Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

The first time I met her, she didn't try to impress me, flirt with me, or otherwise seduce me. She stared at me in horror throughout the entire length of the time I sat at her little café, because I went on two dates, back-to-back. I knew right then and there that this girl is always going to be frank and upfront with me. Give it to me straight.

Other women asked me where I saw myself in five years.

Reggie barely asked me for permission before she sat on my face.

Her genuine and rebellious streak calls out to something primal and carnal in me.

After doing the obvious, exhausting route of an upper class son to a marquee—public school, boarding school, Oxford University, followed by a swift introduction to the wolves of Wall Street and a paid internship at one of the largest accountancy firms in London—I’ve learned from a young age to never expect the unexpected.

Twenty-four hours ago, I imagined I was going to find myself a nice, proper, knee-length dresses type of wife in the next three years.

That she and I would have two or three children.

Perhaps a well-trained, miniature dog of the fancy variety, but only if the children asked.

Wash, rinse, repeat. Our children would follow our footsteps, and nothing extraordinary or earth-shattering would ever occur.

Then Reggie came and turned my world upside down.

I don’t know if Reggie wants children.

Or to ever get married.

I also suspect she may be a cat person.

She will forever keep me on my toes.

Try to tie me to furniture, ride my face, and ask me history-buff questions while we listen to The Cure.

And...I want that.

At the very least, I don’t don’t-want that.

Reggie stirs in my arms, and I swallow hard when the realization crashes on me.

The fortune teller wasn’t that off base after all.

Bullocks.

5

Reggie

I wake up to tingles. Lots of tingles. In between my legs and also in my fingers. I moan and blink several times in the soft morning light and try to lower my arms from their odd position above my head. Except I can’t.

Several things register at the same time. I can’t move my arms because I’m tethered to the bedframe . . . with a necktie, which accounts for the tingles in my fingers since I’m securely fastened. Also, the tingles between my thighs are a result of Horace’s oral skills and the aggressive clit sucking he’s currently engaged in.

“What’re you doing?” I rasp, bucking against his mouth.

He bares his forearm across my hips to keep them planted against the mattress and unsuctions himself long enough to growl-groan, “Eating you for breakfast.”

“Well, I figured that part out,” I gasp-whimper. “Why am I tied to the bed?”

He doesn’t bother to stop tongue fucking me when he replies this time, so whatever he says is muffled unintelligibly by my very happy vagina.

I stop fighting against the tie, lie back, and enjoy being his first meal of the day. Except every time I get close to an orgasm he slows everything down just enough to keep me from going over the edge.

“Just let me come,” I gripe.