Page 17 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

Turning, I head for the doorway leading back to the house.

"Wait," she calls out.

I reach the door, step inside.

"Does this mean you accept my proposition?"

"It means," I turn to glance at her, "you’d better get inside before I change my mind."

She stares back, spine straight, shoulders hitched back. She props a hand on her hip, breasts thrust up, nipples pebbled— Hell, if she isn’t as aroused as I am feeling. This is going to be interesting. I start to close the door. She springs into action, clambers over the side of the tub. "Wait," she screeches.

My lips twitch as I try to keep the smile off of my face. "You have one minute to get your arse in here," I drawl.

"Bastard," she huffs.

I yawn, "You’re getting repetitive, Buttercup."

"Aargh." She makes a sound deep in her throat, "I hate that ridiculous name."

"Prefer Blossom? Or Bubbles, maybe?"

"No," she scoffs, "all three of the Powerpuff girls are dumb."

"Hey," I lower my chin, "you did not just say that."

"Yes, I did." She grabs her blouse, pulls it on and it falls to mid-thigh.

My gaze, of course, goes there, to the curved flesh that jiggles as she moves. 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?"