Page 39 of The Christmas Wife

"Hmm," he makes an appreciative sound deep in his throat.

All of my nerve endings seem to explode.

"Which dessert should I sample first, you think?"

"Wait," I gasp.

He peers up at me.

"The arrangement."

"What of it?"

"You said no sex."

"So?"

"Does this count as sex?"

"I thought we already covered this, Buttercup."

"As long as you don’t…uh…you don’t?—"

"Sink my dick into your pussy?"

My cheeks flush, "Yeah, no penetration, in the traditional fashion, equals no sex, right?"

"Sure, if that’s how you want to see it."

"I…"

He drags his fingers up my pussy lips.

I huff.

"So?" He smirks.

"Yes…" I force out the word.

He stares back.

"Yes, that’s the definition, for the…uh, the arrangement." I clarify, "As long as you don’t uh, penetrate my puss—eee" The word comes out on a whine for he’s replaced his finger with his mouth. OMG. OMG. A moan trembles from my lips.

"My, my, Buttercup," he mutters against my core, " is this how greedy you are when you bake?"

What the—?I blink.Why is he still talking? Didn’t his mom teach him not to talk when his mouth is full? Why can’t he?—?

He raises his head. Cool air envelops the heated, melting triangle between my legs, right before he slaps my pussy. Right on it, across my swollen core, which erupts in a miasma of sparks, that travels out from the contact, up my spine, and explodes behind my eyes. The room tilts.Ohmigod.Sweat beads my brow. The pain fades, leaving behind an ache that swallows me up from the center. "What was that for?" I shudder.

"Answer the question, doll."

"Wh…which one?"

"Should I taste you here?" He dips his head, slips his tongue inside my backhole.

My entire body snaps to attention. All of my pores pop. My chest rises and falls.

"Or here?" He drags his wicked tongue up my slit.

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