Page 73 of The Christmas Wife

"Aw… Hell… Butterfingers." I glance down at the mixing bowl I had overturned. I’d woken up early, determined to try a new recipe for chocolate banana muffins…and managed to drop the bowl.

No wonder he calls me Buttercup. But I admit, I prefer Princess. There’s a thud of footsteps, the sound of barking. I glance up as Weston barrels through the door and into the room, Max on his heels.

"What’s wrong?" He stalks into the room, "I heard you?—"

His shoulders block out the rest of the room. The planes of his chest are hard. I rake my gaze down his concave stomach, to where his cock juts out between those powerful legs and those gorgeous feet that he’s currently about to place in a puddle of chocolate sauce.

"Watch out?—"

His feet slip on the gooey streak on the floor and his big body tilts back. Shit, I leap forward, reach for him… I mean, what the hell am I trying to do? It’s not like I could stop him from falling,and hello, he isn’t wearing any clothes, so I couldn’t exactly grab onto anything, except...Well... You know. A-n-d nope, I don't want to risk hurting that part of him. I stumble aside.

Too late, I realize I am about to step on a banana peel. Yes, really, a banana peel. Can my life get any more cartoonish? I twist my body, lose my balance anyway, and pitch forward. "Oh, no, no, no," I wail, throw up my hands, squeeze my eyes shut and connect nose first with a hard barrier. Shock waves ricochet through my head, down my spine. The breath whooshes out of me. "Ugh!" I flail around, and my arms are caught and twisted behind me.

"The hell is wrong with you?"

His voice rumbles below my ear and that’s when I realize I am sprawled over his body. His very naked body. My cheek is smooshed against that delectable chest, my breasts flattened against that eight pack, my pelvis positioned right over that hard, gorgeous part of him that stabs into the cleft between my pussy lips.

Max dances around us, barking near my ear. "Max, stop," I pant, then try to pull back from the annoying man I am currently draped over.

He scissors his legs around mine, "Stop struggling."

I tip my chin-up, "What are you trying to do?" I scowl.

The light shining through the window brings out the gold flecks in his eyes. Huh? So his eyes aren’t completely grey? Imagine that.

"I heard you scream." He glowers up at me, "I was convinced there was an intruder in here."

"No, it’s just me," I huff. Gosh, he’s grumpy first thing in the morning, huh? Is it because he hasn’t had his way with me yet? Would stabbing his dick inside of me put him in a better mood? My thighs clench. My nipples tighten.

He tilts his head, his lips taking on that curl that I hate… And love.Oh, my God, stop acting like a sex-crazed slut—but hello, can you blame me?That mussed up hair, that broad chest, over which I am sprawled. That warmth of his that rises up from his big body, to coil around me, sink into my blood, and travel straight to that emptiness in my center.Gah, stop that.

I push back; his grasp tightens. That hard length of his pushes up and into my very eager center. I gulp.Okay, don’t panic; don’t.Pretend it’s normal. Just a conversation, that’s all this is. I tip up my chin. "I, uh, had a little accident," I mutter.

"I can see that." He pushes back my hair that’s come lose from its bun on top of my head, then rubs at a spot on my cheek. He brings it to his mouth, sucks on his digit. "Chocolate." He grimaces, "Of course, it’s chocolate."

"Is there any other kind of ingredient worth waking up early for?"

"There are other reasons worth losing sleep over," he smirks.

I scoff, push at his chest, "Let me go."

"No."

Max shoves his face between us, aims his tongue at Weston’s mouth. Wes groans, turns his face the other way.

Max barks, wags his tail, turns to me instead. I crane my head away, "Chocolate isn't good for you, Max," I scold.

Max pants, then shoves his nose into my throat. "Ooh, it’s cold." I giggle. He licks my throat, then proceeds to place his paw on my breast.

"Hey," Weston releases my arm, grabs Max by the scruff of his neck and places him aside. Max barks. The moment Wes lets him go, he jumps forward toward me, shoves his nose down my blouse.

I laugh, "Max, no, that tickles."

"Bloody hell," Weston swears. He releases both of my arms, then grabs Max. I roll away from him. Weston jumps to hisfeet, stalks across the kitchen and places Max in the hallway. He points a finger at the puppy. "Chocolate on the floor, buddy. I don't want you getting into that." Max groans.

I swear, that dog can speak.

The mutt blinks up at Weston who shakes his head. "Nice try little fella, but you can’t come in here right now." He closes the door.

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