Page 166 of The Christmas Wife

"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 canyou 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?"

---