Page 87 of The Christmas Wife

"Where?"

She purses her lips.

"In your mouth?"

She shakes her head.

"Your pussy?"

She nods.

"I have a better idea." I lean in until our breaths mingle, "How about I take your arse?"

She swallows; her pupils dilate.

"You want that, huh?"

She bites down on her lower lip and her little teeth worry the tender skin.

I rub my thumb over the swollen skin and she gulps. "Maybe I’ll save that for later, huh?"

Her shoulders rise and fall.

"Maybe I shove my fingers in your arse, while I tear into your pussy with my dick, while I stick my tongue down your throat?"

She nods, then shakes her head, then throws her hands up.

I know the feeling."Decisions, decisions." I chuckle.

She digs her thighs into my hips, uses it to leverage herself up, then smashes her lips to mine.

22

Amelie

I press my mouth to his, fold my arms about his shoulders, and proceed to climb him, like he’s a massive tree… Or hell, like he’s Santa fucking Claus, come to grant me all of my wishes. Is it Christmas yet? Gah! Almost…though it sure seems like all of my dreams have come true. This man… He drives me mad, he makes me want to slap him and kiss him. Love him and hate him… Throw myself at his feet and beg him to put an end to this growing, yearning, emptiness inside. I cling to his big frame, bite down on that full, pouty lower lip of his that’s hypnotized me since the first time I saw him. I slip my tongue inside his mouth, suck on him, pour all of myself into that kiss. My head spins, my pussy clenches, and my nipples hurt. I lose my hold and begin to slip down, the muffin mixture sloshing and giving with each contact of my clothes against his. Shit, I scramble to hold on, and he places his broad palm against the seat of my butt.

Heat instantly flushes up my spine. I shudder.

He wraps his other palm around the back of my neck, and holds me there.

I release his lips, lean back—well, put as much distance between us as his firm grip allows, which is about uh—an inch…maybe a little more. Our noses bump; his long eyelashes graze my forehead. Hell, how can a man have such feminine lashes?

"So greedy," he mutters, "so damn sexy. Such a tiny package, but so much potency packed into those curves."

Shut up and fuck me already,is what I want to say. Instead, I hold his gaze, look deeply into those grey eyes, past the colorless, mirror-like surface, to that darkness that pools inside, the flecks of gold that intersperse their depths. Contradictions, such complexity he holds within himself.

"You can trust me." I whisper.

He blinks and his features open with the surprise.

"I won’t hurt you," I add.

Where is this coming from?If anything, he’s the one who can break me. His dominance could crush me, his strength could render me powerless, as his lips tease me, taunt me, his fingers dig into the curve of my hips, and his dick throbs against my aching center… "Please," I mumble.What do I want from him? Why is it that this push-pull between us makes it so difficult to bare myself to him?I cup his cheek, "Take me. Use me. Fill me up with your cum, bury yourself inside of me, and fuck your past out of me."

Wait, did that even make sense…?"I mean?—"

"Shh..." He rubs his nose against mine, the gesture tender and gentle and so unlike any other emotion he’s shown toward me. A pressure builds behind my eyes. Shit. A little bit of affection, and I’m ready to bawl my eyes out.

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