The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

31

Amelie

Water from the shower drums against me. His grey gaze clashes with mine. His features twist into an expression of rage…? Of arousal? His nostrils flare. "I am going to fuck you like you are mine."

Am I his?

Is he mine?

Do I want him to fuck me?

No.

No.

"Yes." I peel back my lips, "Finally."

He crashes his mouth into mine, thrusts his tongue inside, sucks on me, demands that I open myself to him, that I give in to him. No, no. I can’t. Yes, you can. Show him you won’t back down, that you’re not scared of what he does to you. That you will not turn and hide from the emotions he evokes in you. I tip up my chin, wind my arms around his neck, dig my thighs into his waist, press my melting center to the hardness that tents his pants.

"Fuck me," his harsh whisper chafes my skin and my nerve endings flare. My brain cells seem to evaporate. Poof, I am smoke. I am one melting, writhing mass of need in his arms.

Take me. Tear into me. Sink into me. Push all thoughts out of my head.I don’t want to think, don’t want to worry about the future, the past. All that matters is me, here, with him, clinging to him, holding on with every single strand of strength in my body. Him. I want him. Only him. I tear my mouth from his, "Fuck me."

Before the words are out of my mouth, he’s flipped positions. My back presses into the wall. The weight of him pins me. His massive body cuts off the water. The blood drums in my ears; my pulse thuds against my neck, my wrists, at my ankles… The beat between my legs grows, louder, needier, angrier. "Now," I huff. "Do it."

His lips twist. He brings his hand up to curl his large fingers around my neck. I gulp. Shit, I’d asked… Demanded that he fuck me. Isn’t that, like, against the rules of dominance with this man? Am I not supposed to ask for what I want?

His fingers meet around the diameter of my neck. He presses his thumb into the pulse that skitters at the base of my throat. "Aren’t you forgetting something?"

I frown.

He tilts his head.

I lower my chin.

He glares at me and the blood drains from my face, straight to my cunt. My head spins. My throat closes. I flick out my tongue to touch my lips; his gaze drops to my mouth.

He growls and my stomach seems to bottom out. Oh, my God. This man… He’s too hot, too much. Too everything.

"Do it," he barks.

I hesitate.

"Or not." He steps back

I lose my grasp around his waist; my legs begin to slide down. No, no, no. I want this. I do. "Please," I gasp.

"Please what?" His fingers tighten around my neck and my airflow slows. I open my mouth, try to breathe. My lungs burn. I thrust my thighs into his, hold on. Don’t let go. He’s testing you. Don’t give in; not yet.

"I… I…" I try to form the words, but my brain cells don’t comply. "Wes… I..."

"Want me to help you?"

I nod.

"Want me to play with your pretty cunt?" He tilts his hips and his thick length stabs my sensitized core.

I moan. I’m not proud. I tried to resist, tried to hold onto the last shred of my dignity that lies in tatters around me now. "Yes," I beg. "Yes."

"Want me to squeeze your butt," he grips my arse, "before I cram my fingers into your arsehole?" He drags his fingers down the valley between my butt cheeks. His touch sinks through the sodden mess of my clothes, my panties, into that empty part of me inside, that curls in on itself, throbbing with a need that only Doc Grumpyface can fulfill.

"Don’t stop," I whine.

"Want me to…" He brings his hand around, and grabs my pussy.

I wordlessly push my core forward, begin to fuck his palm like the out-of-my-head, sex-starved, stupid idiot that I am.

He hauls me up, his right hand around my neck—apparently, his injured finger does nothing to restrain his movements; with his other, he grips my pussy—pins me against the wall, and stares into my face.

My feet don’t touch the ground, and I should be scared. This position implies exactly what we are—me at his disposal, at his mercy, his to do with as he pleases. His grasp is firm enough to prop me up, allowing enough air to reach my lungs that I don’t suffocate, and yet… The lowered oxygen heightens my reactions, my sensitivity to his every move. I watch him watch me strain against that large hand at my core, and all of my nerve-endings seem to catch fire all at once.

He slides his palm under me so his fingers are flat against my butt. He presses his thumb through my tights and my panties into my swollen nub. Sparks explode behind my eyes. I throw my head back and pant. He rubs circles with his thumb around my clit. My pulse rate ratchets up.

"Look at me," his command whips through my thoughts.

I lower my face, crack my eyes open.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Who do you come for?"

"You."

"Who will you shatter for?"

"You," I groan, "Only you."

"Shatter for me, my Princess. Right fucking now."

He releases the hold on my neck and my climax explodes up my spine. Spots of white fold in to my line of sight. My pussy clenches; moisture floods between my legs. I hear the sound of someone wailing… Me? Is that me? My ears pop; my throat closes. A whine pours from me.

"Good, girl." He bends, licks my lips, "I am going to fuck you now."

Wh-a-a-t?

I blink as he lowers me to the floor. My knees give way; he holds me up with his fingers around my neck. My shoulders slump, I should say something… Do something…?

He reaches around to shut off the shower, then grabs the hem of my dress, pulls it over my head, and tosses it aside.

He glances down at the tights, reaches for the waistband with his injured hand. He pauses. I hook my fingers in the waistband of my tights and tug them down along with my panties. The lycra sticks around my thighs. Shit, and I'd worn them in the hope of seeming sophisticated. Go figure! I try to peel them off, but the damn thing resists. Shit! I yank it down further, manage to twist it around my knees. Another tug and I shove it down to my ankles, peel it off. Whew! I straighten, and with a low growling sound he's on me.

He lowers himself to his knees, pushes his face into my pussy and fastens his mouth on my melting core. "OMG." I yell, "Wes, Wes... Wes." I chant his name as he stabs his tongue inside my channel, swipes his tongue up from my backhole to my clit. He bites on my clit and I arch off the wall. OMFG! This man's tongue should be worshipped; also his mouth, and his dick, and his digits... Gah! He slides his finger inside my melting pussy and I shudder. My knees seem to give away. I begin to slide down the wall, dig my fingers into his hair for purchase and tug on it. He growls. My nerve endings spark. Ooh, I like that. A lot, actually. I yank at that luxurious hair on his head.

He peers up at me, "You know you’ll have to pay for that, huh?"

"Promises, promises." I smack my lips.

His nostrils flare. He rises to his feet, and keeps rising. I mean, he is tall. I know that, but in that enclosed space he is larger than life. A lethal, vital, sex machine of a man. My sex clenches, heat coils low in my belly, emptiness gnaws deep inside. I need him. Want him... Yearn for him to fill me up and put me out of my misery. "Wes," I groan.

"Here baby, right here."

He plants his thigh between my legs.

"I am going to make this so fucking good for you, Princess." He thrusts his fingers…two…three inside my pussy.

I gasp; my knees buckle. One thing I can confirm. Weston-built-like Adonis-Kincaid, always delivers.

He wraps his fingers around my neck, holds me upright, even as he shoves the fingers of his other hand in and out of me. I moan, reach for his shoulders. He doesn’t stop; he scissors his fingers inside of me. Goosebumps dot my skin; a trembling begins from the soles of my feet, inches upward. He releases his hold on my neck, then turns me around. What the—? I sense his hot breath on the curve of my hip a second before he pries my butt cheeks apart and rims his tongue around my backhole. Oh, my God. The trembling pulsates from where he slides his tongue in and out of me. He slips his palm between my hips and the shower wall, then grinds the heel of his hand against my pussy.

"Weston," his name is torn from my lips. I sense his lips curve against my arse… Is that even possible? Then he thrusts his fingers inside my pussy, and I explode. The orgasm sweeps up my thighs, my spine. I slap my palm against the shower wall, hold onto his forearm with my other hand. He continues to lick me, shove his fingers in and out of me, extending the climax, which seems to go on and on. He pulls away his hand, removes his tongue, and just like that, my orgasm fades. No way, he can’t command my body with such…finesse, can he? My knees give way, for real this time. His arms come around me. He turns me toward him, pinches my chin, so I look up at him.

"Wow," I gasp, "that was…" I swallow, "It was…"

"Just the beginning."

"Huh?" My head spins. "I… I don’t think I can…"

"You can."

He grins down at me, that toe curling, sex clenching, scalp tingling smirk that sends a surge of heat racing up my spine.

"Are you a sex god?" I mumble. Hell, did I blurt that out? Must be my sex-addled brain that’s speaking. Not my fault. Gah.

"That’s Dr Sex God to you." He laughs, "And you’re welcome, again."

"Huh?" Do I want to know why? Don’t ask him; don’t. "For what?"

"For the third, fourth and fifth orgasm that you are going to experience."

"No." I blink.

"Yes." His lips curl. He reaches behind him, shuts off the shower, then steps back and rakes his gaze down my naked body. I will not cover myself, will not hide what he’s already pinched and massaged and teased and licked and sucked and… I press my thighs together.

"Hmm," he smirks.

"You going to take off your clothes, or what?" I mutter.

He unbuttons his shirt, whips it off, then unfastens his belt. My gaze drops to his crotch. Don’t stare; look away, you slut. He shoves down his pants and his boxers, kicks them aside. He straightens and I gulp. OMFG. I take in his cock that stands to attention against his stomach. It’s thick and wide, and longer than I remember it to be. How had I managed to take him down my throat?

I must have made a strangled noise, for he chuckles. "It will fit," he assures me, "I’ll make it."

That’s what I’m afraid of.

I sidle away and toward the door of the shower cubicle.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he drawls.

"Ah, I…uh... I need to pee."

"Will you pee on me?"

"What?" I stare at him, "Are you serious?"

He laughs, "No, but coming to think of it..." He scratches his chin, "Can I pee on you, instead?"

"No," I stutter. "Is that, like, your kink or something?"

He frowns, "Never thought of it before, but," he looks me up and down, "you have to admit, it’s an effective way of marking my territory."

My jaw drops, "You’re crazy."

He steps forward, plants himself in the doorway, "Crazy is what I feel every time Max insists on occupying your attention."

I frown, then stiffen, "Wow, you’re jealous."

He frowns.

"You resent that Max prefers my company to yours."

He folds his arms over his broad chest, "You done?"

I plant my hands on my hips. "Come on," I wheedle, "at least, admit that you don’t want Max anywhere near me."

"You’re wrong."

"Oh?"

He nods. "I don’t want any male—no man or animal of any kind—near you."

I swallow. My heart begins to race. I know he’s dominant, and an alpha, and demanding… But this crazy possessive side of him? Wow, it’s hot as fuck. We stare at each other. Water drips from the shower onto the ground. I swallow and the hair on the back of my neck rises. Say something…anything to break the silence. I lower my arms to my sides, "Do…do you mean that?" I ask.

He tilts his head, drums his fingers on his chest, then straightens, "Want me to show you?"