Page 41 of The Christmas Wife

He glares at me.

I shiver… "Anything you want."

"Right answer."

He drops his head and thrust his tongue back inside my melting channel.

"Oh, my God," I whine. "More, please, don’t stop…don’t…" I push myself up and into his face, not caring what he thinks of me. Any restraint holding me back is gone. Poof. All he has to do is touch me and I’ll do anything for him. Damn it, I should have known that… But I’m not sleeping with him.. Yet. I mean, technically this doesn’t count. Like the blowjob… Anything other than full penetration... Yep, that’s it; anything else is fine. It is. "Fuck me with your mouth, please," I plead.

He laughs, "One fuck-me-with-your-mouth, coming up." He releases my knees, only to grip my arsecheeks. He squeezes down and I whine. He pries them apart.What the—?He hauls me up, slips his tongue down and inside my arsehole.Oh, my f’ing god.It’s like nothing I have experienced before. No one…has touched me there, and this man? He slides his tongue into that forbidden part of me… As if, as if… We are lovers. No, fuckbuddies… Not… Anything-but-fucking-buddies, that’s what we are. A giggle wells up, turns into a scream, when he begins to fuck my backhole with his tongue. He thrusts in and out, in and out, brings his hand up to grind his heel against my clit, and that tightness inside of me snaps out, expands… "Wes…" I moan. "Weston…"

He doesn’t answer. He can’t, because his mouth is full of me.

"Wes. Wes. Wes," I chant.Aloud, or in my mind?No matter, if food is a religious experience for me, then his tongue-fucking me has to count as a close second. The orgasm screeches up my legs, up my spine.

He slides his tongue out, replaces it with his finger, another, then shoves his tongue inside my pussy.

"Weston," I scream.

He releases my other knee and grabs my breast, squeezes my nipple so hard, stars burst behind my eyes.

"Oh, my God, I am going to…going to…"

He slips his thumb inside my mouth, at the same time that he crooks his fingers inside my backhole, then tears his mouth from my pussy and growls, "Come."

11

Weston

Her body bucks, her spine curves, she opens her mouth, but no sound emerges. Her eyes roll back in her head as she shatters. I tilt my head, lick up the cum from between her pussy lips.So fucking sweet. Is she made of the sugar that she likes to bake with?Her climax seems to go on and on. Her shoulders jerk, her head thrown back, and the arch of her throat beckons.

I crawl up her body, fit my mouth to hers. I slide my fingers inside her pussy, she moans, and I swallow it up. I swipe my tongue over hers, tasting our joined-up essences. I drag my other hand up the curve of her waist. She shivers. I cup her cheek, lean back and peer into her features, "Look at me."

Her eyelids flutter. Those blue eyes peek up at me, pupils blown, still high on the orgasm. Something hot stabs at my chest. I flip over on the bed, pulling her with me. I coil her over my chest. Another spasm runs up her spine. I tug her closer, wrap her up in my arms.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I doing?I hadn’t meant for it to get this…intense, this complicated.Keep things light, stay awayfrom all entanglements,has always been my motto. And I’ve succeeded so far, haven’t I? I had asked her to stay…because I’d thought it would be entertaining. Okay so that's not the full truth. The last time I’d spoken to my mother, she’d asked me if I’d met anyone yet. It is the one thing—the only thing—she wants from me. For me, I guess. It had been a flash of instinct that had had me stipulating she come along to the Christmas dinner. My family… They’d pulled me out of the depression I had fallen into after the 'incident' when I had been kidnapped along with the rest of the Seven. They’d reassured me, never allowing me to falter.

The incident had turned everything upside down. The only people who had seemed to get me after that were the rest of the Seven, and not only because they were, each of them, mean motherfuckers, as unfeeling as me… It was the shared experience of the days that had changed our lives, scarred each of us in similar, yet unique, ways.

Still, my parents had been encouraging, supportive, taken me to therapy, tolerated my outbursts at them as I’d struggled to come to terms with what had happened. They had been stellar in their roles and duties toward me. It’s not their fault I’ve turned out to be an asshole. Blame that on me… Maybe it’s the way I was born.

So, it had been a spur of the moment decision that she accompany me to see my family for Christmas.The hell had I been thinking?

This pint-sized woman with the sassy attitude, honeyed mouth, and a cunt that tastes like all the forbidden delights she specializes in baking—has clearly addled my thought processes.

I drag my fingers down the waterfall of her golden hair. Softer than cookie dough—What the fuck? I do not think in food metaphors.Her proximity is definitely affecting me. I stay still, watch her eyeballs move behind her now-closed eyelids.She snuggles into me; her breathing deepens. I stay still until her body twitches. She’s definitely out cold. Apparently, I tired her out. Too bad I can’t say the same about me. My muscles coil and bunch, my mind racing. I need to figure out what the hell to do with her. My proposal stands, but the boundaries are blurring… Hell, I am still here, holding her, caressing her, watching her as she sleeps. The fuck is up with that? I ease her down onto the bed. She doesn’t stir. Good.

I slide out of bed, pull the duvet over her. Turning, I crash into her suitcase, which plops over. I glance over to find she’s still sleeping. I shake my head. What I wouldn’t give to be able to switch off like that, huh? Since the incident… I’ve never slept for more than three, maybe four hours a night. Useful when you’re at medical school and need to study before exams… A bitch at any other time. I pull on my jeans, a sweatshirt over my long-sleeved T, socks and boots.

Grabbing my phone from the side table, I walk through the living room, Max stirs from his rug near the fireplace, lifting his head. I go over, pat him on his flank. He licks my hand, then burrows into the special cushion I’d ordered for him. Hey, don’t go all gooey-eyed. It was simply to ensure he’d be comfortable enough to not want to share my bed, okay?

I slip out onto the back porch. Early dawn lights up the horizon as I head toward the shed at the back of the property. I open the door and walk in, then head for the work bench. I switch on the desk lamp, and when my phone buzzes, I slide it out of my pocket, swipe the screen.

"Hey, motherfucker," Damian’s image fills the space.

"Same to you, dickwad," I mutter.

"What’s gotten into you?" He peers into the screen as if he’s there in real life with me.

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