The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,17
The women I’ve dated before have been emaciated, by comparison. None of them had that lustrous skin that I itch to mark, the delicate turn of ankles that invites me to run my tongue up the hollow, scooping the water droplets that are sure to be nestled there, up her calf and her inner leg, to that object of my obsession—her beautiful gorgeous core. Fuck.
"Just for that, your first punishment is watching the cartoon characters on loop."
"Punishment?" She grabs her boots and her socks; one of her shoes slips from her hold and hits the ground. "Crummy apple crumble," she swears,
"Did you use a dessert as a swear word?" I chuckle.
She rescues her footwear. "You could help, instead of ogling my body," she grumbles.
"Oh, if I were ogling, you’d know it, sweet thing."
She straightens, her cheeks rosier than they had been a few moments ago, "You’re a chauvinist."
"You’re a submissive."
She stiffens, "How dare you say that?"
"You want to be taken without being given a choice. Somewhere deep inside, you want to be dominated. At your core, you prefer to have all options taken from you, so you can relax into your true self."
She scoffs, "The hell you mean?"
"Right now, as we speak, you want me to bend you over the nearest chair, then part your legs, strum your clit, finger your pussy and make you come, right before I sink my hard, throbbing…aching…length into your melting center."
She draws in a breath, stares at me. Even through the darkness, her blue irises shine… The light in my darkness, the silvery fucking lining to my black cloud of a bloody life... And I am waxing poetic, all right, and all because this woman here has crawled under my skin. I want to grab her and pull her close and kiss her… Right after I turn her over my lap and spank all that impudence out of her. Speaking of... "Okay, I’m shutting the door." I let the barrier swing.
"W-a-i-t!" She scampers forward, then slips through the crack between the door and the frame. The door snicks shut. Silence, a beat, then another. This close, the scent of her—that vanilla and apples essence of her, laced with that sugary-tart sweetness that lingers on my tongue like a memory of that smell...when you go to the mall and you walk past the candy shop and smell the sugar? That smell intensifies. My mouth waters as my cock lengthens. I curl my fingers at my sides.
"Go on," I jerk my chin, temporarily capable of little more than monosyllabic words and spastic movements.
She scowls, "So you can stare at my arse?"
"If you’d rather ogle my butt instead…" I shrug, which has the added benefit of relieving some of the tension I’m feeling.
She snatches up her satchel, wears it across her chest, then bends to pick up her coat. Her toolkit jostles forward and smacks the back of her head. "Ow." She straightens, and her coat slips down to trail on the floor. "Shit," she swears aloud, "I am a mess."
"And I’d love to mess up my bed with you in it," I cough.
"What did you say?" she sputters as she scoops up her coat again.
"Just that you are pretty in your disarray."
She stares. "Somehow, I don’t believe you."
"Somehow, I don’t think I care."
"Is this some kind of NLP technique?" She frowns.
"No idea what you are talking about." I turn away.
"This entire mirroring my words thing you have happening."
"The only mirroring I want to do is of the 69 kind," I snicker.
"That’s it," she snarls, "I’ve changed my mind."
"Hmm."
"I thought we could find a way to get through the holiday season, but clearly, if I spend any time with you, it’s going to drive me insane."
"Goes both ways, sugar," I retort. The patter of paws on the wooden floor announces the arrival of Max. He jumps up, places his paws on my legs, as if he hasn’t seen me in years, instead of minutes ago when I’d fed him. "Hey Buddy, whatcha doin’, hmm?" I scratch at his head behind his ears and he makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat. He attempts to jump up again, but this time I oblige. I snatch him up, cuddle him, turn to watch her watching me.
I tilt my head, "What?"
"Every time I think you’re a horrible monster, Max saves the day."
"Should I be thankful?" I smirk, digging my fingertips into Max’s skin. He makes a deep groaning sound.