Page 92 of The Christmas Wife

I jerk my chin up, "Nothing like that… I mean,” I wave my palm in front of me, "yeah, I do… I mean, I like both… I mean…"

His chuckles at my blathering response. "Get in the shower," he orders. "I’ll be back."

I shiver. He turns and stalks off, and I admit, I watch that tight, glorious arse of his until he’s out of sight. Hell, I’m in a sex haze. And I admit, it’s almost as good as the endorphins brought on by a chocolate binge… Okay, better… Surely, it must be the most pleasurable way of losing calories. At this rate, by New Year’s, hopefully, I’ll have lost some weight. I snort… Likely story. I only have to look at desserts for the pounds to kiss my thighs… Not that he’d complained...

I turn and survey my figure in the mirror—flushed face, reddened patches on my neck and chest... My breasts seem almost too big for my narrow waist and my hips.

But hey, at least, I look like I sample my desserts. I mean, imagine if I were reed-thin. And a dessert chef? I toss my head. That would send out the wrong signal, completely. I love my curves, okay… Normally… When I’m not having sudden bouts of self-doubt. Doesn’t everyone have them?

I hear him talking to Max in the kitchen.

Shit, better get into the shower as alphahole had commanded. I head in that direction, then stop.The hell am I doing?Because he’d ordered me to… Would I give in and do what he’d asked? So, we had an arrangement… But won’t that be null and void, considering we’ve slept together? I blow out a breath…

Well, then… Guess I’d better kiss the money goodbye, huh? My guts twist. Okay, so it means I am back where I started—debts to pay off, a business to run… Correction—a business I have nurtured with sweat and passion... and chocolate. I chuckle. A business which I’ve enjoyed building up. So what,if sometimes, when I’m bone-weary tired, I’ve wished I had someone by my side to share the load?

I am good at what I do. I don’t need some bloody man to help shoulder the burden. Certainly, not a mean-as-hell, epitome of masculinity whose bearded chin is a potent weapon that can rub me to orgasm like Alladin’s lamp. I snort out a half-laugh. Those stupid fairy tales and nursery rhymes that he often speaks in… It’s getting to me. It’s as bad as my pudding fetish.

I hear his footstep thudding down the hallway, and head for the bathtub instead. It's a small act of defiance, but hey, it's the best I can do. I reach over, plug the drain, then flip on the taps.

I am about to step in, then pause. I race to the sink, rummage around in the cabinet underneath… Aha! Bath bombs, and chocolate-flavored, at that… OMG… Yes! Half running back to the tub, I drop them in.

"What are you?—?"

I hear his voice taper off as I climb into the tub and stretch out.

The hair on my forearms rises and I tip up my chin to find him watching me through hooded eyes.

I cup my breasts and squeeze; his nostrils flare.

I drag my palms down my waist, to the space between my thighs.

He shakes his head.

I pause, "What?"

"Who does your pussy belong to?"

I swallow.

"Tell me, Princess." He lowers his voice to a hush. My nerve endings pop. "Say it," he insists. "Who owns your sweet cunt?"

"You," I swallow, "you do."

"Damn right." His lips curl and he jerks his chin.

I lean back in the tub.

"Spread your legs," he commands.

I am instantly wet, and it’s not from the bath water, I assure you. Hell, he could ask me to eat strawberries instead of chocolate and I would… No… Not that. Anything but that. Honestly, I don’t have anything against those fruits, but nothing comes between me and my chocolate, except… I peer up at him from under my eyelashes, "Why is it that only you get to tell me what to do?"

"Because, I can," he growls. "Because you promised to do everything I asked of you," he adds.

"And what about the fact that we already slept together?" I ask. "Doesn’t that mean the agreement is void?"

"Fuck the agreement. I propose something new."

"You… you do?"

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