A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  "Shit!" Caulter grabs my arms and pulls me up, somehow sliding out of me, his pants around his ass and a condom dangling off the end of his dick.

  "Oh my God, we broke it," I look between him and the top of the ladder. I can't contain my laughter. This isn't me. I'm not the girl who breaks ladders fucking a boy in the library. What the hell has gotten into me?

  And then I hear Rose's voice, calling out from down the hallway. "Kate, are you okay? I heard a crash."

  "Shit." Caulter has pulled up his pants before I can blink, and is looking casual and blasé by the time Rose opens the door.

  "What happened?" she asks, looking back and forth between us.

  "I -- the ladder came off the tracks," I say.

  Caulter interrupts. "She was trying to reach one of the books on the shelf up there, and it just...gave way. Someone should definitely come out to look at that. It seems like a safety hazard. That's a problem with these older houses." He looks so sincere I almost believe him.

  Rose looks at me long and hard and I try not to blush. "You were trying to reach one of those books up there on...medieval history?"

  I swallow hard. "I was browsing. For research purposes."

  "Research purposes," she repeats. "It's a good thing Caulter was in here to help you when the ladder gave way."

  I clear my throat. "Yes. It's definitely a good thing."

  Rose turns to leave, but pauses when she reaches the door. "I'm glad to see the two of you getting along so well."

  I look at Caulter wide-eyed after she's gone. "Do you think she knows?"

  He shrugs. "Maybe. Who cares?"

  "I care, you idiot," I say. "Don't you? What if she says something to my father? What if someone finds out? I can't believe we broke the ladder in here, for goodness' sake."

  "For goodness sake?" Caulter laughs. "Okay, grandma."

  "I'm being serious, Caulter," I say. I'm getting irritated with him for taking this whole thing so lightly. "Behavior has consequences."

  Caulter is standing close to me, and I immediately feel the thrill of his nearness. I silently curse my damn body for being so attracted to him. "So what if your father finds out?"

  "It'll ruin his campaign."

  "Why?"

  "You know why, Caulter," I say. "We're...going to be related."

  "We're not related," he says. "You're being ridiculous. We're barely even step-siblings."

  I bristle at the way he brushes off my concerns as if they're nothing. "People won't care about what's true, Caulter," I insist. I'm angry that he's dismissing me, the same way my father dismisses me. "They thrive on scandal. They'll latch onto it and run with it. It'll ruin his campaign and his public image."

  Caulter traces a finger down the front of my chest, and I smack it away, but not before it gets a physical reaction from me, goose bumps dotting my skin. Damn him. "Why do you even give a shit about it?" he asks.

  "Because he's my father."

  Caulter laughs, the sound bitter. "Yeah, he seems like a great father."

  "You don't know anything," I say, defending him despite my mixed feelings. All I know is that I'm irritated with Caulter.

  Caulter leans in close to me, slips his finger underneath one of the straps on my dress. "I know that you're not the good little straight-laced girl your father wants, the poster child for his campaign. I know that you're so fucking pent-up with all your studying and being responsible and being so damn perfect all the time that you've been dying for someone like me to come along who will let you out of your pretty little shell and make you feel something."

  Now I'm beyond irritated. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and holds me tight. "You don't know a thing about me," I say.

  "I know that you're living up to everyone else's idea of who you should be," he says. "I don't think for a fucking second you want to go to Harvard, be a lawyer or a doctor or whatever the hell daddy has planned for you. I see you with your sketchpad, drawing all the time. You just don't have the fucking balls to do what you want to do."

  It's somehow over the line, him watching me draw, noticing things about me. He notices too many things about me. I yank my wrists away and push him, hard. "Fuck you." I spew the words from my mouth like they're poison. "Fuck you, Caulter. You're so damn high and mighty, rebelling against anyone and everything because you're too cool for conformity. Yet here you are, doing exactly what your mother wants you to do because....why, exactly? She won't give you your paycheck? You think rebelling means you know who you are? It just means you're full of shit."

  I walk out of the room before he can respond, anger flooding my body. He just gets so far under my damn skin. He's so infuriating and smug and self-satisfied. He acts like he's so much more mature than I am, with so much more experience under his belt. He's just a trust fund baby who doesn't know the least little bit about things like obligation and family.

  Later, I lay in bed, my head resting on the pillow while I prop the sketchpad on my thighs, lazily drawing. I know Caulter is in his room, because I heard the door close, and I find myself wondering what he's doing. I have to force my mind to focus on something other than Caulter.

  Anything but Caulter.

  Like the picture I'm doing right now. Of Caulter's cock.

  I tear the piece of paper off the pad, crumple it, and throw it across the room. Screw Caulter. And screw the stupid stuff he said about me.

  I close my eyes, and bring up my mother's image in my head, beginning to sketch her from memory. But my mind is in a different place. I have the nagging feeling that Caulter is right -- that I am just too much of a coward to stand up to my father. It's why I haven't told him about UCLA.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caulter

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Katherine is running across the lawn, waving her hands at me like a complete fucking lunatic.

  A hot fucking lunatic.

  Her brown hair bounces over her shoulders as she runs, trying futilely to pull her skirt down over her ass. "Are you insane?"

  "Insane? Nope. I'm roasting marshmallows." I pull the marshmallow off the stick and pop the warm gooey goodness into my mouth. She looks at me, her chest rising as she catches her breath, her cheeks flushed. It's the same way she looks when she's just had an orgasm.

  I haven't made her come all week. She hasn't let me, not since the fight we had in the library after we screwed on the ladder.

  What I should have done after that was go out and find a replacement Katherine. But what I'm finding, much to my irritation, is that Katherine seems to be crawling under my skin. Like a disease.

  So I'm taking the mature road and talking to her about things like an adult. While eating marshmallows. "Want one?" I ask.

  "You can't light a fire out here -- there are regulations, you idiot," she yells. "Who fucking gets a -- where did you even get a barrel, anyway? And what the hell are you -- Oh. My. God. Those are my clothes in there. My pants. My underwear!"

  I lied -- I'm not taking the mature road here. At all. This might be one of the most juvenile things I've ever done.

  I grin and shrug. "I told you I wanted you in skirts. No panties."

  She grabs the stick from my hands, poking it into the barrel. Flames shoot up, sending sparks flying in every direction. Grabbing her by the arms, I pull her back against my chest.

  Which is exactly where she belongs, I can't help but think as soon as her body touches mine.

  But she only rest there momentarily before she yanks herself away from me. "What are you, some kind of psychopath?" she asks. "Who lights someone's clothes on fire? Something is seriously wrong with you."

  "I'll get you new clothes," I say. I don't add that I already have. I've ordered her a whole new wardrobe from some hot shit designer that my mother's stylist swears is what all the chicks want to wear. I also ordered her the best lingerie and panties money can buy. Personally hand selected by yours truly. And I bought new jeans to replace the ones I torched. I mean,