The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

23

Amelie

I press my mouth to his, fold my arms about his shoulders, and proceed to climb him, like he’s a massive tree… Or hell, like he’s Santa fucking Claus, come to grant me all of my wishes. Is it Christmas yet? Gah! Almost…though it sure seems like all of my dreams have come true. This man… He drives me mad, he makes me want to slap him and kiss him. Love him and hate him… Throw myself at his feet and beg him to put an end to this growing, yearning, emptiness inside. I cling to his big frame, bite down on that full, pouty lower lip of his that’s hypnotized me since the first time I saw him. I slip my tongue inside his mouth, suck on him, pour all of myself into that kiss. My head spins, my pussy clenches, and my nipples hurt. I lose my hold and begin to slip down, the muffin mixture sloshing and giving with each contact of my clothes against his. Shit, I scramble to hold on, and he places his broad palm against the seat of my butt.

Heat instantly flushes up my spine. I shudder.

He wraps his other palm around the back of my neck, and holds me there.

I release his lips, lean back—well, put as much distance between us as his firm grip allows, which is about uh—an inch…maybe a little more. Our noses bump; his long eyelashes graze my forehead. Hell, how can a man have such feminine lashes?

"So greedy," he mutters, "so damn sexy. Such a tiny package, but so much potency packed into those curves."

Shut up and fuck me already,is what I want to say. Instead, I hold his gaze, look deeply into those grey eyes, past the colorless, mirror-like surface, to that darkness that pools inside, the flecks of gold that intersperse their depths. Contradictions, such complexity he holds within himself.

"You can trust me." I whisper.

He blinks and his features open with the surprise.

"I won’t hurt you," I add.

Where is this coming from?If anything, he’s the one who can break me. His dominance could crush me, his strength could render me powerless, as his lips tease me, taunt me, his fingers dig into the curve of my hips, and his dick throbs against my aching center… "Please," I mumble. What do I want from him? Why is it that this push-pull between us makes it so difficult to bare myself to him? I cup his cheek, "Take me. Use me. Fill me up with your cum, bury yourself inside of me, and fuck your past out of me."

Wait, did that even make sense…? "I mean—"

"Shh..." He rubs his nose against mine, the gesture tender and gentle and so unlike any other emotion he’s shown toward me. A pressure builds behind my eyes. Shit. A little bit of affection, and I’m ready to bawl my eyes out.

He rakes his gaze down my features, then he brushes his lips across mine, once, twice. He lowers me back onto the countertop. "You on birth control?"

I blink.

"Are you?" He frowns.

I nod. "Yes," I clear my throat, "I’m just coming off a relationship so…"

He glares at me and I feel the blood drain to my core. How the hell does my body recognize his intentions before my mind has fully digested what he wants from me?

The sound of a zipper being lowered reaches me. Air hits my swollen center. "Up," he growls.

I wind my arms about his shoulder, raise my butt. He shoves down at my jeans which move an inch, then get stuck around my hips. "Umm."

He shakes his head and I stop talking. He glances around, notices my chef’s satchel on the table. He hauls me up by the waist, turns and takes a step, then plants me on the table. I’m not light, I have curves—Hey, don’t begrudge me my chocolate—and of course, he’s a powerhouse of muscles, but the way he maneuvers my body… Well… My knees turn to jelly. Bloody hell, this guy is machismo personified, and I am putty in his hands. And now—he whips out a pair of kitchen scissors. Then steps back, holds up my leg and proceeds to cut the fabric up one side.

What the—?

He does the same for the fabric on my other leg and it falls away, then cuts my blouse at each shoulder.

"Weston—"

He shakes his head.

"You can trust me," his lips quirk as he repeats my words back at me.

Can I though?

I frown.

He locks his gaze with mine, then raises the scissors. He glances down, then I feel the give of my bra straps. My breasts spring free. His nostrils flare. He bends, licks a nipple, before sucking on it.

Goosebumps flare on my skin.

"So fucking sweet, you’re one melting mass of chocolate, Buttercup."

Jeez, he makes me sound like a dessert…which is flattering, I suppose.

He pulls back, I hear the snap of the blades cutting through the fabric of my blouse. The garment falls off. Air hits my skin, goosebumps pop along my forearms, and my nipples harden.

He straightens, places the tip of the scissors to the center of my chest, without cutting the skin. I shiver. He drags the blade up over the mound of one breasts, circles the nipple, which instantly pebbles further. Down to my belly button. I swallow. He glances down and his breathing grows labored, "Fuck me," he growls. "I can’t hold out any longer."

He tosses the scissors aside, reaches for his zipper and lowers it. His cock springs forward—big, throbbing. I’ve seen it before…but somehow, he seems bigger. More aroused. The swollen tip is almost purple with need, and drops of precum bead the slit. Saliva pools in my mouth; my chest rises and falls.

I reach for him, but he grabs my wrist. "If you touch me, I won’t last," he growls.

I frown, implore him with my eyes.

His gaze intensifies, then his lips quirk. "Later," he promises. "For now, I am going to take your cunt." He swoops down, grabs my thighs under my knees, pulls my legs up and apart so they’re at my ears and I fall back to my elbows. He glares down directly at my sex.

OMFG! My head spins. I am open and displayed for him, my arousal so strong I can smell myself. Is that gross? His nostrils flare… Uh, guess he can scent me too?

"Look at yourself." His grip tightens, "You’re so wet, so ready. You want me, Princess?"

Gah, is that even a question?"I…" I open my mouth and his lips curl.

Trick question, huh? I pout again, thrust my pelvis up and against his hold.

His smile widens. "Hold yourself open for me," he commands.

I blink. He can’t be serious.

"Do it," he snaps.

I don’t even realize I’ve rushed to obey him until I feel my fingers brush my cunt. Damn him, is there anything this man can’t get me to do? I pry open my pussy lips, and his gaze intensifies. "Fuck me," he mutters, "I am going to drink from you."

Yes. Yes.

"Scoop up your cum and offer it to me."

Wh-a-a-t? My vision narrows. Black spots dot my line of sight. My heart begins to pound so hard, I am sure it’s going to break out of my chest.

"Now."

His hard voice whips through my head, erasing every other thought. I am a vessel, an empty canvas which he’ll paint with his cum. No, what? Don’t think. Don’t react. Do what he asks. I slip one finger, then a second into my channel. My chest heaves. His throat moves as he swallows. He’s as affected by this connection… This, whatever it is that he’s doing to me, is arousing him just as much. I curl my fingers inside of myself and a moan rises up. It’s nowhere close to what I need, but the way he watches me... How he follows my movements with his heavy-lidded gaze…is as erotic as looking on while he fucks me… Okay, I lie… Not the same… But it is hot nevertheless. Know what I mean? I hold up my glistening fingers, and he closes his mouth around my digits, drags his tongue over the skin. My sex clenches and more moisture pools in my core.

"How the hell do you taste so sweet?" He licks his lips, "Of chocolate and the most tempting honey."

"You hate chocolate," I mutter.

"That's true." He tilts his head, "But, it tastes different on you."

"It does?"

He nods. "It tastes like sin when I lick it off your lips."

"Oh." My belly quivers. That was almost poetic. Gah! Who'd have thought the brute could actually string words together until they sound erotic.

"In fact," he peers into my features, "I am convinced you have desserts for all three meals." He stares at me, "You do, don’t you?"

"What do you think?"

"I bet you sneak that black gold in between, too." He lowers his gaze back to the triangle between my thighs, "Makes me wonder if you taste as incredible there as you did the last time..."

Why don’t you try it for yourself; why don’t you—? I gasp as he does just that—drops his head, licks me from arsehole to cunt, and again. He stabs his tongue inside my channel, and begins to drink from me. He slurps on me, licks my swollen nub, lavishes attention on it, then bites on it. Goosebumps flare on my skin; I arch my back off the table, push myself up and into his face. More, more. My fingers tingle. I itch to take my hands off my pussy, to grab hold of his hair and tug him to me, to force him to fuck me with his tongue until I come.

"Don’t you dare."

I blink, to find him leaning above me.

"I’m not done yet."

What’s he talking about? I’m done, more than done. I’m on the verge of exploding like a pie that’s been left too long in the oven. Ugh, these comparisons are terrible, and my brain cells have turned to mush.

"Eyes on me," he commands.

I watch him as he lowers his chin, his unshaven whisker-edged visage, and rubs it up my pussy.

"Ah!" My entire body bucks. I writhe under his touch, thrash my head from side to side, "Oh, my God, oh, my God." He does it again and I see stars. The climax rushes up from my toes, screams up my spine, and threatens to explode. I can’t stop, I can’t.

The next second he straightens over me, positions his dick at my entrance. "Condom," he growls, then reaches into the back pocket of his pants, pulls out a wrapper.

Does he walk around with one all the time? Was he that confident that he was going to fuck me…? When the agreement was for us to do everything but? Will this change things between us? What will become of the money? Could I allow him to pay me after this…? Wouldn’t that reduce everything between us to something it wasn’t? What is it anyway, what—?

"Stop."

He frowns down into my face.

I draw in a breath. Am I that transparent? Or is he that perceptive? Does he have a sixth sense that he can focus on simultaneously wrapping his dick and reading my expression? What the hell am I thinking? Why am I tying myself up in such knots? I glance around... What the hell am I doing here, with him, holding my pussy open to him like a sex-crazed pervert? I withdraw my fingers from my cunt, open my mouth to speak. He leans in and presses his lips to mine. He swipes his tongue inside my mouth, across my teeth, draws from me, shares my breath so absolutely. I stutter.

He pulls back, peers into my face, "Do you want me to stop?"

Do I?

"Once I take you, there’s no going back."

Uhhh?

"If you want to leave, I won’t stop you."

Won’t he?

"But if you stay…" he glares at me, "if you stay, you’re mine."