CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

WOOD POV

“Open wide for me like a good girl,” I growled as I took a fistful of her soft damp hair. “You’d best not spill a drop. Naughty girls get punished on Christmas Day, sweetheart, no matter how fucking cute they look.”

      Her jaw dropped low and her tongue popped out so pretty and pink. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at me, and the filthy little minx had her hand between her legs before I’d even slapped my dick against her cheek.

      I rubbed myself hard and messily around her gorgeous stretched lips, forcing my way inside as she groaned for me.

      “Suck me down,” I grunted, and her cheeks pinched nice and tight.

      Her inexperience made such delicious slurps. Her gag reflex made her eyes sparkle like glass.

      I caught her good at the back of the throat and a tear spilled down her cheek. I wiped it up with my finger and brought it to my lips.

      “Sweet little slutty girl,” I praised and she smiled as wide as she could manage around my swollen dick. “I’m going to fill that pretty mouth and you’re going to gobble it all up like a greedy little slut.”

      Her nod was desperate, her throat bulging as I sank in deeper.

Picturing her filthy words on that laptop screen was enough to drive me crazy. I didn’t hold back, fucking her face like a ragdoll as she struggled and slavered and tried her best to find a rhythm.

      “My perfect angel has such a dirty face,” I grunted and her eyes fluttered. “Get ready to taste me, sweetheart. It’s all for you.”

      I gripped my shaft hard and positioned myself right on the tip of her tongue as I shot my first stream of cum into her open mouth. She flinched but didn’t pull away, eyes open wide as I spurted thick globs right on target.

      It trickled to the back of her throat as I watched, gathering nicely, her tongue coated thick.

      “It tastes like creamer, doesn't it?” I asked and she shook her head. It made me smirk a disgusting smirk and coax her jaw shut with my thumb. “Swallow me down.”

      She did, smacking her lips like I’d just delivered her a Christmas delight. She was proud to show me her empty mouth once she’d finished.

The girl had watched a lot of p**n in her time, I was certain.

      I kissed her once she rose to her feet, and the aftertaste was most definitely nothing like creamer.

   The grin on her face told me she was of the same opinion.

      “Are we going for milk in the coffee then?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

      Her giggle was the perfect combination of cute and dirty all at once.

      “You’re more salty than sweet,” she laughed. “More of a starter than a dessert, I’d say.”

      I pinched her naughty ass as I poured the milk.  

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MAE POV

Christmas Day with Mr Douglas — Wood — wasn’t anything like I would have imagined.

      It was so much better.

      He still had that bristling firmness I’d come to know so well in the office, but here, at home, it was tempered with a smile and a glint in his eye.

      I’d never really been much of a chef, and — as in all things around that man — my inexperience shone bright and obvious. I hoped my enthusiasm made up for it, and it certainly seemed to. I even got a laugh from him as I goofed up preparing parsnips for the roast.

      Goofing up was worth the embarrassment just to feel his arms around my waist as he showed me a better way.

I couldn’t help but think it would be a frequent occurrence, him guiding me away from my errors, but that was no bad thing. I’d really hit the jackpot with screw-ups of late.

      The turkey was huge, far too big for the two of us and another major win for Dickson. Our lucky stars must have been aligned this December, for sure.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Wood commented before pulling the huge feast from the oven, and I was. Starving, in fact. Just not entirely for food.

      I set the table as he carved the turkey, folding the napkins with pinpoint precision and making sure the cutlery was polished up just so. He opened another bottle of wine before dishing up, and I sipped mine nervously, wondering if we were due to have a big us conversation to work out what the hell was really going on here.

      That seemed his style, after all, always facing things head on.

      I’d barely clinked his glass, toasted season’s greetings and chomped down a sprout before his eyes met mine across the spread.

      “Talk to me, Mae,” he said. “Tell me what you’re thinking about this. Us.”

      I took another swig of wine while my words tumbled into order.

“I have a big imagination,” I told him. “Like I said, sometimes it runs away with me.”

      “And what does your big imagination have planned for us? I’m happy to hear the runaway version.”

      I could have cursed my bloody cheeks for their usual burn-up. His smile told me they were as rosy as I suspected.

      “Oh, I dunno, marriage, eternal happiness and a couple of very well-behaved kids. Maybe a beach holiday every year and sandcastles in the sun. Lots more of last night.” I giggled. “Yeah, my runaway imagination is very keen on more of that.”

      I made sure I was laughing loudly, just in case he thought I was being totally serious, but he didn’t laugh back. Not even a little bit.

      “I didn’t have you down for a suburban housewife kind of girl.”

      I shrugged. “You said plans for us, not for me. My runaway imagination has plenty of plans for me, too. I always wanted a career, challenges, and opportunities to really push myself in business.” I tipped my head. “It’s not an either-or, right? A girl can really have it all. At least, I think I can.” I took another sip of wine. “I hope I can.”

      When he didn’t reply, I thought I was talking like a silly little kid. Naive, and infatuated, and inexperienced as shit, as usual. But when he reached across the table and took my hand in his, his grip was firm. Powerful.

      “Yes, Mae, a girl can really have it all, if she’s prepared to work for it, of course. None of it comes easily, not work and not family. Some people find certain aspects of life easier than others may find.”

      “I can work hard,” I told him, and meant it.

      His thumb brushed my knuckles so tenderly. “I know you can,” he said. “I’ve seen it first-hand. I trust if anyone can achieve all she’s dreaming of, sweetheart, it’s you.”

      I felt a strange little lump in my throat and it definitely wasn’t a chunk of sprout.

      It was him. His words. His tone. His support.

      It meant everything.

      His eyes were genuine and his voice was kind. Honest. Like he believed in me. Really believed in me. And it was weird, because my mum had always been great, always at my side growing up, always cheerleading on the sidelines and telling me I was heading for the stars, but she was the only one. The only constant.

      The little girl in me was right there behind my eyes, staring over in adoration of this strong, driven, powerful, incredible man. The kind of man I’d been dreaming of my whole life.