Page 11 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

"No."

I stare, "You serious?"

"Always."

Tell me about it. This grumpy-pants a-hole needs to be shown how to laugh a little more, in life.

"Fine," I mutter, then bend down. He bends with me, not taking his palm off of the nape of my neck.Don’t look at his crotch, don’t.I stare at his turgid cock that springs from a nest of dark hair as I lower myself, place the puppy on the ground. Max shoots off toward the kitchen.

He hauls me up. "Tell me now," he threatens, his voice hard.

"But… I need to go with him and—"

He glowers at me, and that familiar melting sensation crawls in my gut.

"P…penis-shaped cake," I blurt out.

"What?" His glare intensifies.

"It…it’s a thing…" I assure him. "There’s this town in Portugal where penis-shaped cakes are gifted to women as fertility charms." Not that I need any such help with this man. Just being this close to him is enough for me to get pregnant…Eeeugh! What am I thinking?I pull back, but his large hand on my nape tightens.

"And you know this, how?"

"It...it’s ah, based on research I came across."

"Research, huh?" He bends his knees, so his face is more at eye-level with mine. "Why do I have this sneaking suspicion that is not true?"

"It is…" I lie, casting about in my head for something…anything to tell him. "Uh, I am writing a book."

"A book?"

"A cook…cookbook...for desserts that are aphrodisiacs…"

"And this… Uh, cock cake—" He frowns.

"A chocolate cock pop," I correct him.

"Chocolate cock pop…is an aphrodisiac, hmm?" His lips twitch.

"Don’t mock it till you try it," I mumble.

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, ”You have a point there.” He applies pressure on my neck—not enough to hurt, just sufficient for my knees to tremble.

"Wh…what are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

He peels back his lips and his teeth flash against his tanned skin. He eases me down and I drop to my knees.

Hell, he handles my body like I am made of room-temperature butter… Would he lick me like I am a toffee-topped crumpet too? That large rough tongue of his would lave my flesh, dig into the nooks and crannies of my sensitive core, strum on my pussy lips, nibble on my cream and sugar…No.. No… No."No," I shake my head.

"Don’t mock it till you try it," he growls.

I’m eye level with that part of him that has taunted me since I walked into this house. No, even before that... Since I first saw him, across a crowded room at my friend Summer’s wedding, when he’d prowled toward the bar, leaned against the barrier, stance wide, reached for a tumbler for whiskey and I’d seen the tendons of his throat stretch as he’d swallowed it down.

"Open," he growls.

I tip up my chin. "You’re no dessert," I huff.