Page 424 of The Christmas Wife

She instantly parts her lips. Fucking gratifying. I slide my finger between them. She closes her mouth around the digit and licks off the last bit of icing.

"That is sinful." She makes a sound that goes straight to my groin. I can feel the suction of her mouth all the way to the crown of my cock. I scoop up more of the icing with my finger and smear it over her lips.

Her breath hitches, and her cheeks pink. Then she flicks out her tongue and licks it off, and every cell in my body stands to attention.

She swallows. "I shouldn’t want more, but I do."

So do I.

I pick up some more of the cake and hold it out. She leans forward and licks it from my fingertips. Our gazes meet, the air thickens, grows saturated with need. My thigh muscles grow even harder. I’m fucking torturing myself. I take another dollop of the icing, lean over and drag it down her chin, her throat, to where the dark shadow of her cleavage is visible, then over her sleep camisole. She’s not wearing a bra underneath, and her nipples are outlined through the silky material.

"I just showered."

"I want to shower you with my cum."

She gasps. "Is that filthy? It is. Am I aroused by it? I am. This is soooo wrong." She shakes her head.

"All the good things in life are. A lesson I learned the hard way. Come here, Belle."

She swallows, then slides off the stool and comes to stand in between my legs. I push the hair back from her flushed cheeks, and her breathing intensifies.

"There are going to be a few rules as long as we're here."

"Rules?"

I nod. "Rules to ensure your orgasms bring you the most pleasure possible. Rules to ensure you have the greatest number of orgasms in the shortest period of time."

"Oh."

Her voice is so breathless, so excited, I almost smile. This woman makes me act out of character. It’s a constant surprise. One I relish. One I’d miss if she weren’t around. It’s the main reason I need to ensure she never leaves me. It’s why I need to gratify her, ensure she’s so high on endorphins, she’s addicted to the sensation only I can rouse in her.

"First rule, no clothes." I snatch a knife from the counter, slide it under her camisole straps and twist.

47

Mira

The camisole strap splits. He does the same to the other. The lacy fabric slithers down my chest and stays suspended—held up only by my nipples, which are saluting at him. They’re so hard, and my breasts are so heavy, I feel weighed down. I reach up to tug off the fabric, but he clicks his tongue.

"Second rule: you’ll do everything I ask."

"Like I don’t already."

"Third rule, if you talk back, you’ll be spanked."

I swallow. The fading palm prints on my butt twinge in response. My pussy clenches down, and I know I’m already making a mess between my legs.

"Fourth rule—" He slides the knife under the waistband of my sleep shorts. He flicks his wrist, and cuts through the fabric. Does the same on the other side. He places the knife down on the table with care. His every movement is restrained, controlled. His fingers are steady—unlike mine, which tremble with need. And when he turns to face me, there’s almost a bored look onhis face.Ohmigod, do I find that hot? I do find that hot.The fact that I’m turned on, but he seems so indifferent to the million little butterflies that take flight in my belly, only intensifies my arousal. I shuffle my feet, begin to rub my thighs together, but he shakes his head. "You can’t alleviate your need."

"But I itch there."

"Good."

"Just a little chafe of my thighs," I whine.

"Nope."

"It’ll only take a second." I flutter my eyelashes at him. "I’ll slide in a finger and touch myself once. Just once."