A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  "I don’t want to have missionary sex once a week,” I blurt out.

  Caulter laughs. “I hope not,” he says. “Where is this coming from? Is this some kind of third-trimester freak-out?”

  “Are you having second thoughts about the wedding? About settling down?” I ask the question, despite knowing it’s ridiculous.

  Caulter loves me. He’s happy. He just put together a nursery.

  From my seat, I can see Caulter wrinkle his forehead. “Are you having second thoughts about everything? Because I’m pretty sure there’s a no-return policy on babies.”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “What’s with the once-a-week-sex comment?” Caulter asks, turning at the next road we pass.

  “You’re Caulter Sterling. Women used to throw themselves at you. Do you think you’re really going to be happy with the prospect of domestic bliss?”

  Caulter shakes his head and doesn’t answer, driving silently down the small, quiet road dotted with houses decorated for Christmas. There’s patchy snow on the ground out here, and the grass that peeks through in spots is brown and shriveled, the decorations bright against the barren landscape.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. The fact that he hasn’t responded makes me wonder if my concerns are right on the money.

  Can a bad boy really be tamed?

  When we pass the last house on the road, Caulter pulls over to the side, in a space shaded with a cluster of trees. "Kate," he says, his voice urgent.

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  "I didn't answer you then, because I wanted to pull over and tell you this," he says.

  "Tell me what?" I ask, looking at him.

  "That I’m pretty effing satisfied with the prospect of domestic bliss,” he says. “And that you're sexier now than the first day I laid eyes on you.”

  "Well, I hope that much is true, at least," I say. "I mean, I was pretty un-sexy in high school."

  "I don't know about that," Caulter says. "That night in the hotel room, when you called me to hook up, you were pretty sexy, in your conservative dress and your headband."

  "Oh God," I groan. "Don't remind me about the headbands I used to wear. Why did I wear those?"

  "You were the hottest thing I'd ever seen that night," Caulter says. "Actually, you should wear headbands more often."

  I stifle a snort. "You have a thing for headbands?" I ask. "Is that why you hooked up with me? Headband fetish?"

  "I have a thing for whatever you wear," Caulter says. "Or don't wear." He leans forward, his elbow on the console between us, and slips his finger under my chin, bringing his lips to mine. When he kisses me, it's not tender or gentle, the way it is so often now. It's passionate, urgent, his tongue finding mine the way he did the first time in that hotel room.

  His lips on mine send a shiver up my spine, a tingle of electricity that rushes through my body all the way to my feet.

  When he finally pulls away from me, my lips are swollen, throbbing under my fingertips. The way he looks at me, eyes filled with lust, is the same way he looked at me that summer at my father’s lake house -- as if the prospect of containing himself, of my denying him, would be too much.

  "In fact, right now I want you out of those clothes," he demands.

  "Right now?" I ask, looking around the SUV and laughing. "Like, you mean right now, in the car? We're on the side of the road. Anyone could drive past and see us."

  "Right now," Caulter says. "I want to taste you.”

  His words make me flush warm, no matter how many times I've heard him say the exact same thing before. "Do you think you can fit back there with me?”

  “I’ll manage somehow,” he says, his voice gruff. “Now, it’s too cold outside, or I'd be pulling down your jeans on the side of the road. I'd like to put my face between the legs of my hot pregnant wife. So get in the backseat."

  I open the car door, shaking my head. Caulter definitely seems un-bored with domestic life right now. In fact, he is just as inappropriate and filthy as when we first met.

  He slides the SUV seat back until it slams up against our suitcases in the back. “Still concerned about that boring married life thing?” he asks. “Because I’m enjoying the idea of figuring out new ways of fucking you. I’m pretty sure I have a lifetime of ideas.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask.

  “No more talking,” Caulter says. “Take your pants off.”

  His words send a rush of arousal between my legs. Tugging at the sides of my pants, I pull them down over my hips as Caulter drops to the floor of the SUV in front of me, yanking them off completely.

  "This is the best view I've seen all day," he says as he tosses my pants onto the floor of the vehicle.

  "I can't believe I'm pregnant, pantsless, and in the back of a car with you," I whisper, only half-joking.

  It's Caulter Sterling. Of course I can believe it.

  "Pregnant, pantsless, and getting eaten out on the side of the road," Caulter says. He runs his hand up the inside of my thigh, and my body responds immediately to his touch.

  When he presses the tips of his fingers between my legs, he groans. “You’re soaked.”

  "I know," I say. "I'm so wet lately."

  "That is so hot," Caulter says, his finger rolling easily over my clit. Desire courses through my body, and I close my eyes lightly, surrendering to his touch.

  He pulls my hips forward, bringing his mouth between my legs, and a whimper escapes my lips as his heat envelops me. I try to watch what he's doing but can barely see over my pregnant belly, and finally give up, leaning my head back and letting go while he does what he does so well with his tongue.

  Caulter licks and sucks my clit until I'm nearly breathless, practically panting. "I want you," I say, trying to pull him up, my voice needy.

  Instead, he fucks me with his tongue, moving in and out until I'm throbbing, leaving me teetering on the brink. "I know what you want," he says. "But I want your pussy. I've been thinking about it all morning, and I want you to come on my face."

  "Damn it, Caulter," I whisper, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

  "I'll have you riding my cock soon enough," he says, teasing my opening with his fingertips. I bite my lip, trying to stifle my whine. "Does that feel good?"

  I laugh. "You know that feels good," I say. "You're just taunting me."

  Caulter chuckles. "I am," he says. "Because I want to hear how badly you want to come."

  "Make me come, Caulter," I say, my breath catching in my throat as he circles his fingers near my entrance, then over and over my clit.

  "You didn't say please," he teases. "It's not really begging unless you say please."

  "I want your tongue on me, Caulter," I say. "Asshole."

  "Goody two shoes," he says, referring to the names we called each other that summer at the lake house. He brings his tongue to my clit, so gently that the movement is more like a flutter, a breeze brushing over it. I'm so desperate for him that even that slight movement is almost more painful than pleasurable.

  "I gave you my tongue," he says. "Like you asked. Is that it?"

  "I want you to suck my clit," I say. "I want you to fuck me with your tongue until I come, Caulter. I want to wrap my legs around you and fuck your face."

  Damn, where did all of that come from?

  Caulter growls, a sound deep in his throat. "That's what I wanted to hear, Princess," he says.

  He doesn't wait, then. He covers my pussy with his mouth, the warmth sending waves of arousal rushing over me, one after the next. Licking and sucking, his tongue flicking in and out of me, he brings me to the edge.

  "Wrap your legs around me, Princess," he says, his hands on my ass cheeks, pulling me tightly against him. I do what he tells me to do, my legs over his shoulders, thighs pressing against his face as he thrusts his tongue inside me. I buck against him, and when he groans into my pussy, the sound is too much. It sends me over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me with the intensity of a freight tra