A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  "Sometimes I think I'm not supposed to be happy, you know?" she asks. "Like, other people are supposed to be happy, but I'm not."

  That I can understand. Chasing happiness is like a fucking curse. "If you told your father to fuck off, I bet you'd feel happy."

  She chokes on her laugh. "Yeah," she says. "You're probably right. I bet I would."

  "So no more Harvard in the fall, then?" I ask.

  "You're assuming that won't make me happy," she says. "Maybe that's my dream."

  "Yeah, that's a ridiculous assumption," I say.

  "Maybe I want to go to Harvard."

  "No you don't." I speak the words with certainty, even though I shouldn't. I shouldn't know what she wants or doesn't want, but I do. I know with certainty she doesn't want to go to Harvard, and that she doesn't want to go to law school. It's not who she really is.

  "Can I show you something?" she asks. "But you have to swear you won't say anything to anyone."

  "Show me." I watch as she jumps up and races to her desk, pulling a folded piece of paper from underneath a stack of papers in the top drawer, then hands it to me. "What is it?"

  "Look."

  I read the letter, an acceptance letter from UCLA. "Is this where you want to go?"

  "I mean, it would never happen, you know what I mean?" she says. "It's not an Ivy League school. But they have a really good art program. My father would shit a brick if I went to art school. He would say it's a useless degree."

  "But you applied," I point out. "And you got in, right? You should do it, if it's what you want to do."

  She grabs the paper from my hand and puts it back in the drawer. "I think it's past the deadline anyway. And it's in California. My father would have a heart attack. Miss summer internships at the Capitol for art? I mean, what am I going to do with my life -- sketch? It's not practical." She shrugs. "I just wanted to know if I was any good, you know?"

  "You should do what makes you happy."

  She rolls her eyes at me, returning to where she was sitting before on the bed. "I'm not taking the advice of Mr. Life-Is-One-Giant-Party," she says. "Your mom has, like, mega money. You don't even have to do anything with your life."

  "Fuck if I don't already know that," I say, my voice hard.

  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," she says. "Just that, you're completely set for life, aren't you? You can have fun all the time."

  "Well, that's not all it's cracked up to be." I sound ungrateful and spoiled. "It gets old after a while."

  "See?" she says. "Being irresponsible all the time isn't even fun."

  "First you say I don't have to do anything with my life, and now you're calling me irresponsible?" I ask. "I thought were getting along, and now you're back to insulting me."

  Katherine sighs. "It came out wrong," she says. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean that you're obviously smart, you know? And you're set for life. You can do anything you want."

  "Says you." I feel like my path is laid out pretty clearly - I'm the bad boy son of a celebrity. People already know everything they want to know about me.

  "So what would you want to do, if you just said, fuck it, and didn't give a shit about anyone watching?" She rubs her lower lip absently with her finger, her knees tucked up to her chest. I think about how my tongue was on that lip earlier, how that lip felt as I pulled it between my teeth.

  I fucked her less than two hours ago; I should be worn out. But I'm not. I'm showered and reinvigorated as I sit here looking at her. And, I can see the fabric of her panties that barely covers her pussy, peeking out from between her thighs.

  "You," I say, reaching for her ankle and pulling it toward me on the bed.

  She laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yes, obviously," she says. "But you know what I mean."

  "I do know what you mean," I say, crawling up the length of her body, rubbing my cock against her the whole way. She giggles and puts her hands on my chest.

  "Not so fast," she says. "Not until you tell me."

  I kiss her, drawing her bottom lip between my teeth again, my hands on either side of her shoulders. "Tell you what?" I ask. "There is nothing to tell. I'd do you. I'd never stop fucking you. That's what I'd do."

  "I was being serious."

  "So am I." I reach under her shirt, slide my hand up her abdomen until I can feel her breast. No bra. Her nipple is hard, and I groan as I squeeze her flesh in my hand, watching the expression on her face change as her eyes lightly flutter closed. "You wouldn't spend your time fucking me if no one was watching?"

  "No," she murmurs.

  "No?" I ask. "That's rude. You should at least lie to the guy who's cock is pressed right up against your pussy."

  "Okay, then. Yes," she whispers.

  I stroke her nipple with my thumb until she's moaning, her voice soft. "Yes, because I told you to lie or yes because you'd want to do nothing but fuck me?"

  She whimpers. "Fuck me now," she says.

  "That was fast." But I pull myself away from her, slip her shirt over her head, and she pulls mine off before falling back against the pillows. I'm still wearing my pajama pants, the thin cotton fabric barrier between us minimal, and I can feel the pre-cum wet on the fabric. Leaning down, I take her breast in my mouth, swirling my tongue around her nipple. "You're ready for me so soon?"

  Katherine puts her palms on my face and pulls me up to her, her tongue thrusting insistently in my mouth as she kisses me. When I slide my fingers between her legs, she groans. The fabric of her panties is soaked. "See?" she asks. "I'm so wet already."

  "You are," I say. "Hang on a second. Let me grab a condom." I move away from her, but she latches onto my arm.

  "No."

  "No, what?"

  "No condom," she whispers.

  "It'll take me two seconds," I say. "They're right over there."

  "Do we have to?"

  "Use a condom?" I ask. "You're the one who was concerned about me fucking a redhead, but now you want to go bareback?"

  "You didn't fuck the redhead," she says.

  "Is that a question or a statement?" I ask. "Because you didn't seem sure before."

  "It's a statement," she says. "I'm sure."

  "Mhmm." I stand up anyway, sliding her panties over her hips and down her legs, unable to resist running my tongue down her pussy as I do. The taste makes me rock hard. The thought of being inside her, with no protection, makes me want to come right now. But that's definitely against my rules. "That's not something I do, Katherine."

  "What do you mean?" She watches me strip out of my pants, and her mouth parts when she sees my cock, which makes me feel smug as hell. I grab a condom from the bottom drawer in her desk. "Did you stash those in there?" she asks.

  "Yeah." I join her back on the bed.

  "When?"

  "A while ago."

  "Before we started screwing?" she asks. I climb over her, back where I was before, and she wraps her warm hand around my cock.

  "Are you going to break my dick if I answer you honestly?" I'm slightly concerned that it's something she's capable of. But she just laughs as she slides her thumb over the tip, the pre-cum wet on my skin.

  "You did, didn't you?" she asks.

  "I did."

  "You're a cocky asshole."

  "You're not a frigid bitch," I say.

  "Thanks," she says, laughing. "I think that's the best compliment you've given me, Caulter Sterling."

  "Don't ever say I didn't say nice things about you," I say. She's running her hand up and down the length of my cock, and I groan. When she guides me to her pussy, I tense as I feel her warm wetness against my bare cock, even though it's the best thing I've ever felt. "Wait."

  "I'm on birth control," she says. "I have been for years. Are you clean?"

  "I was tested right before...you, actually." I don't tell her why, that a month before her I'd slept with this psychotic chick from an all-girls school half an hour away who'd also, as it turned out, had slept with half of the lacr