The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

44

Amelie

His forehead crinkles. He glares at my face, and the skin around his eyes tightens. He's considering it. He's actually thinking about it? A dominant man like him... Would he give in to this? Does he want me to eat this...proof of his desire? Does he think I won't? Am I going to do this? I hold his stare. Say the word; do it. A bead of sweat slides down my temple. His gaze darts to it, then back to my eyes.

"Do it," his voice is casual, his stance relaxed. Huh? Does he think I won't? Is he the only one who can get away with playing games? He’s so sure that I won't surprise him, he raises the bottle of wine, swigs from it, then licks his mouth. "Mmm," he smacks his lips together. "Wine and the honey of your cum," he says, "this has to be my favorite drink ever.

I raise the pie to my mouth.

His gaze intensifies.

Bite off a piece.

He freezes.

I chew on it, swallow, his chest rises and falls.

I bite off another piece, chew on it.

His shoulders bunch. His chest planes seem to harden, and he draws himself up to his full height. "Eat it all," he commands.

His rough voice chafes across my nerve endings My sex clenches. I squeeze my thighs together, stuff the rest of the piece into my mouth.

He curls his lips. "Swallow," he growls, and moisture pools between my legs. Hell, only Weston fucking Kincaid could make that order sound so filthy, so bloody naughty. I gulp down the food in my mouth.

"Open," his voice is rough, his breathing uneven. I part my lips; he raises the bottle of wine to my mouth. "Drink," his voice lowers to a hush. Hell, why do I get the feeling that he's planning something...a scene that's out of my dirtiest fantasies?

Rolling around in the aftermath my dessert? Check.

Slurping down wine that tastes of my arousal and his mouth? Double check.

Pulling back with suddenness so the wine spills across my chest? You bet.

"Oops," I murmur, glance down at where the wine blots the cloth of my bra. "I think I am going to have to take it off."

"Hmm." He raises the bottle to his lips, drinks from it. "I have a better idea, Princess."

"You do?" I peer up at him from under my eyelashes.

"I do." He nods. He holds up the bottle; my gaze widens. He tilts it, I open my mouth to protest, but already he's poured the wine on my hair.

"What the—" I splutter, "What are you doing?"

"Worshipping you, of course," his voice is sincere, his tone husky.

I take in his features as the liquid drips down my cheeks, my chin, splashes onto my breasts, clings to the cloth that covers my crotch.

"Weston," his name emerges, breathy from my throat. Damn, if I don't sound aroused and turned on—I glance down to where his erect dick—make that two of us. "Weston?" I swallow. What am I asking of him? What do I want from him? "You...you going to deliver on your promise?"

He smirks, "What do you think?"

"I think," I raise a finger to his cheek, drag it down the luxuriant growth of beard on his chin, "you look like Santa Claus."

He stares, then chuckles, "Have you been a naughty girl, Princess?"

"Oh," I shift my weight from foot to foot, "I tried, Santa. I promise, I wanted to be good...but then...I met this man."

"A man, huh?" He leans forward until his chest grazes my breasts, nipples hard, and surely, outlined by the sodden bra, which, if he'd look down, he'd see. But he isn't, because he's staring into my eyes.

He lowers the now empty bottle to the table with a soft thump. "Pray, tell me more about this...encounter of yours," he breathes. The warmth from his body surrounds me; his big, aching, gorgeous shoulders shut out the rest of the world. He bends his knees, thrusts his face into mine, "Don't make me wait." His voice is low, with an edge of that cruelty that is so Weston, which rolls down my spine.

I shiver. "He..." I clear my throat, "He's the most annoying, most obnoxious, most full-of-himself, egoistical—"

His biceps flex; the next instant he grabs my pussy. A whine bleeds from me, "Ah," I stutter, "He's... he's..."

His mouth curls. "He is...?" he prompts me as he begins to massage my core.

"Hard," I mumble. "So hard."

He grinds the heel of his hand against my clit and goosebumps flare on my skin. I shiver, "And sexy, and dominant, and knows just what to do to arouse me to fever pitch, and when he tells me that he'll let me lead in bed, I know that he—"

He digs his finger into my melting channel through the cloth and I groan.

"You were saying—?" he smirks.

"Was I?" I blink.

"Yep." He nods, "Something about wanting to lead in bed?"

"Yeah," I swallow, "this once."

He fixes his left palm around the nape of my neck, then lifts me up by the hold on my pussy, and plants me on the pie. I squeak, wriggle my hips around, trying to evade the moist filling. He tightens his grip on my pussy. He pushes down with his other hand, and I still.

"Look at me," he growls.

I glance up, trace his features with my gaze—that patrician hooked nose, those clear eyes, the lush dark hair that flows about his shoulders, that pouty lower lip that I want to suck on. I lean up, he holds me in place with his hold on the nape of my neck. His strength is awesome, like really awesome. Why didn't I realize how he could overpower me with minimal resistance?

I reach for his cock, but he clicks his tongue, "So impatient." He snickers.

I scowl. "But I want to touch you."

"Not yet."

"You made a promise."

"And you know what kills me?" He shakes his head, "You actually expect me to keep it too."

"Won't you?" I peer up at him, "Won't you let me take the lead?"

"Nope." He shakes his head.

"But you said—"

"I lied."

Of course, he did.I mean, if he'd allowed me to actually set the pace, I'd have... Thrown myself at him, climbed him, impaled myself on his dick like he'd fucked that pie. The pie... Hell. I wriggle around, and the filling sticks to my behind. "Weston, uh, the filling is getting into all the places it shouldn't," I mumble.

"On the contrary." He grins, "It’s filling up exactly the right areas, which I am going to enjoy licking."

"Oh," I gulp; my core clenches. Jesus, is he going to enact the picture he painted right now in my mind?

"Oh, yes." He mocks my strangled exclamation. "And that's only the beginning... Once you are clean, I plan to fill you up with my dick in your pussy, my fingers in your arsehole, and my tongue in your mouth. I am going to make sure every hole in your body bears my imprint. Then I am going to fuck you so hard, you won’t know where you begin and where I end, you'll lose sight of what day it is, what time—" he swallows, "what time—" His voice roughens, "What time—"

"What time of day it is," I supply, "whether I am indoors or not, what the weather is like outside, what—"

He releases my pussy, only to plant his big body between my legs, forcing my thighs to widen.

"What ingredients I use in an apple pie—" What the hell am I warbling on about?

He thrusts his dick inside of me, filling me, stretching me, packing me to the brim, with such confidence that I gasp.

"Wes, I... I..."

"Complete the sentence." He glares at my features, "Do it."

"I..." I swallow, "I...want..."

"What?" He brings his free hand to my breast, squeezes it. Sensations radiate outward from the contact. My pussy clenches around his dick and his grin widens. "You were saying?" he prompts, "Something about the apple pie—"

"Fuck the apple pie," I mutter.

"Did that already." He chuckles.

"Sheesh," I grumble, "are you for real?"

"Does this feel real?" He pinches my nipple and I yelp. He bends his head, sucks on it, and I feel the pull deep down in my womb. Everything he does seems to awaken parts of me that had hitherto been happy to exist without communicating with me.

"Weston," I gasp, "you're forgetting something."

He releases my breast, glares up at me, "I am?" He blinks, then his forehead smooths, "I am."

He turns his head, fastens his mouth around my other breast. He sucks on my nipple, curls his tongue around the pebbled bud, bites down with his sharp teeth, and I yell, dig my fingers in his hair and tug.

He grunts and his dick lengthens further inside of me—is that even possible? He continues to lave my nipple, sucking on it, dragging his teeth around the tender flesh, then opens his mouth wider, taking in as much of my breast as he can fit. Heat, lust, pleasure, pain... All of it... None of it... A confluence of emotions whirls inside, tugging at my lower belly, arrowing to my cunt, which clamps tighter around his engorged flesh. Of course, he is pleasuring me, but ultimately, he is the beneficiary. How could someone be so...on target all the time in how he plays my body?

"Weston," I pant, "Please, please, please, please—"

He pulls out of me, raises his head, steps away.

"What the hell?" I blink, "You come back here and fuck me, you hear me?"

"Are you telling me what to do?" His lips quirk.

"You bet I am, you pussy tease, you—" I squeak, for he's grabbed my hips and flipped me over. I am on my arms and knees, butt pushed out in his face. The hell? Then a wetness sinks into my pussy, up my slit, across the valley between my arsecheeks.

"No," I shudder, "Weston, no."

He stops, "No?"

"No," I huff. "I mean, yes. Don't stop, whatever it is that you're doing, don't, oh!" He licks my puckered hole and my entire body trembles. It's filthy, and dirty and it's hot. So bloody hot. "Oh, my God," I breathe. "Oh, my, G-o-d." I yelp, for he swipes his tongue down to my cunt, then licks his way back up to my forbidden hole and back, again and again. My knees tremble and my elbows wobble. I sink down to support my face on my arms. "Wes," I gasp, "oh, you're, I'm—" My entire body seems to shudder. "I'm—"

"Don't you dare come," he growls against my sensitive clit, right before he bites on it. I howl, the sound muffled against my arms. My shoulder shudder, I slide my knees apart, thrust out my arse, giving him more access. He can eat me out like the sweetest of desserts, lick me, suck on me, insert his tongue into my pussy and drink of me. A trembling grips my legs, my back. He begins to fuck my backhole in earnest, shoving his tongue inside, curling it in, before he pulls out and bites on my butt. I huff.

"You taste fucking amazing," he mutters, "like apple pie and my cum."

I chuckle. Now that, would be one hell of a dish to put on the menu of my next pop-up delivery special. He grips my thighs, pushes them further apart. I crack open my eyes, stare down from across the length of my body, to between my legs, to where he swirls his tongue up my inner thigh, licking off the crumbs, then the other side. He meets my gaze, licks his lips, then declares, "I am going in for seconds."