Page 47 of Complete Me

“It so happens that I prefer the naughty list.” This revelation was followed by a quick series of whaps to her bottom that left the tender flesh singing with sensual pain. “Your ass is as red as this bow, beautiful.”

He slid a finger down the crack between her cheeks and she writhed under the gentle touch. She wanted more. Since they’d begun to try for a baby, most of their lovemaking had been purely traditional. Belle’s preferences, however, ran the gamut.

“Please, Sir,” she begged.

“You’re dripping for me,” he told her. A moment later, she felt the blunt crest of his cock massaging along her seam. “I’ve been saving this for our future.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t bite back the disappointment. Part of her needed the primal, taboo side of Smith. But she wouldn’t say no to him any way she could have him. Smith surprised her, though, bending over to run a tongue along the sensitive pink rosebud. Belle clenched at the contact but relaxed as he continued to circle leisurely.

After a few minutes, a finger pushed inside and began to pump.

“It’s Christmas,” Smith said with a groan, “I’ll give you both.”

With a gentle slowness, he guided his dick into her, until he hit resistance. Then he pulled out and did the same. His finger continued the assault of her tight hole and Belle’s legs began to shake.

“I love seeing you filled with me,” Smith growled, increasing his pace until she shattered beneath him. His warmth flooded inside her and she groaned as he pulled out slowly. His fingers brushed the seed dripping from her upward. He smeared it over the pink circle. “Is this what you want?”

He nudged against the tight pucker, giving her a moment to process the idea. Belle didn’t have a safe word. She had never wanted one with Smith, and she never needed it. He knew her body’s responses like his own. She circled against the tip in invitation. Smith inched within gradually, giving her body time to adjust. His hands tightened on her hips when he slid in entirely.

They had spent the afternoon making love. There was only one thing on her mind now.

“Fuck me,” she begged, her hips beginning to writhe against him.

“I’m sorry?” He didn’t move, and she knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Fuck me, Sir.”

Smith pulled back and thrust inside her with one smooth jab. The sensation was utterly different, and it never ceased to make her feel wanton. In his presence, she was shameless, existing only for his pleasure. That libidinous exchange of power had always guaranteed the same would be returned to her.

“I love fucking your ass, beautiful,” he growled as he continued to plunge. He grabbed her tied wrists and jerked until her back arched in the air. Belle craned her neck so see her husband, wanting him to see the ecstatic contradiction of pain and pleasure that consumed her. She felt her eyes rolling back as the first wave crashed over her, dragging her under. He continued to thrust until she went limp.

Belle was barely aware as he untied her wrists and massaged the indentations the ribbon had left. He scooped her up and repositioned her on the bed. A few minutes later, a warm, wet towel wiped along her singing sex. She nearly howled at the contact, her body still overly sensitive, and she saw him bite back a grin.

“Don’t look so please with yourself,” she whispered sleepily.

“I can’t help it. You look so pretty with your red cheeks,” he told her, climbing onto the bedside beside her. At some point, he had undressed. She felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t seen it. But when he cradled her body to his, it evaporated. “I think I’d have to stop screwing you entirely to not look pleased. Giving you orgasms is one of my greatest accomplishments.”

“Promise not to stop?” Her eyes were becoming heavy, but as sleep lured her under, she heard his quiet response.

“I promise. Forever.”

23

If Christmas Eve had been a warm, family gathering. Christmas morning was a frenetic mess of activity. Wads of paper littered the floor from gift wrapping, presents were piled next to each person, and, to Mrs. Watson’s horror, plates of food had been sneaked into the parlor.

The Bishop clan hadn’t acted like strangers for long. They had made themselves at home almost immediately. That included waiting until everyone was in bed and bringing in enough gifts to nearly double the collection at the base of the tree.

“We’ll still be opening presents next Christmas,” Lola grumbled under her breath. As soon as she opened her box to reveal an Alexander McQueen clutch, she squealed with delight. “Thank you, Mum!”

Madeline gazed fondly at her younger daughter. “I saw it and knew you had to have it. It’s harder to shop for clothes for you these days.”

She cast a pointed glance at Lola. Then directed it at Belle Stuart.

“Don’t look at me,” Lola said. “It was all her idea. I caved to peer pressure.” She winked at her business partner. Leave it to the Bishops to complain about not being able to spend more money.

Despite Madeline’s success with a start-up web company, she didn’t understand the need for Bless. Why would women rent what they could buy? Lola didn’t try to explain that not everyone had their bank accounts.

Harold hadn’t left his wife’s side all morning. The holidays had brought them closer than ever, and playing the part of good old St. Nick seemed to bring a joy to the couple that they hadn’t shared for a long time.