Page 12 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“We don’t need to go up to your chambers. We don’t even need to get undressed. I could just slide my hand beneath this pretty gown,” he demonstrated exactly that, his warm fingers caressing up her stocking-clad calf to her bare thigh. “Open for me, Phoebe,” he said, his voice gruff with desire.

Her gaze slid to the clock. “Are you sure we—”

“Spread your thighs for me,” he said, giving her the stern look that turned her knees to jelly, his dark eyes capturing hers. She swallowed and slowly spread her knees.

His nostrils flared as his hand stroked up her thigh until one big finger encountered the lips of her sex. His eyelids fluttered when he felt how swollen and wet she was. “Good God! You are drenched,” he accused, dipping his finger into her slick heat as he looked up to meet her gaze. “You poor needy darling,” he said, circling the source of her pleasure with just the perfect amount of pressure. “You need to come, don’t you?”

She widened her eyes at him. “Paul.”

He grinned smugly at her outraged reaction. Even though they had been married for nine months, his vulgar words still made her face heat.

And she loved it.

“Can you feel how hard you make me, Phoebe?” he asked, shifting beneath her.

“As if anyone could miss that,” she muttered as a thick, iron-hard ridge dug into her fleshy bottom.

He laughed. And then, before she knew what he was doing, his hand slid out from beneath her skirt and he took her by the hips and lifted her onto his desk as if she weighed no more than a book, making Phoebe fall even more in love with him.

“You should not lift me like that! You are going to hurt yourself.”

He made a scoffing sound and shoved up her skirt and petticoat, baring her to her hips.

“Where are Dixon and Dennehy?” she asked nervously. “They aren’t going to—”

“Open for me,” he barked.

Her knees instantly jerked apart. Irked at her body’s reaction, she began to close them again.

“Uh, uh, uh. I don’t think so, darling.” He easily pushed her thighs apart. “Lie back for your lord and master.”

“I am serious, Paul. They have keys, do they not? Are they going to—”

His eyes, now a dark, hungry slate gray, snapped from her sex to her eyes. “Lie back, or I will summon them both here to watch while I strip you naked and pleasure you right here on my desk.”

Phoebe’s jaw sagged at the vulgar suggestion—and not only with surprise, either.

“Why, you naughty thing!” he teased, reading her fiery blush and guilty look with an ease that both disconcerted and aroused her. “That made your tight little pussy clench, didn’t it? You would like to be watched while I licked and fingered and fu—”

“I would not,” she insisted, mortified.

His grin disappeared and the dangerous look that replaced it made her shiver. “Good. Because I won’t share you. Ever. And I will kill any man before allowing him to look at what belongs to me.”

Was it wrong that his violent, primitive words made her sex clench and throb even harder?

“Now,” he said, his voice silky. “I am only going to say this one more time. Lie down.”

She swallowed and then carefully complied, feeling incredibly exposed as he pulled her to the edge of the desk and proceeded to drape one leg over each of his shoulders.

“Paul—”

“Hush,” he ordered.

Phoebe bit her lip to keep from making embarrassing noises when he spread her lower lips and his hot, wet mouth closed over her sex.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. How could something so naughty feel so very, very, very good?

He groaned, noisily licking and sucking as if he would consume her. “Your juicy, delicious cunt is going to be the death of me one of these days.”