The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

18

Weston

She opens the door, and I stare. Her tits... Her beautiful...gorgeous breasts, ensconced in her bra salute me. I glare at her chest, then at her face.

"Just," she swallows, "getting ready for bed."

I frown down at her. She walks forward. I don’t move.

"Uh, excuse me?" She squeezes through the space between me and the door jamb.

She saunters over to the bed, walks past her suitcases propped up against the wall, to her side of the bed. She unzips her jeans, shoves them down, bends to take them off. Her heart shaped butt juts out. I clench the fingers of my right hand, wince when my injured finger protests. "Fuck," I growl.

"You, okay?" She tilts her head, shoots me a glance from her bent over stance.

I glare at her and she pales. Then straightens and kicks her jeans to the side.

I take a step forward.

She scrambles over to the bed, "Uh, I think I’ll go to sleep." She slides in between the sheets, pulls the comforter up to her chin. She turns over on her side.

I’d lit candles on the side tables, and their light flickers across her delicate shoulder blades. Her creamy skin is perfectly smooth, perfectly soft, perfect to be marked by my fingerprints. I take a step toward her, then clench my fist at my side. What the fuck? Is she playing with me? And I’d started this goddamn game. What a bloody mistake. Why the hell had I put the money between us? Why hadn’t I flipped the agreement the other way? Asked her to sleep with me in exchange for the money? Fuck. I reach the bed, stand over her.

Her shoulders quiver. So, she’s aware I am here? Hmm.

Her fingers clench at the covering that flows over her shoulder. I reach for the fabric, tug. She shudders, then releases her grip on it. I draw the sheet down the curve of her waist, down the jut of her beautiful arse, until it pools about her ankles.

The swell of her butt catches the candlelight—gorgeous, beautiful, curved at just the right circumference, it’d fit so right into my palms.

My fingertips twitch. I sink to my knees by the bed, press a kiss to that point where her waist meets the swell of her hips.

She shudders. "Weston," she whispers.

"Shh." I nibble my way to the swell of the enticing flesh to the valley between her butt cheeks.

"Oh, my God." Her entire body quivers.

I am not a religious person—well, not unless you count the time I’d been kidnapped and had prayed to every power that might be to help me… And now, faced with the sheer gorgeousness, the beauty that is this woman unclothed— Yeah, I send up a prayer of thanks to that power that I am here. Is this why the cops had found me, still and lifeless, ready to give up? I had been hanging on by a thread, reaching for something in the distance, not within reach…a belief that I’d get through it. Can I get through these days with her? When, with every moment, she is sinking into my blood, wrapping herself up around my heart… Heart? What? Fuck that. I am not ready for that kind of entanglement.

Nothing and no one will undermine the lifestyle I've worked so hard to build. I’ll never let another in… I fuck them and leave them. That's what I am good at. I'll never allow myself to lose control. Never put myself in a position where I am vulnerable.

I slip my tongue into the space between her arsecheeks. Her entire body jerks. "Wes," she moans, and my groin hardens.

"Do you want me, Princess?"

"Ah," she gulps, "I… You know I do."

I squeeze her arse, part the cheeks then nudge my tongue into her backhole.

"Jesus, Wes," she groans. "What are you…doing?"

"What do you think?"

"Why do you always answer my question with a question?"

"Because it’s my prerogative to ask and yours to submit."

She huffs, "Where is that written?"

"In Doc Kincaid’s manual of ‘100 ways to torture—I mean—pleasure a woman,’" I chuckle.

She stills, "Bet you have it written down too." She grumbles, "Methodical and detailed grumpy pants that you are."

"You think you know me, huh?" I nibble my way down to the apex between her legs, slip my tongue in to the sweet hollow of her pussy.

"OMG," she hisses, tries to pull her legs up.

I grip her thigh. "Don’t move," I growl.

"But," she whines, "this is not fair."

"Good." Time she felt a little bit of the agony she’s been putting me through. I lick the entrance to her channel and her entire body bucks. I slide my hand around to cup her pussy, slide my tongue in and out of her wet, melting core.

She groans, throws out her hand to clutch at a pillow.

I bring my other hand up to squeeze her breast and she cries out, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because… I can?" I murmur against her center. "Because you won’t stop me?"

"Does this… Uh, count as—?"

"Breaking the arrangement?"

She nods.

"No," I slurp the moisture that trickles from her center, "but all you have to do is say the word and I’ll put you out of your misery."

"Fuck," she hisses.

"Yeah, exactly." I allow my lips to curve into a smile, then press little kisses to the back of her thigh. I suck on the soft skin, and the taste of her goes to my head. I bite down on the tender flesh and she moans.

"Please, please, please," she pants.

"You know I can’t." I smirk. "But say the word, and I can take you—" I drag my tongue up her thigh, retrace my way to her backhole, "here."

"Oh," she gasps. "I… I...am not sure about that."

I raise my head, slip a finger back inside her puckered hole. "You mean this?"

She groans, "I… I think I hate you."

I twist my finger inside her, then slide two fingers inside her pussy.

Her body jerks, goosebumps pop on her skin, a quiver works its way up her legs, her thighs, she clenches her butt around my intrusion, and her pussy clamps down on my finger.

"Oh, my God, Weston, I am going to—"

I pull my finger out from her butthole, from her channel, then rise to my feet.

She stills, "What the fuck?"

She turns on her back, then springs up.

"What are you doing?"

I yawn, "I’m tired."

She gapes, tracks my progress around the bed to my side. I grab my sweatshirt and peel it off, along with the vest I have on underneath. I reach for my pants.

She squeaks, "You’re undressing?"

"It happens." I smirk, "I have been known to do so when I want to get into bed."

I shove down my pants and boxers. I kick them aside and straighten. I turn to face her. Her gaze widens as she takes in my full-frontal nudity, rakes her gaze down my stomach to where my dick stands to attention. I’m aroused—of course, I am. And that’s too fucking bad. I don’t intend to do anything about it. Guess I am going to suffer along with her… Uh, who am I punishing here? Her or me? Both of us. Right, whose idea had this entire fucked-up arrangement been?

I climb between the covers, then fold my hands behind my head.

Next to me, she stays perfectly still, muscles vibrating with tension. The nervous energy vibrates off of her, reaches out to me. My shoulders bunch. I close my eyes, begin to count down.

Twelve o’clock.

Eleven o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

She shifts position.

Nine o’clock.

Eight o’clock.

She turns over on her side, facing away from me.

Seven o’clock.

She mutters under her breath.

Six o—

She sighs aloud.

That’s it. "What’s wrong?" I snap.

Silence from her.

I close my eyes again.

Six o—

She jerks on the cover, pulls it off of me.

"What the fuck?" I turn to her, "What’s wrong?"

"I’m…c…cold." Her teeth chatter.

I frown. The temperature had dropped and the heating hasn’t come on yet.

She shivers again.

I turn, scoot over, then drag her to me.

She squeaks, "What are you doing?"

"Making the fuck sure that I can get some shut-eye."

I tuck her head under my chin, lock my arm around her waist, and pull her close enough for my dick to nestle between her arsecheeks.

She wriggles her hips, "You’re… Uh, you’re hard."

"Deal the fuck with it," I growl.

"But, I can’t—"

I close my palm over her mouth, "Sleep, Princess."

She draws in a breath, another, then licks my palm. My cock instantly lengthens. "Don’t do that, not unless you want to be brought to the edge of climax again…and left unfulfilled."

"You won’t," her voice is muffled against my hand.

"Try me." I snuggle her closer, throw my leg over her thigh. She stills, muscles wound up. I close my eyes, start my countdown.

Six o-clock.

Five o’clock.

Her chest rises and falls.

Four o’clock.

Her breathing deepens.

Three o’clock.

Her shoulder muscles loosen; her body twitches.

Two o’clock.

I lower my palm to cup her breast. Not intentionally, of course. It’s a logical resting place. Besides, the shape is a perfect fit for my palm. Sleep overcomes me.

Something cold nudges my face, a wet tongue licks my mouth, "Seriously, Buttercup, we need to talk about your morning breath." I crack open my eyelids. Max gazes soulfully at me. I am on my back; Max rides my chest. He flicks out his tongue, I turn my head to the side, then stiffen. The bed is empty. Where the hell is she?

I set Max aside, swing my legs over the side, and head out of the room. A crash reaches me from the kitchen, then a scream. The fuck? "Princess?" I race toward the commotion.