Page 70 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride
I slip my tongue into the space between her arsecheeks. Her entire body jerks. "Wes," she moans, and my groin hardens.
"Do you want me, Princess?"
"Ah," she gulps, "I… You know I do."
I squeeze her arse, part the cheeks then nudge my tongue into her backhole.
"Jesus, Wes," she groans. "What are you…doing?"
"What do you think?"
"Why do you always answer my question with a question?"
"Because it’s my prerogative to ask and yours to submit."
She huffs, "Where is that written?"
"In Doc Kincaid’s manual of ‘100 ways to torture—I mean—pleasure a woman,’" I chuckle.
She stills, "Bet you have it written down too." She grumbles, "Methodical and detailed grumpy pants that you are."
"You think you know me, huh?" I nibble my way down to the apex between her legs, slip my tongue in to the sweet hollow of her pussy.
"OMG," she hisses, tries to pull her legs up.
I grip her thigh. "Don’t move," I growl.
"But," she whines, "this is not fair."
"Good." Time she felt a little bit of the agony she’s been putting me through. I lick the entrance to her channel and her entire body bucks. I slide my hand around to cup her pussy, slide my tongue in and out of her wet, melting core.
She groans, throws out her hand to clutch at a pillow.
I bring my other hand up to squeeze her breast and she cries out, "Why are you doing this?"
"Because… I can?" I murmur against her center. "Because you won’t stop me?"
"Does this… Uh, count as—?"
"Breaking the arrangement?"
She nods.
"No," I slurp the moisture that trickles from her center, "but all you have to do is say the word and I’ll put you out of your misery."
"Fuck," she hisses.
"Yeah, exactly." I allow my lips to curve into a smile, then press little kisses to the back of her thigh. I suck on the soft skin, and the taste of her goes to my head. I bite down on the tender flesh and she moans.
"Please, please, please," she pants.
"You know I can’t." I smirk. "But say the word, and I can take you—" I drag my tongue up her thigh, retrace my way to her backhole, "here."
"Oh," she gasps. "I… I...am not sure about that."
I raise my head, slip a finger back inside her puckered hole. "You mean this?"
She groans, "I… I think I hate you."
