“Depends on the thing.”
He’s a tease, and he either knows it or not.
Regardless, I don’t press or pry, moving my queen out of harm’s way and patiently wait for Bronte’s next move.
“Do you need some more wine?” Bronte asks, running his thumb and index finger along his jawline, studying the board.
“I can go refill it.”
Bronte pushes himself up to stand anyway, careful not to kick the board. “Don’t move.”
My brows furrow. “Where?”
“My pieces, you little minx.”
I tsk because I don’t need to. There are other ways to distract him, but I’m going to play fair.
Glancing over at the clock, it’s well after midnight and officially Christmas.
My heart swells with the happiness of the season as I look over at the giant tree. It’s absolutely stunning, beautiful, and real. The smell of pine has been flooding this suite since we arrived, and it truly feels like a holiday getaway.
Bronte comes back with the bottle of white wine, slowly refilling my glass, then sets it back on the coffee table where it resides, and my eyes fall to his cock.
“I have something I want for Christmas.I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock. I want to see you suck me with those honeyed eyes up and waitingfor my cum.
Huh.
That’s interesting that my brain decided to lock onto that full sentence. I feel oddly powerful that he’d ask forthatfor Christmas.
Not an Audemars Piguet watch like Bobby asked for one year ago. I couldn’t afford a fifteen-thousand-dollar watch, but I did get him a Cartier, which he just so happened to be wearing with Jolene.
Nope, Bronte wants a blowjob.
How very humble and male of him.
Except I’m not turned off by it, but a bit fascinated by the idea.
“Merry Christmas, Bronte,” I quip, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes I can manage.
I probably didn’t need to because just glancing up at him has him currently at a loss for words, unless he doesn’t know what to say when someone proclaims Merry Christmas, which I doubt.
“Merry Christmas, Daydream,” he mutters, about to take a seat when I push up on my knees and immediately get him to cease to a halt.
“Unzip your pants.”
He doesn’t make a move, still staring down at me like I either lost my mind or he lost his.
“You said…” I force from my lips, a bit nervous about how he’s going to react. “That you wanted me to suck your cock for Christmas. I think with everything you’ve done for me over the last few days, it’s something…you deserve.”
He shifts his weight, but through the motion, I notice he took a bit of a step back. “You don’t need to do all that.”
Rejection hits my gut, but I’m not deterred yet. I think he’s trying to make sure that I don’t feel forced because he said it. That I feel obligated to return the favor since he finger-fucked me at the Klementinum.
I don’t.
I want to do it.
“You changed your mind?” I press, inhaling a bit to fill mylungs and not choke out from nerves. “Because I’m on board with it.”
