37. Only a Bow

37

ONLY A BOW

Fable

Never have I ever worn a big, red decorative satin bow and nothing else. Until tonight.

I’m all wrapped up on the sleigh bed, a surprisingly soft ribbon traveling around my back and tied in a big, looping bow under my breasts, boosting them up. My hands rest right under them, crossed together. I can wiggle my fingers, but I can’t move them since Wilder’s tied my wrists together using long ends of the big bow. The material’s thick so it doesn’t dig into my flesh.

My breath comes fast and he hasn’t even touched me. Well, besides to wrap me up. His fingers trailed across my skin the whole time, making me shiver every second. Translation: I’m so ready for him.

He stares wantonly down at me, then licks his lips. “Safe word. We need a safe word.”

I give it some thought, but one comes quickly. I arch my hips slightly as I say, “Rudolph. ”

“Perfect.” He tips his forehead to the nightstand. “There are scissors there just in case.”

I’m not worried I’ll need them, but I’m glad he’s prepared. He’s prepared for everything.

Wilder slides off the bed, standing at the foot of it, staring at me and looking hot as fuck. He’s wearing jeans and a cashmere sweater, and he’s so sexy I can barely stand it. Tall, powerful, deliberate.

Everything about him is purposeful. Every move he makes is intentional.

This is a man who knows what he wants, and I’ve never felt so desired as when he stares at me.

He is the opposite of…everything I’ve experienced.

I never felt this way with Brady. I never felt this way with anyone I’ve ever dated. I’ve never felt this kind of fiery gaze. This kind of need. This kind of desire from a man.

A cover list of sexy Christmas tunes plays from his phone as he shakes his head in admiration as he seems to eat me with his eyes. “This,” he begins in a smoky drawl as he regards me, “this is what I asked Santa for.”

A shudder runs down my body. “Me naked on a sleigh bed?”

“Yes. Because I want to unwrap you like the fucking gift you are.”

A wave of heat crashes over me from those words. Wilder doesn’t dirty talk like he’s reading routine filthy lines fed to him from AI. Everything he utters feels like it’s just for me. “I can’t wait,” I say.

“But first I’m going to remind you that you’re my gift. My present. Mine ,” he says, as he tugs off his cashmere sweater, revealing a white T-shirt that shows off his muscles and toned chest .

I shiver from the possession in his tone. So single-minded. So certain. “How are you going to remind me?” My voice is feathery. I feel like I’ve been on edge all night, and I don’t think that’s going to end as he yanks off the shirt next, tosses it to the floor and climbs back onto the bed, shirtless and glorious.

His skin is toned and tan, and the tattoos on his forearms are on display—abstract designs that I keep meaning to ask about. But I haven’t yet. Right now, he doesn’t look like he wants to talk. He looks like he wants to do something else entirely with his mouth.

Because I’m learning something private about my boss.

He really likes to eat.

He slides his hands along my ankles, up my calves, and to my thighs as he spreads me open. “But I’m not going to unwrap my gift just yet.” His gaze is molten, his words gravelly. “I just want to…taste it.”

I moan and he hasn’t even touched my pussy. But I’m ludicrously wet for him.

He spreads my legs as wide as he possibly can, humming approvingly. “What a pretty pink gift. And I like my presents wet.” He rubs his trim stubble against the inside of my thigh, and I gasp. “And glistening.” He blows a stream of air against my eager clit. “And very, very horny.”

“You’ve got your wish,” I say, aching for him.

“Yes, I really have,” he says, like he’s mesmerized with me. On a growl, he buries his face between my legs and French kisses my pussy. The relief is instant and electric. Delicious heat spreads inside me as I throw back my head against the pillow.

My hands are bound at my chest so I can’t grab his hair, but I can arch my hips. And I do, shamelessly begging him with my body.

He laps me up, his tongue stroking up and down and flicking delirious circles around my clit. I groan and writhe—it’s just so good. Then he flattens his tongue and gives a long, thorough lick before he thrusts his tongue inside me. It’s like a circuit breaker fries inside my head and pleasure pops everywhere.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” I chant.

He stops, looks up innocently. “Please what?”

“Give me more than I can handle,” I beg, breathless with lust.

He returns to my thighs, murmuring, “Gladly.” Then he devours me till I come so hard my vision blurs and my brain goes offline.

A minute later, when I open my eyes and blink off the haze of pleasure, Wilder’s rising to his knees. He wipes his hand across his very satisfied mouth, then wastes no time dropping that same hand between my thighs and gently stroking me.

I flinch, since I’m still sensitive from the orgasm.

But he’s determined. “How about another?” he says, slowly building me back up, taking his time with long, tantalizing brushes of his talented fingers. “Think of it as my gift too.”

“My multiple orgasms are your gift?”

His grin is wolfish. “They really fucking are, Fable.”

“It is Christmastime, I suppose,” I say playfully.

He takes my yes and slides two fingers inside me. In no time, I’m grinding down on him, fucking his hand as he plays me once more and sends me over the cliff a few minutes later.

I’m desperately trying to catch my breath when he eases out his fingers and climbs over me. Bracing his palms on either side of my body, he gazes down with the most unguarded look in his eyes. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he says in a rasp, then he crushes his lips to mine in a hot, passionate kiss that feels different from the ones that have come before.

As he consumes my mouth, I try to pinpoint the difference. To figure out what’s changed. But it’s hard since my brain is all neon. I’m not thinking in words. I’m thinking in brilliant colors. In wild sensations. Everything feels more intense with him. Everything feels like we mean it. Like we’ve pushed past that practice phase. Like we’re taking all the things we truly want. And I want everything that Wilder wants to give me.

When he breaks the kiss, I look up at him. His lips are bruised from kissing me, and his eyes are wild. But they’re also…soft. Filled with raw desire, but also some tenderness that makes me feel like every word he said tonight is so true.

I don’t normally let down my guard. I don’t like to show the softer parts of myself for fear someone could hurt me like Brady did. Like other guys I’ve dated have done before. But right here, in bed, I feel safe with Wilder—safe with him and with my desires. I hardly care about the reasons we started our fake romance. I only care about these very real feelings right here, right now. “Do you want to unwrap me…and do whatever you want to me?” I ask, my gaze drifting down to the big bow, knocked a little out of place but still wrapped tight enough under my tits.

He growls. “I really fucking do.” His tone is raw and earnest. Then he runs a hand along my face, a reverent gesture. “Thank you for trusting me.”

It’s only a bow , I want to say .

But it’s not only a bow. It’s letting someone in, and that’s not my strong suit. But tonight I’ve gotten a little bit better at it. “I do trust you, but I want you naked too. Now, why don’t you strip for me. I would do it myself,” I say, then wiggle my fingers, “but I’m all tied up.”

“Don’t you dare unwrap my gift,” he warns in a commanding tone.

He hops off the bed and takes his sweet time flicking open the button on his jeans, then unzipping them and pushing them down.

When he gets down to his boxer briefs, my tongue darts out, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Wilder.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes. Your dick is a fucking present,” I say, then feeling daring, I add, “Tastes like a present too.”

His breath hisses. “Your beautiful filthy mouth…It looks so pretty with my cock in it.” He pushes his boxers down, his thick, hard cock springing free and pointing my way. “But you don’t get to suck it tonight.”

“What do I get?”

“What you need,” he says with authority.

I shudder. I need him to fuck me so badly. And I don’t want to keep that thought to myself. Here in bed with him, I can speak the truth of my heart. “I want you to fuck me so badly,” I say, and I can’t believe I’ve said that, but it feels so good.

His eyes squeeze shut for a second like this is hard for him. Like he has to collect himself. When he opens them, he says, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

But one look at his cock, leaking at the tip, and I think I do know how much. He crawls between my legs, his hard dick bobbing. He takes his time tugging on one end of the ribbon to undo the bindings on my wrist. When the fabric falls to the bed, he reaches under my breasts and starts to free them too, unknotting the bow. “I have wanted to unwrap you for so long,” he says, his tone a shade of desperation.

“Since we started this?” I ask impulsively. Because I have to know. I can’t leave that confession untouched.

He swallows, pauses, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to say yes. Instead, he says, “Well before that.”

Then he shuts up and finishes unwrapping the red satin ribbon, leaving me with that admission. My friends were right. He’s had it bad for me for a while. But how long? Since before Brady?

The thought makes my breath catch. My mind whirls with this new information. My body aches with this fresh want. When he’s freed my hands, I sit up and rope my arms around his neck, pulling him close. We’re tangled up together, kissing so deeply it feels like we could last well beyond the holidays.

I don’t know what to make of that thought so I focus on the physical, on the way the kiss turns into a white-hot ache right between my thighs. I break the kiss, panting, “Fuck me now.”

He grips my chin roughly. “You don’t give the orders. I do.”

I grin wickedly, arousal gathering between my thighs. I’m so turned on I can feel wetness sliding down the inside of my thigh. “Then order me around.”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

I comply, and I wait for him to line up behind me. But first, he grabs the ribbon, and…

Oh.

When he moves behind me, he adjusts my legs, and ties up…my ankles, each one separately, leaving just en ough ribbon in between so they’re a foot apart. “Down onto your elbows,” he commands.

I sink down, craning my neck to watch him the whole time as he grabs a condom, slides it on, and notches the head of his cock against me. His jaw tightens, like he’s at war with himself, then he seems to lose the battle. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he says then shoves his cock into me and fills me all the way.

I cry out with pleasure.

“Wanted to fuck you when it’s snowing. Wanted to kiss you by the fireplace. Wanted to taste you,” he says, and I’m overwhelmed by the pleasure and the admission.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” I say.

He eases in then out, his hands gripping the flesh of my ass as he finds a rhythm that matches the flickering of the lights on the Christmas tree. With a passion that mirrors the sultry tone of the music. With a lust that’s stronger than the crackling fire.

We smash all our fake romance guidelines that we set long ago. We throw out the dating handbook. We move together like we are together. He covers my back, grabs my chin, turns my face, and kisses me as he fucks me.

It’s hot and deep and burns to the center of my soul. I want to spread my legs, but the ribbon’s keeping them in place, so it’s like I can’t escape the sensations, the building of the orgasm I have no control over.

He hits a spot deep inside me over and over again. I’m close, so close, and I don’t want to lose it, so I tell him urgently, “Use your fingers.”

“I’ll accept that order.” He slides a hand between my thighs and strokes my clit as he fucks me deep and hard into the snowy night .

In seconds, I’m clawing at the sheets, shaking, and then falling apart beneath him.

I expect him to follow me there but he doesn’t.

As the aftershocks ripple through me, he eases out, unties me, and flips me over in seconds. He pushes my knees up to my chest and settles between my legs, looking down at me like a man unleashed. Like a man who thinks I’m his.

He fucks me like I am his.

And he feels like mine as his body jerks, shakes, then stills before he collapses on me with a smoky, soulful, “You.”

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen when we leave these cabins. But for now and the next few days, I think I like this filthy Christmas magic.

I like it more than Christmas revenge.

Later, when we’re cleaned up and sliding under the covers, I say, “It really doesn’t matter that you can’t sing.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you fuck like a rock star.”

In the morning as sunlight streams through the window, I expect Wilder to be off buying a new hotel or striking a clean-energy deal on a Sunday morning.

What I don’t expect is him to grab his ringing phone from the nightstand, while grabbing his clothes, and answering, “What’s wrong, Victor?”

A chill sweeps over me. That’s his dad’s friend.