Page 24 of His Christmas Wife

“Merry Christmas to you as well.” Before he could respond, she was gone.

He wadded his towel and threw it at the laundry basket in the corner. She accused him of manipulating Kaylee, blurring the lines between work and D/s. But wasn’t Aviana using her position as the club’s owner to tell him what to do?

As always, the Domme behaved as if the rules didn’t apply to her.

Annoyed with her as well as the interruption to his routine, he resumed his run, this time at a more punishing speed.

Much as he hated—even refused—to admit it, Aviana made excellent points.

But the problem was, he no longer had a conscience. Life had seen to that.

After slowing to a jog, then a quick walk, he ended his workout and headed to the shower. He’d see Kaylee soon, and he looked forward to it.

Last night, into the wee hours of the morning, Kaylee had haunted his thoughts and dreams, and he’d gotten out of bed to masturbate.

Only then had he been able to sleep.

Now, as he stripped off his damp workout shorts, his cock was hard again.

Since jacking off before picking her up was probably a good idea, he stepped beneath the warm spray of a shower and fisted himself.

Images of Kaylee returned to him: her pretty pink nipples beading to hard nubs as he looked at her.

Her lush breasts had filled his palms, and her curvy hips were the stuff of fantasies.

After spanking her, he’d teased her clit. Filling her tight pussy with his fingers, denying himself and channeling all that energy into pleasing her, had been pure joy. Then her sweet whimpers as she’d reached orgasm fulfilled something deeply masculine within him.

Frost craved more of her, even if he shouldn’t—as Aviana pointed out.

Determinedly he shoved her warnings into the deepest recesses of his mind. He wanted Kaylee—and he damn well intended to have her.

His cock throbbed with ever-increasing demand, and he squeezed himself harder, stroking faster as he imagined Kaylee squirming beneath his larger body, crying out his name as he drove into her.

This morning, the image of her was every bit as strong and powerful as it’d been when they were playing, so evocative he’d swear the soft scent of her, warm vanilla and innocence, was floating on the air.

Evan braced one palm on a tile on the far side of the shower stall as the fantasy consumed him.

His movements becoming more frantic, he spilled his hot seed in a long ribbon of cum.

Though his hunger temporarily slackened, thoughts of her refused to go away. Impossibly his cock stayed hard.

Annoyed as hell at his mind’s inability to control his body’s reactions, he ordered Jolly, the whole-house computer, to turn off the hot water entirely.

But even being blasted by an arctic-like chill didn’t tame his raging hard on.

Fuck.

It had been years since he’d been so consumed with thoughts of a woman. And that they were for his pretty assistant pissed him off.

He knew plenty of women who’d be happy to fuck him in exchange for dinner and being photographed with him, but no one except her would do.

Frost twisted the knob, then shucked the water from his body before wrapping a towel around his waist.

He had to focus on something other than getting his dick inside his fake wife. After shaving, he asked Jolly for a time check.

“It’s eight fifteen a.m. Central time, Frosty.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. First Aviana, and now this nonsense nickname from Jolly who’d been designed by the genius himself, Julien Bonds. Bonds always thought he was clever, and this wasn’t the first time the system had come up with something ridiculously cutesy. The man called this particular version of the machine a chief of staff, and its benefits were legendary, but so were the annoying quirks. “Call me that one more time and you’re going to be reprogrammed.”

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