Page 115 of The Christmas Trap

He’s handsome, but it’s more than that. There’s a sense of power clinging to him. A charisma very few people possess. The kind which allows him to lead a company. Can I do that?

It’s not because I’m a woman that I’m doubting myself. I’ve never felt being one has ever put me at a disadvantage. It’s more that I’ve never been in such a senior role before. Which is not to say I can’t do it. But it’s daunting.

I’ll need to draw on my reserves of energy and stamina, and myability to persevere. It’s going to be a stretch, but the fact that he believes in me? That’s what has made me even consider the possibility of accepting this role.

"You’re thinking too hard." He smirks with his eyes closed.

"How did you know I was awake?"

"I can sense everything about you, baby." He turns more fully to face me and opens his eyes. And like the first time when he fixed me with those gunmetal eyes, I’m entranced.

There’ll never not be a time when I’m not in thrall of being the focus of his attention. Bewitched. Spellbound by how the touch of his eyes on my face leaves pinpricks of awareness in their wake.

"And what am I thinking now?" I flutter my eyelashes, hoping to distract him.

I don’t want him to guess the self-doubt that fills me with this new role he wants me to take. It feels important that he sees me as capable. Is that because I still see him in the role of my boss?

Maybe I haven’t transitioned to him being my husband.

Though in bed, with both of us naked, it’s difficult to think of anything other than how I can get him to use me for his pleasure.

Maybe my thoughts flicker in my eyes, for his own glint. "You’re thinking you want me to make use of your body."

I try and fail to stop my jaw from dropping.

“How did you—" I gasp as he throws me on my back and covers my body with his.

"How did I guess?"

I begin to nod, then shake my head. “I can’t say I’m completely surprised you did. I haven’t been able to hide my thoughts from you." I frown. "Though I hope I’m not that transparent."

"You’re not, except to me," he says in a quietly confident tone. One that has no sign of smugness. It’s almost a statement. One that implies he knows me. That he watches me closely. One that gives me immense satisfaction.

"You going to fuck me then?" I sigh.

He chuckles. "You, using the F-word, is strangely arousing."

"Same." I lower my chin.

And when I feel the stab of his cock between my legs, a helplessshudder scrolls through me. "Brody." I cup his cheek. The tenderness I feel for him always takes me by surprise. Because he’s the big, bad dominant. And I want him to order me to do his bidding. There’s security in it. Home, a sense of belonging which is strangely calming. I don’t have to make choices. Or decisions. I trust him to make them for me. And it’s that trust, that devotion he inspires in me, which also inspires this absolute loyalty. I’m afraid I’m falling deeper in love with him.

"Brody," I whisper again. I want to give voice to my thoughts, but hold back… Because he doesn’t. He’s made it clear; something as silly as falling in love is not for him.

Sadly, that’s not going to stop me from feeling what I do. Or from taking pleasure in how he draws orgasms from my body. Nothing wrong with that, either. Not when I don’t know how things are going to be once we’re back in London. This. Here. Now, is what I have with him. I’m going to make the most of it.

I’m sure he’s going to breach me with his cock, which has grown bigger, thicker, and more insistent over the last few minutes. Instead, he shoves off me and lays on his back, then pats his chest.

"Get on here."

38

Brody

The surprise on her face gives way to delight. She scrambles up and begins to straddle my face. I squeeze her waist and flip her around. She gasps. I lower her down onto my mouth, swiping my tongue over that luscious flesh between her thighs.

She shudders. I allow myself another lick up her labia. She moans. Then, as if unable to hold herself up, she falls forward and digs her fingernails into my sides. I ease her forward enough that she’s able to hover her face over my crotch.

When I lick around her clit, she gives a hoarse cry. Damn, these little noises she makes short-circuits my brain cells.