The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

43

Weston

"What the hell do you think?" I growl at her, hold her gaze. Don't let her look down; don't allow her to see what the hell you've gotten into here. Caught with your dick in a pie...and by the woman you're in love with...? Hold the fuck on there. Firstly, that isn’t a metaphor—being caught with my dick in a pie, I mean. And I know what you're thinking, and fuck, but I can promise it wasn't inspired by a certain, uh, notorious movie. I mean, I am past the stage of being pimply-faced and ready to shag everything that moves...because I only want to be inside one woman, her... Or, uh! A pie baked by her. Bloody fuck, this is a shit show.

"I... I am not sure what you're doing here?" She takes a step forward, and every muscle in my body solidifies... Except uh, a particular part of me that's throbbing inside the sweet, moist, center of a certain dessert that was baked by her. I mean, can you blame me? Peter had driven me here, and I'd told him to leave, confident that I was spending the night here. Hey a man can hope, right? It is Christmas, after all. I'd walked in here, and the entire place had smelled festive... and of her—that sweet sugary scent of hers mixed with the scent of apple pie, which happens to be my favorite, and all of it had gone to my head... Or rather, to my groin, and she hadn't been around, so I'd done the next logical thing. I'd reached for the pie she'd baked, buried myself in its center. Not that it’s a replacement... Far from it, but needs must and all that. It's what she's reduced me to, a man...standing in front of a woman he loves—no, no, no, not love, never love, in lust—yeah, that's better; a man in lust, standing in front of his woman with his dick caught in a pie, that she'd baked.

Fuck.

This is all her fucking fault.

I glare at her.

She pales. Her chin wobbles and she bites down on her lower lip, and fuck, if my dick doesn’t jump again; inside the goddamn pie I hold with my left hand, in a position that if she came around and saw, it would be very clear what I am up to.

"Don't come closer," I snap. Bloody hell, that's a first—me asking a woman to stay away from me. Not that it matters, of course, because she sidles closer. Bloody woman, can never do what she's told.

"Stop," I growl. "Stay where you are."

She frowns. "My apartment." She huffs, "I can do what I want."

"Wrong."

She blinks. "I rent this flat, you ass."

"Guess who owns the apartment block?"

Her forehead crinkles, then she opens her mouth and shuts it again.

"Well," I smirk, "made the connection yet?"

"You," she swallows, "you own it?"

"Finally." I raise my gaze skywards, "Took you long enough to get that, huh? What's wrong, you eat too much dessert? All that cream gone to your head?" The fuck? The connection between my mouth and my brain has well and truly snapped, that I am hurling insults at her... Shut the fuck up, you wanker. But fuck, I have to distract her, and what else is a man supposed to do when he's caught with his cock in his hand... Technically, in a warm, soft, juicy, moist confectionary, but you get the picture, huh?

Color sears her cheeks.

"Is that how you got in?"

"I got in because you left the door open." I growl, and my chest tightens, "Do you know how dangerous that is?”

"Did you...did you find out I live here and decide to buy the place?" She frowns.

"Don’t flatter yourself," I reply. "It's merely a coincidence, I assure you."

She flattens her lips, "Is it also a coincidence that you're standing like that?" She takes a sideways step; I mirror her movements, in the opposite direction.

"Like what?" I twist my body. Thank fuck for all those gym sessions, not to mention working out with Saint at his horse ranch. My shoulders are wide enough to cover what the rest of my body is up to—I hope?

"Like," she chews the inside of her lip, "like you're holding your...uh.. your..."

"Dick?" I supply. Fuck, yeah. Clearly, she's not going to let go of it, and damned if I am going to be apologetic about being found out. I turn around, allow her to have the full-frontal view. She lowers her gaze to where I hold the plate with the pie in front of my groin...with my dick stuck inside.

She gulps, the sound audible in the silence. Awesome. This is when she tells me to fuck off... Or better still, turns and runs screaming, huh? Instead, she licks her lips. "Why did you stop?" she asks.

"Huh?" I blink, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She squeezes her fingers around the bottle of wine, "Why don't you finish what you started?

"I will, on one condition."

She tilts her head, her gaze locked onto where my dick is sunken into the pie.

"Amelie," I snap.

"What?" She raises her gaze to mine, her pupils blown, her lips parted.

Jesus,I may have just met my match in food kink. Well, figures. She's a baker. I couldn't have picked better.

"Join me," I growl.

"How?" Her forehead crinkles, "How do you mean?"

I glance at the bottle of wine, then back at her.

"No." Her gaze widens.

"Yes."

"No way," she mutters. "I'm not putting that...inside...."

I thrust my hips forward and my cock sinks into the warm, moist, stickiness of the pie. A groan rumbles up my throat.

A whine bleeds from her.

I scowl at her, then at the bottle, "Do it."

"But."

"Now," I snap.

She gulps, pulls the bottle of wine from the brown paper bag. She unscrews it, drops the cap on the floor, then takes a gulp.

"Good girl," I growl.

She draws in a breath, then walks to the table, on the opposite side from me, and places the bottle on it, then hesitates again.

This woman, is she hell bent on killing me? "What is it?" I huff.

She glances toward the doorway, "Uh, I left the door to the apartment ajar when I came in... shouldn't I shut it?"

"Leave it," I order her.

"But—"

My balls ache, my groin hardens, and a snarl rips from me, "I swear, if you don't take off your clothes right now, I'll—"

She unbuttons her coat, tosses it on the chair, then reaches behind to unzip her dress. The material slithers down around her ankles; she steps out of it.

She straightens and the sight of the triangle of pink fabric between her creamy thighs—" Jesus, fuck." The blood drains to my cock, I pull the pie close, and my shaft sinks into the moist center. I stare at the shadow of her flesh outlined against the crotch of her panties, "Take it off," I command. "Don't stop, Amelie."

"Or what?"

I jerk my chin up to her face. Her lips twitch.

"You don't want to tease me."

"Oh?"

I nod, "You have two choices here."

"Do I?"

I allow my mouth to curl, "Either you fuck the bottle and get fucked in the arse by me, or—"

Her chest heaves.

"Or, you fuck the bottle and I fuck you in the cunt, then in the arse."

"Choices, choices," her voice wobbles.

"Take that bloody wine bottle and ride it, Amelie, or I swear, I'll spank you so much you won’t be able to sit down for months."

She scoffs, "You exaggerate."

"Do I?" I lower my eyebrows, "Give me a chance to demonstrate just how much I enjoy delivering on my threats." I peel back my lips, "Do it, Amelie. One chance to get my hand on that beautiful curved behind, Princess."

"Jeez," she swipes her hair over her shoulder, "some people have no sense of humor."

"Humor, huh?" I pump my hips forward, impale the bloody apple pie—the hell am I doing? Fucking an inanimate object, when the focus of my obsession is right in front of my eyes.

She shivers, my thigh muscles spasm, and this entire scene is bloody wrong... and so fucking right. "Don't keep me waiting," I grind out.

She swoops down, grabs the wine bottle, brings it to her mouth, then proceeds to close her lips around it, taking it in—as she had my cock, previously. Holy mother of all that's dear to me... That has to be the hottest thing I have ever seen— No, Amelie pulling the bottle out of her mouth, only to lower it between her thighs? That... I swallow. That is bloody erotic. And it shouldn't be. I mean, it is a woman—my woman, turning me on, by easing herself down onto the neck of the bottle. It is not what I expected from her. It's everything I wanted her to do.

My cock lengthens. I grip my fingers around the damned plate of apple pie and follow her movements. In-out-in... She parts her legs, sinks down onto the bottle, the length of which disappears inside her pussy.

My shaft jerks; a pressure coils in my balls.

"Jesus, Princess," I snarl, "you're fucking turning me on."

Her breasts rise and fall, she straightens, lifts her gaze to mine, holds the connection, then impales herself again. She groans and the blue of her irises fades, leaving behind large pupils so black, they seem to take up most of her irises. My throat closes and my heart begins to race. I stare into her eyes, kick my hips forward again. Her movements intensify; so do mine. A bead of sweat trickles down her throat, trails down the shadow between her breasts. My pulse thrums; the blood pumps in my veins. I grip the plate of pie, push into the melting core, again and again. My balls draw up, the pressure in my groin tightens, harder, further, my senses pop, my vision narrows. "Come," I growl.

And she throws her head back, arches her spine, and reveals the slim column of her throat; a shudder grips her body, her thighs clench, a low keening moan spills from her lips, and I can't stop myself. My balls draw up and I come, shooting my load inside the fucking pie. I straighten, slap the plate with the dessert onto the table.

Her legs seem to weaken. She sways, then raises the bottle of wine from between her legs. Her knuckles are white and her hand trembles. She blinks, then licks her lips. She tips up her chin; I crook my finger at her.

She hesitates.

I jerk my chin. She takes a step forward, and another. She closes the distance, pauses in front of me. Tips the bottle of wine to her lips and drinks from it. Her throat moves as she swallows; a drop of red trickles down her chin. I scoop it up, bring it to my mouth and suck on it.

Her gaze follows my actions; her lips part. She holds out the bottle of wine to me. Is she daring me? Does she think she can match me step for step? Does she? I snatch the bottle from her, raise it to my mouth and chug down a mouthful. The complex notes of wood and cherries, chocolate and honey.

I lower the bottle. "Perfect with pie," I declare.

"Isn't it?" Her lips quirk.

She reaches for the serving spade on the table.

"What are you doing?" I growl.

"What do you think?" She cuts off a slice, brings it to her mouth, "Should I eat it?"

The fuck? I glare at the piece of pie, then at her face.

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" She tilts her head.

Woman's enjoying it. The thought of her eating the evidence of my arousal? It's a fucking turn on... Hotter than anything I have experienced before.

"Will you?" I lower my chin.

"You daring me?" She raises the slice, "What would you do if I ate this?"

"What do you want me to do?" I counter.

"I want you to—" She glances at the pie, then at my face, "I want you to let me take the lead in bed."