Page 82 of Prince Charming

It was, probably for the first time in his life, important to Tag.

His girl had seen the worst this world offered.

Seeing Marianna so happy last night while she spoke with her kids decorating the tree and how excited Lily was because Marianna had sent her a star. Damn, that kid was cute. He knew then, he’d do anything to keep her in that mood. Even throwing himself into a holiday which usually passed unnoticed.

“Okay.” She agreed. “But I won’t sing or eat cranberry sauce.”

So fucking happy.

Her moan of pleasure, when he squeezed her hips, pooled every drop of blood down to his hard dick. For weeks he’d fucked his own fist, so he could be a decent guy around her and not act like a rutting pig.

But her moans did a number on him.

In his excessive lifestyle, waiting wasn’t something he was used to.

His sexual appetite needed feeding.

And there was only one woman on his menu.

Want.

Hunger.

Need.

Not a lot in this life was worth waiting for.

And then along came Marianna.

The one woman who could make him patient.

Didn’t mean he’d be a gentleman while he waited. He was far fromthat.

He finger-fucked and ate the orgasms out of her as often as he could get into her panties. Even this morning, carrying coffee and cinnamon donuts, he was at her apartment explicitly to make her come. She was so dazed and sleepy his girl.

Only after two orgasms did he let her have the coffee.

Tag wasn’tdecent.

But he was patient.

A champion could work toward winning the best prize of all.

Climbing back into her seat, he clipped her in and then groaned when Marianna put her hand on his thigh.

Good girl. Get me, I’m right here.

Christmas waited for no horny biker.

He put the truck in drive and took off.

Making his woman happy was his priority.

TWENTY-TWO

“Her Christmas elf wore denim and was a little bit dirty.” - Marianna

That morning, she watched him decorate a 9-foot Douglas fir tree, with all the skill and patience of an interior decorator, Marianna had to stop from sitting on his face.

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