Page 106 of The Christmas Trap

"Breathe through your nose." I wait for her to widen her eyes, acknowledging that she’s heard me. Then I move her forward, enough to slide down her throat.

Spit drools down her chin. Her throat is snug enough that I feelthe walls press down on my shaft. My balls harden until it feels like I’m carrying a shit ton of weights between my legs. Fucking fuck. I’m going to come.

I pull back, giving myself a little time to recover, and search her features. She draws in a few breaths, then I ease her forward. Farther down than earlier.

I close my fingers around her throat, feeling myself ensconced. And that’s so damn intimate. Makes me feel so much closer to her. It leaves me reeling. It’s erotic in a way that wrecks me.

It’s not only the heat of it. It’s the closeness. The connection. Deeper than touch. More personal than breath. It’s that overwhelming sense of our souls fusing together which tells me I’m fucked. The realization sinks in. Warning bells clang in my head. But I’m too far gone.

“I’m going to come,” I manage to warn her, when my balls draw up tight. I lock eyes with her—and that’s when I see it. A single tear slips from the corner of her eye. That’s all it takes. I let out a muted cry as I spill my release down her throat.

I don’t stop. I keep coming, long and hard, until it overflows her mouth and spills from her lips. Only then do I pull out. I scoop up the mess with my fingers, sliding it back into her mouth.

She swallows.

Her swollen lips are testimony to how intensely she sucked me off. A crackling sensation seems to break through my rib cage. The walls I’ve built for most of my adult life seem to shake. With my hold around the nape of her neck, I haul her to her feet, lower my chin, and kiss her deeply. I taste my cum in her mouth.

Sweet desire, need, tenderness.A miasma of emotions tightens my throat.

I release her and stare deeply into her eyes. Wanting to tell her how much I love what she did to me. I open my mouth, when she glances at the range and her eyes widen.

"My orzo."

She pulls out of my grasp, races over to the stove and shuts off the flame. Then takes the pan off the hob and sets it on the counter. She pulls off the lid, and her shoulders sag with relief.

"Thank God, it hasn’t burned."

She plates out the food, adds a twist of lime to the orzo, along with the fresh tomato and rocket leaf salad she whipped up first.

Then she walks over to slide the plates onto the counter in front of me.

I put myself to rights and drag her stool back beside me, by which time, she’s added cutlery next to the plates.

She takes her seat, glances at my plate, then at my face. The anxiety on her features tells me she wants to know what I think of the food.

I scoop up some of it and place it on my tongue. The rich crispy taste of the chicken combined with the earthy taste of the orzo and the sweet-sharp taste of the garlic seeps into my tongue.

I lick the food off the tines of my fork and am rewarded by the flare of her eyes.

I allow a small smile to curve my lips, then go back for another mouthful. This time, I also spear a portion of the salad. The burst of sweetness and acidity from the tomatoes cuts through the creamy starchiness of the orzo.

"Mmm, where did you learn to cook like this?" I chew and swallow.

She blinks as if coming out of a trance, then glances down at her plate. "I moved to this country to study on a scholarship. I didn’t have the money to go out shopping or to the night clubs. I learned to look up recipes and buy marked down food at the supermarkets. If you go late enough in the day, they mark down the stuff that’s about to expire. I found bargains on the good stuff. Then cooked for myself. It was a great way to unwind after a hard day. It also meant I ate healthy."

I scoop up more of the food, chew and swallow. When I catch her watching again, I smirk.

"Yes, you look sexy when you eat." She tosses her head. "Don’t have to look so pleased about it."

"I love you watching me. Love it more that you get turned on when you do."

She allows herself a small smile then eats a few mouthfuls.

When we’ve both finished what’s on our plates she reaches for her glass of wine and takes a sip. "Did you mean it?"

"You mean, you being the CEO?" Without waiting for her nod of acknowledgment, I add, "I wouldn’t have said it otherwise."

"I’m not saying I’m not up for the job.”