The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,116
shoulders. I rake my gaze down to her bare breasts, to her belly, to where her thighs grip my waist.
"Wes?" She reaches down to touch my face.
I pull away. "Don't," I clear my throat.
"You going to tell me about what happened when you were kidnapped?" she prods. "Is that what your nightmare was about?"
"What's it to you?" I grind my teeth together so hard that pain shoots up my jaw.
"You have to ask me that, after everything we've been through? After you told me that you love me?"
"About that..." I frown, "I didn't—"
"Shut up," she snaps.
"The fuck?" I growl, "You dare tell me to shut up?"
"Oh, I dare more." She smirks. "I dare to fuck you while you are tied up."
"Tied up?" I frown, then pull at my arms, which are bound above me. I glance up, tug at one leg, then the other. "You bound me to the bed?"
"Close." She smiles, "I bound you to the bed spread-eagled."
46
Amelie
What the hell am I doing? I reach down between us, massage his erect shaft. His chest planes lock and his shoulder muscles ripple. "You think you're going to get away with this?" he growls.
My heart begins to race. My throat closes. The taste of fear coats my tongue and I swallow it down.
"Correction." I allow my lips to curl, "I know I am going to get away with this." I swipe my fingers up his dick to where the swollen head throbs. I squeeze and his hips buck. I drag my thumb across the slit and his body jolts.
"Amelie," he warns.
"Weston," I echo his tone.
I slide my other hand down to cup his balls.
His throat moves as he swallows. "You really, really don't want to do this." His voice lowers to that hush as he speaks, to that edge of meanness which chafes at my nerve endings, that ripples down my belly, then coils in between my legs. Moisture laces my core. His gaze intensifies and his nostrils flare. Hell, as usual, he's so tuned into me, he can sense my arousal.
I squeeze his balls; he grunts. I slide back, lower my head, close my mouth around his shaft. His thigh muscles spasm and his entire body seems to go still. I hold his gaze, bob my head, take him in until his length bumps the back of my throat.
"Fuck." His jaw tics; his shoulder muscles bunch. "You don't know what you are doing," he snarls.
I rise up, so his dick plops out with a wet sound, "On the contrary." I lick the angry head of his cock, "I have a very good idea what I am doing to you."
I swirl my tongue around the rim of the angry throbbing head; he growls.
I drag my teeth across the sensitive skin; his body bucks.
"Oh." I blink. This is fun. It seems I can elicit a response with the smallest action.
I slide my tongue down the length of his shaft; sweat beads his forehead.
"Are you hot?" I ask.
"The fuck do you think?" he snarls.
I giggle. I can't help it, honestly. To see this virile, dominant alphahole laid low by a touch... Mmm. It's sweet revenge. I weigh his balls in my hand, then drag my finger down between his butt-cheeks to tease his backhole.
He grunts, "Fucking fuck." A vein throbs at his temple, his biceps bulge and the veins of his forearms ripple.
Holy shit, he's not going to break free, is he?
He yanks at his bindings which tighten, but hold—Whoa, guess the knock-off Ferragamo scarves are of good quality, after all.
His thigh muscles tense as he pulls on the bindings that circle his ankles. The bed frame creaks, but he stays tied.
The breath rushes out of me. Gah, that was close. I lower my face to his groin, begin to give him head. I take him down my throat—gag—breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose—I pull back, glance up to find his gaze fixed on me. A vein throbs at his temple; color highlights his cheeks. Wow. He seems aroused and angry—but definitely turned on.
"That all you got, babe?" His lips twist, "Giving up so easily, hmm?"
I frown. Typical of him to turn this into a competition, huh?
I prop my elbows on his hips, swirl my tongue around his cock. "You taste," I frown, "you taste like dark chocolate with a dash of sea salt."
He groans, "Jesus, woman, only you could compare my dick to a dessert."
"It's good," I offer, "I mean, you could do with a trim—"