The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

46

Amelie

What the hell am I doing?I reach down between us, massage his erect shaft. His chest planes lock and his shoulder muscles ripple. "You think you're going to get away with this?" he growls.

My heart begins to race. My throat closes. The taste of fear coats my tongue and I swallow it down.

"Correction." I allow my lips to curl, "I know I am going to get away with this." I swipe my fingers up his dick to where the swollen head throbs. I squeeze and his hips buck. I drag my thumb across the slit and his body jolts.

"Amelie," he warns.

"Weston," I echo his tone.

I slide my other hand down to cup his balls.

His throat moves as he swallows. "You really, really don't want to do this." His voice lowers to that hush as he speaks, to that edge of meanness which chafes at my nerve endings, that ripples down my belly, then coils in between my legs. Moisture laces my core. His gaze intensifies and his nostrils flare. Hell, as usual, he's so tuned into me, he can sense my arousal.

I squeeze his balls; he grunts. I slide back, lower my head, close my mouth around his shaft. His thigh muscles spasm and his entire body seems to go still. I hold his gaze, bob my head, take him in until his length bumps the back of my throat.

"Fuck." His jaw tics; his shoulder muscles bunch. "You don't know what you are doing," he snarls.

I rise up, so his dick plops out with a wet sound, "On the contrary." I lick the angry head of his cock, "I have a very good idea what I am doing to you."

I swirl my tongue around the rim of the angry throbbing head; he growls.

I drag my teeth across the sensitive skin; his body bucks.

"Oh." I blink. This is fun. It seems I can elicit a response with the smallest action.

I slide my tongue down the length of his shaft; sweat beads his forehead.

"Are you hot?" I ask.

"The fuck do you think?" he snarls.

I giggle. I can't help it, honestly. To see this virile, dominant alphahole laid low by a touch... Mmm. It's sweet revenge. I weigh his balls in my hand, then drag my finger down between his butt-cheeks to tease his backhole.

He grunts, "Fucking fuck." A vein throbs at his temple, his biceps bulge and the veins of his forearms ripple.

Holy shit, he's not going to break free, is he?

He yanks at his bindings which tighten, but hold—Whoa, guess the knock-off Ferragamo scarves are of good quality, after all.

His thigh muscles tense as he pulls on the bindings that circle his ankles. The bed frame creaks, but he stays tied.

The breath rushes out of me. Gah, that was close. I lower my face to his groin, begin to give him head. I take him down my throat—gag—breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose—I pull back, glance up to find his gaze fixed on me. A vein throbs at his temple; color highlights his cheeks. Wow. He seems aroused and angry—but definitely turned on.

"That all you got, babe?" His lips twist, "Giving up so easily, hmm?"

I frown. Typical of him to turn this into a competition, huh?

I prop my elbows on his hips, swirl my tongue around his cock. "You taste," I frown, "you taste like dark chocolate with a dash of sea salt."

He groans, "Jesus, woman, only you could compare my dick to a dessert."

"It's good," I offer, "I mean, you could do with a trim—"

"The fuck are you talking about?" he scowls.

"I mean the hair on your chin, you dummy." I chuckle, "What did you think?"

"I think when I get loose, I am going to turn you over my knee and spank you."

"Hmm." I dip my head, take him in, swipe my tongue up his cock, then pull back. His balls harden and his shaft lengthens, "Oh," I blink, "that's interesting." I massage that engorged part of him.

"The fuck?" he snarls. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Having my cake and eating it too." I chuckle. My, but I am full of terrible sayings, but hey, if the shoe fits. I raise my shoulders, open my mouth, and take him down my throat again.

"Fuck." His swearing fills the air above me. His cock jumps. Heat seems to leap off of his chest and slam into my shoulders, pinning me in place. I gasp, rise up and position myself above his erect shaft.

He growls low in his throat, the sound a rumble that hints at an inner conflict. He peels back his lips and his teeth glint against his skin. His shoulder muscles seem to broaden, his big body tenses, waiting, waiting...for me to make my move. Holy shit... This is true power. Holding the most responsive part of him in my hand...before I sink down and impale myself on his very erect, very hard cock.

"Ah." I throw my head back, breathe in as I adjust to his size. He'd fucked me earlier, but damn, if his every penetration doesn't feel like the first time.

"Ride me," he growls. "Fuck my dick and make yourself come."

His words sink into my blood. I rise up, slam myself down onto his dick. The entire bed creaks. I clench my insides around his shaft, and he groans.

"Amelie," his voice is strained.

I lower my gaze to his face, hold onto his hips for leverage, then I begin to ride him. I raise and lower myself again and again. I don't break the connection between our eyes. His grey eyes reflect back the heat, the tension, the absolute and complete need to own him that grips me. His heart, his soul, his every emotion. I clench my pussy, squeeze my thighs together. "Weston." Only when I hear my voice do I realize I've breathed his name aloud.

"Don't stop," he replies. "Don't you dare stop, until you come."

I swallow, brace myself, then lift up and sink back down at the same moment that he thrusts upward and into me. His cock fills me, stretches me. His gaze burns into me, and I can all but taste his intensity as his big body stiffens, as his shaft jerks inside of me. He pistons his hips upward—fucking me, cramming into me, setting off pin pricks of heat that radiate out from my core, up my spine. The trembling crashes over me, and I gasp, and strain for release. Close, so close.

"Come," he growls, and I shatter. My climax smashes into me. White noise fills my ears, my mind. When I come to, I'm on my back and he's braced over me.

"How?" I frown, "You got free."

"You didn't think your scarves were strong enough to hold me, did you?"

"So, all this time—?"

He nods, "I pretended to be tied down.”

I scowl, "You allowed me to take the lead?"

"This once." He dips his head, kisses me. "Don't expect it to happen again.”

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, "Of course, the Big Bad Alpha Claus isn't going to allow this helpless woman to get away with anything."

"Helpless, my ass!" he scoffs. "You're dangerous, is what you are."

"Why, you flatter me." I flutter my eyelashes.

"And you..." He peers into my face, his features intense, "You..." He swallows, "I love you."

"Oh." A fierce something flares in my chest. Heat sears my cheeks. Holy shit, am I blushing? No, I am not. Of course, not.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he growls.

"Am I?" I tilt my head, "Max is not here, so we don't have to take him for a walk. I showered last night, so I guess I can skip today, and it's Christmas today. Of course, Merry Christmas, Mr. Alpha Claus."

"Merry-fucking-Christmas," he rumbles, "but that's not what I mean."

"No?" I chew the inside of my cheek; my heart flutters in my chest like I'm just about to eat a freshly-baked chocolate croissant. Yum. Only one thing gives me more pleasure. "Umm." I screw up my face, "Let me think... Let me think... Am I forgetting something?" I raise my shoulders, "Nope."

He runs his fingers up my side, "Is that right?"

I giggle. "That's right."

He digs his fingers into my ribcage, and I snort. "Please... Don't—" I gasp.

"My, my, how ticklish you are, little Red."

"All the better to laugh with you, Mr. Claus." I chuckle, then scream, as he tickles my armpits. The laugher wells up my throat. I wriggle around, try to avoid him, but he leans his weight on me.

I howl.

He laughs louder. He holds me captive under him, proceeds to tickle me until I lose my breath. "Stop... No more..." I pant, "Please."

He pauses and his chest heaves. He glares at me, takes in my features. "You're the most beautiful present I have ever received for Christmas," he whispers.

My heart literally melts in my chest. Okay, not literally, but I mean, come on... That was bloody unexpected. I cup his cheek, urge his face closer, "I am still waiting for my gift."

"Oh?"

I nod, "Tell me what happened when you were kidnapped."

He blinks, then his features shutter.

Hell, me and my big mouth. Why did I have to go spoil that perfect moment? He pulls back, shoves off the bed and glances around the room.

I sit up, "Weston, I'm sorry."

He spots his pants and steps into them. Shit, he’s leaving... After all that? He loves me. He'd made love to me. Hell, he'd taken my ass... And damn him... It had taken courage to allow him to do that... I'd enjoyed it...but honestly, it had been a leap of faith to trust him with that... And now...what? He decides to up and leave? And why the hell am I apologizing?

He heads for the door. I jump up on my knees; the bloody sheet is wound around me... How the hell did that happen? "Weston stop right there."

He reaches the exit.

"Stop," I yell. "You can't just leave."

He pauses, then turns to glare at me with that look of superior disdain that I hate.

"Don't tell me what to do," he growls.

Argh! I throw up my hands, "You and your stupid dick-headed ideas."

"Didn't see you complaining earlier when I had you pinned on said dickhead," he snaps back.

"Don't change the topic."

He opens his mouth to speak.

I hold up my hand, "What did I say, to get you all hot under the collar, huh?" I scowl. "What's wrong with my asking you about the incident that clearly impacted you so much you're having nightmares to this day?”

He draws himself up to his full height, which only draws my attention to the width of those beautiful shoulders, those eight—no ten-pack abs—ten pack? I mean, who has a ten pack? Is that even a thing? Apparently, yes, I have the evidence right here in front of me.

He widens his stance, "You can't see it, can you?"

"What?"

"You're so involved in your emotions, your need to find out all my secrets. You have no idea how much it hurts to bring it up, do you?"

"If we are..." I pause. Say it. Should I say it? Whatever. I have nothing to lose, except my future... Yeah, fine, if I can't say what's on my mind with him, then this, whatever is between us, is worth nothing. I draw in a breath, "If we are going to have a future, then I need to know about this."

"That's where you are wrong."

My heart begins to race.

Don't say it. Don't say it.

"I said I loved you," he rolls his shoulders, "doesn't mean we have anything keeping us together."

Turning, he leaves.