Page 18 of The Christmas Wife

"W-a-i-t!" She scampers forward, then slips through the crack between the door and the frame. The door snicks shut. Silence, a beat, then another. This close, the scent of her—that vanilla and apples essence of her, laced with that sugary-tart sweetness that lingers on my tongue like a memory of that smell...when you go to the mall and you walk past the candy shop and smell the sugar? That smell intensifies. My mouth waters as my cock lengthens. I curl my fingers at my sides.

"Go on," I jerk my chin, temporarily capable of little more than monosyllabic words and spastic movements.

She scowls, "So you can stare at my arse?"

"If you’d rather ogle my butt instead…" I shrug, which has the added benefit of relieving some of the tension I’m feeling.

She snatches up her satchel, wears it across her chest, then bends to pick up her coat. Her toolkit jostles forward and smacks the back of her head. "Ow." She straightens, and her coat slips down to trail on the floor. "Shit," she swears aloud, "I am a mess."

"And I’d love to mess up my bed with you in it," I cough.

"What did you say?" she sputters as she scoops up her coat again.

"Just that you are pretty in your disarray."

She stares. "Somehow, I don’t believe you."

"Somehow, I don’t think I care."

"Is this some kind of NLP technique?" She frowns.

"No idea what you are talking about." I turn away.

"This entire mirroring my words thing you have happening."

"The only mirroring I want to do is of the 69 kind," I snicker.

"That’s it," she snarls, "I’ve changed my mind."

"Hmm."

"I thought we could find a way to get through the holiday season, but clearly, if I spend any time with you, it’s going to drive me insane."

"Goes both ways, sugar," I retort. The patter of paws on the wooden floor announces the arrival of Max. He jumps up, places his paws on my legs, as if he hasn’t seen me in years, insteadof minutes ago when I’d fed him. "Hey Buddy, whatcha doin’, hmm?" I scratch at his head behind his ears and he makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat. He attempts to jump up again, but this time I oblige. I snatch him up, cuddle him, turn to watch her watching me.

I tilt my head, "What?"

"Every time I think you’re a horrible monster, Max saves the day."

"Should I be thankful?" I smirk, digging my fingertips into Max’s skin. He makes a deep groaning sound.

"Did he just…?" She blinks.

"Max is every bit as expressive as you," I snicker.

"Thanks." She tosses her head, "Doesn’t get you off the hook. I’m still leaving." She marches past me, snatches up her handbag from where she’d placed it on the bar counter.

She heads for the door, then pauses, to rifle around in her purse.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Wait for?—

"You asshole." She turns on me.

"Alphahole." I correct her.

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