care about your personal uh—relations. Of course, I care about your state of mind, which at the moment, seems rather frayed at the edges," Edward points out.

"As I was saying," I draw in a breath, "she happens to be here; so am I. We’ve come to an agreement, and that includes taking her home to get my mother off my back."

"Right, you keep fooling yourself, ol’ sport." Damian grins. "Not that I’m not rooting for you. I mean, I want you to get through the holiday season without getting hitched." He scratches his chin, "Although, if you did get married, I’d still win, in a matter of speaking, so—"

"Fuck you, motherfuckers." I hang up. What the fuck was that all about?

The hair on the back of my neck rises and I hear a sound behind me. All of my senses go on alert; I pivot, fists raised.