Page 11 of Cupid's Naughty Elf

But first, I want all hertruths.

“Where are you going?” she asks breathlessly the second I pull back and stand, heading toward my original seat. I don’t answer her. Instead, I pause near the small fridge I’d bought recently while anticipating her needs. Because this night was a long time coming. Set in motion. For years, I’ve been adhering to a timeline while keeping two steps behind her. Always close. “Liam?”

Opening the fridge door, I take inventory before bypassing the peach tea she favors for water. There’s anything she could need for the night ahead: a variety of drinks, a few snacks, and a giant slice of her favorite ultimate chocolate cake for later. It’s made in Chicago, and I had it flown in yesterday for our private celebration.

“Part those sinful, lying lips for me,” I instruct, twisting the cap before walking back. My eyes traverse her lithe body—from her pretty feet to her larger-than-a-handful tits—to thatgorgeous face that’s currently pinched with annoyance.She’s fucking adorable.

“I never lied, Liam. You’re accusing me without cause, and on my birthday, no less.”

“Drink.” There’s a rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, her hazel eyes narrowing a bit, but before she can hiss at me, I lean over her and pour water into her mouth. Then a little more. Each small drip she swallows eases an ache in my chest: this need to take care of her in every way a man should worship the woman meant to be his wife. “A little more, sugar plum.”

“I’m good.”

“And you’re going to need it. My plans for you…” I trail off, bringing my unoccupied hand to her lip and dip two fingers inside. My cock throbs as the water flow’s disrupted and spills down the corner of her lips, then lands on the pillow beneath her head. For a second, her hazel orbs close, savoring the weight of my fingers on her tongue right before she wraps her lips around them.

Sucking. Pulling them in deeper—biting down hard enough to sting—before meeting my hungry gaze again. That one look decimates me where I stand.

Fucking hell, she owns me.

Completely. Irrevocably.

Same as the red lipstick she uses does its job making her look like a warrior goddess. It’s barely smudged as I push the two digits deep enough to make her gag. I push them in and out a few times before sliding them slowly across her tongue, front teeth, and then slowly over her lips and chin. I don’t pause my descent until I’m once again gripping her elegant neck.

A faint trace of pink paints a trail for me to follow, and I tilt my head and admire her.

On my bed. Bound in place with holiday lights and wearing entirely too much clothing.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Good girl.” I watch as goosebumps rise across her exposed skin, and take note of the reaction to my praise. But then again, I’m not surprised. Every good grade or achievement made; Piper comes to me looking for acknowledgment—approval.

Something I’m honored to give.

Fuck, she’s perfect.

Lifting the bottle to my lips, I tip it back and take a deep pull before tossing it aside. Then I lower mine to hers.

Piper’s pouty mouth opens automatically, and I feed her slowly until the last drop slips onto her tongue. And when she swallows, I devour her. Own her.

The kiss isn’t soft or sweet. It’s brutal. A claiming.

I show my possessiveness with every stroke of my tongue across hers. The way I keep Piper in place, my hold on her neck firm as I explore every inch of her mouth. I lick and bite and rake my teeth over her kiss-swollen lips, but more importantly, when she whimpers, I swallow each delicious sound.

“What you do to me, sugar plum,” I grunt, pulling back long enough to fully climb onto the bed and straddle her legs. It’s only a few seconds of separation, but they’re too much for her and Piper pouts her lips for another kiss. Tries to reach for mine.

Such a beautiful sight, too. She’s desperate and wanton— surrendering to me—and I’m honored to be the last man who will see her like this.

She isn’t a virgin, and neither am I, but there’s been no one else since we met.

For her and for me.

Her prom date doesn’t exist for me, and my past isn’t lingering in the shadows. I see no one but her: Piper Christmas Valentine is the first and only woman to ever have a claim on me.

My hand trails from her collarbone to where the edge of her corset begins. Her chest heaves, breast nearly spilling out, and I don’t hesitate to tear the garment in two. There’s a shocked gasp from her and the sound of fabric ripping, but it all fades at the sight of her bigger-than-a-handful tits bouncing from the sudden jerk.

They’re perky and round, her nipples tight, and their soft rose color almost matches the flush on her cheeks. Then there’s the way her back arches in offering while her arms try to reach for me, but the binds deny her. Again and again.

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