Page 114 of The Christmas Wife

"About making the pain better."

I chew the inside of my cheeks, survey his features, which take on an expression of innocence. As if. I’d bet my last chocolate eclair that he has something up his sleeve.

"Depends," I venture.

"On what?"

"On what you want me to do."

"I’ll only tell you if you agree to it."

"I can’t agree to it unless you tell me what it’s about."

"Trust me." His eyes gleam.

Ha, I draw in a breath. "Famous last words," I mumble.

"I heard that." He holds up his uninjured hand. "If you don’t want to do it, you don’t need to."

"Really?"

He nods, "I swear on chocolate."

Hmm.I frown, "You don’t like chocolate."

"But you do."

"You’re supposed to swear on something you hold dear." I huff.

"I swear on you."

My mouth drops open.Oh, my. Did he say that? He didn’t. Should I ask him to repeat it? Nah, ignore it.

"Fine." I swipe my hair over my head, "What is the thing you want of me? What should I do to make the pain better?"

He holds up his injured finger, "Kiss it."

"That’s all?"

"That’s all."

"Okay." I draw in a breath, lower my head, and press my lips to his finger. I straighten and he tightens the net formed by his thighs, pulls me closer. My core brushes the prominent tent at his crotch, the one I have been trying to ignore.

"I did what you asked," I say, my voice breathless, "let me go."

"That’s not the only place it hurts." He sticks out his lower lip.

"No?" I bite the inside of my cheek.

Weston has the kind of pillowy lower lip made for a pout, but honestly, this is the first time he’s pulled that one on me.

Apparently, it takes a rap from a spatula to turn him more amicable. Note to self: next time, aim for his hard head. That might knock some sense into him, hmm?

"No." He shakes his head, "What about the finger between my legs."

I stare at him for half a second, then groan. "Eeyuck, your lines are getting worse."

"And you’re getting better at easing my pain."

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