The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

50

Amelie

"Expecting someone?" He pulls out of me, the head of his fat dick poised at the entrance to my pussy.

I groan, dig my fingers into his tight flank. "Ignore it!" I plead.

His nostrils flare and the skin pulls tightly across his cheeks. "Sure you're not expecting any lovers? Anyone I need to know about?" He massages the curve of my hip.

I shiver. "You're the only one in my life, Doc," I moan.

"Damn fucking right." He pounds into me again, with such force the entire table shakes. The mixing bowl crashes to the ground, rolls, then comes to a stop.

In the silence that follows I can't stop the giggle that bursts from my throat.

"You think it's funny?" He frowns.

"No," I chuckle.

He pulls out, then sinks back into me. "Yes," I gasp, "yes, it is actually."

"Clearly, I am not doing this right, if you are thinking about something else other than how I am going to tear your pussy apart, how I am going to sink inside you so deep you’ll feel like you are splitting in half."

He pumps his hips forward, rams into me, and his balls slap against my inner thigh. Oh, hell! A moan spills from my lips. I reach up, wind my arms around him... Well, as much as I can reach, that is. This man is so broad, I reach maybe halfway around his back.

"Wes." I pant... "Please."

"You're fucking killing me, Princess.” He bends his knees, loops his arms under my knees, and pulls my legs up and over his shoulders.

Instantly, he slips deeper inside, the crown of his cock hitting that secret part of me—one I didn't even know existed until now. "Oh." I open and close my mouth. "Oh, my," I gasp.

"When I saw that motherfucker with his hands on you, my heart stopped." He growls, "I swear, if you do that to me again, I'll—"

"You'll?"

"I'll chain you to my bed and never let you go until I've fucked every hole in your body over and over again, until I've covered you under layers of apple pie and licked them all off of your skin, off every gorgeous curve, from between your legs, from the tops of your breasts, the slope of your butt, the turn of your ankles, the valley between your arse-cheeks. Then I'll fuck you until I take you to the edge, but I won’t let you come. I'll start all over again, this time with chocolate, then cream, then work my way through every ingredient of your dessert repertoire."

"Oh." I blink. My pussy clenches around his dick.

"You like that, hmm?"

"I..." I gulp, "I..."

He smirks, "I am going to fuck you now."

I blink, stare up into those hard features—a flush smears his cheeks, those gray eyes are pools of desire, of lust, of everything I've always wanted and hoped for but never thought possible. I see myself reflected in them—him, me, us... Our future. "Wes," I groan, "don't stop, don't—"

He thrusts forward, impaling me. His shaft fills me, stretches me, his girth imprinting every ridge, every hard inch of him against every millimeter of my sensitive channel. Goosebumps flare on my skin, and pinpricks of pleasure and sparks of heat shoot out from the contact. He slams into me again and I cry out, throw my head back, hold onto him and wait, wait— He begins to fuck me with domination, with precision, with that complete self-assurance that is so Weston. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God," I chant.

"That's me, baby." He pulls out. "Never forget."

He propels his hips forward, sinks into me, hitting that place inside again and I howl, "Wes, please. I'm, I'm going to—"

"Come with me, Princess," he growls, and I shatter. The climax screams over me, and I cry out again. He kisses me, absorbs the noise I make, as he continues to fuck in and out of me, before sinking into me once more. He tears his mouth from mine. "Look at me," he growls.

I force my eyes to open, meet his gaze as he spills himself inside of me with a grunt, his features contorted into an expression of dominance and ecstasy that is so very Wes. He leans his forehead against mine.

My eyelids flutter shut as I float down from the space he always takes me whenever we make love, where everything is golden and happy and peaceful, save for my heart that hammers. The blood pounds at my temples; it mirrors the thump-thump-thump in his chest.

There's more banging, then the sound of the door to the apartment being pulled open.

"You there, Amelie?" A woman's voice calls out.

I snap my eyes open, "Oh, hell—" I gasp, "It’s—"

"Amelie!" The voice sounds closer, "Where are you? My flight got in earlier than expected, I'm—Oh... OH!" There's the sound of a startled exclamation, "Oh, I'm sorry."

I turn my head over my shoulder and heat flushes my face. "Julia," I exclaim.

"Ah..." My friend glances from me to Weston, then back at me, "Umm... I'm so sorry..." She averts her eyes, "Ah, my flight just got in... I came in straight from the airport...uh! Why don't I go get coffees for all of us? I'll be right back."

"Wait, Julia..." I shove at Weston who, of course, doesn't budge an inch.

"It's fine, don't worry." She turns away, waves her hand in the air, "It's all good, honest. I'll, uh, be right back." She scampers off.

I turn to Wes, "Let me go." I slap at his shoulder.

"No," he smirks, "in case you've forgotten, I'm still inside of you."

His dick pulses inside of me and I blink, "You're hard again? How's that possible, you just ah, came..."

"So?" He bends his knees and kisses me, "Merry fucking-Christmas, by the way."

"You can say that again." I throw my arms around him and kiss him back, "Please can we get dressed, before she returns?"

Ten minutes later, I watch him in the mirror in my bedroom. He'd jumped in the shower a few minutes ago, and now he shrugs into the shirt I'd rescued from the kitchen floor.

He does up the buttons—the one's that had survived when I had ripped it off earlier. Gah! Had I actually done that? Around him I seemed to turn into some kind of sex addict. But can you blame me? I stare at the gorgeous planes of his chest being hidden by the fabric. My throat dries. The pleasant ache between my legs intensifies. I'll never get enough of him, never.

He tugs on the lapel of his shirt. "I can keep this off, if you prefer." His lips curl.

"Not a chance." I close the gap between us, then stab my finger into his rock-hard abs, "I don't feel like sharing right now. Besides, this picture-perfect cut physique belongs to me, you get me?"

He chuckles, "My, my, how possessive you sound, little Red?"

"All the better to scratch you with." I drag my fingernail down the demarcation between his pecs. Why the hell can't I keep my hands off of him?

"I can't wait to see you in scrubs," I mutter.

"I am sure I can oblige." He smirks, " kinky doctor-patient games are my specialty."

"And here I thought it was food kink that got you off." I widen my gaze.

"When it comes to you, babe, everything I do takes on another dimension." He runs his big palm down the curve of my waist and slaps my butt.

"Whoa, whoa," I protest. "What's that for?"

"Keeping you warm." He massages my arse, then cups the other cheek with his free hand and squeezes. My sex instantly clenches. He drags me up on my tiptoes, and the tent in his crotch pokes me.

"You're hard," I mumble.

"You're soft." His grip on my backside tightens and my nipples instantly pucker. Moisture pools between my thighs. "This is not the time," I half protest. "Julia will be back any moment."

He groans, "I think I much prefer the cabin. At least, I could have you to myself there."

I chuckle, "I'll always remember it as the place where I walked in on you naked."

"If I had my way, you and I would be naked for a month, on an island in the middle of nowhere."

"Just as long as there is an oven where I can bake." I warn.

"I'd rather see you baking in the sun... Naked, of course."

I shake my head, "Don't you think of anything but sex?"

"Do you?" He chuckles.

"I think you're fast becoming my favorite dessert, Doc Kincaid," I reply.

"You know you are always mine." He laughs and his features light up. His hair is all mussed up, thanks to me—I'd clung to it, when he'd insisted on going down on me, one last time before he'd released me. Seriously, the man is insatiable. The soreness between my legs is testament to that—and the hickeys on my neck, the bitemarks on my breasts—which is why I am wearing this long-sleeved turtle-neck sweater and a fresh pair of jeans. I glance down at his bare feet, "Did you lose your shoes?"

"Gave them to the homeless guy outside the apartment building."

A warm feeling seizes my chest. "You did that?" I ask. "You gave the shoes you were wearing to someone who needed them?"

He raises his shoulders, then widens his stance. "Don't go reading anything into it," he mutters. "It seemed like the thing to do; no big deal."

I scan his features, "I don't know of too many people who'd do that, you know?"

He cracks his neck in a gesture I am beginning to recognize. He does it when he's embarrassed and trying to hide it.

"You're full of shit Dr. Kinky-as-hell-Caid," I say. "You try so hard to come across all dominant and hard-ass, but in reality, you're like... like..."

"Like?"

"A Jammie dodger."

"A Jammie dodger?"

I nod, "One of those cookies which is double-layered, and hard on the outside, but is filled with sweet gooey jam in the center."

"Hmm." His eyes gleam. "You can taste my jam any day, baby."

"Eeyugh," I make a gagging sound, "I left myself open to that, didn't I? Will I never learn?" I groan.

"It's too easy to tease you." He steps closer, "You're the jam to my cookie; the pumpkin to my pie, the chocolate in my toffee."

"Thought you hated chocolate?" I swallow.

He bridges the distance between us, draws me to him, "That's what I thought too." He searches my face, "But then I tasted you and—"

"And?" I whisper.

"I realized it was missing an ingredient."

"Which is?"

He lowers his face to mine. His breath mixes with mine, our eyelashes tangle, our feet bump, he parts his lips, and the doorbell rings again.

"It's Julia," I groan. "I have to get the door."