A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  He grins. "I'll definitely take that as a compliment, sweetheart." He spins me around to face the shower wall and pins my hands above my head. "I only washed your front. Can't miss the opportunity to wash the other side."

  "You're so thoughtful," I start, but I'm immediately distracted by his hands traveling down my hips and ass, and then between my legs.

  "People tell me that a lot," he says.

  "Yes," I murmur, as his fingers find their way inside me. I can't follow the conversation anymore; all I can think about is his fingers and what they're doing. I move to turn around, but he reaches up with his other hand and pushes my palms firmly against the shower wall again.

  "Assume the position," he says, and I can't help but giggle.

  "What position is that?"

  "It's whatever position I put you in," he says, and the throbbing between my legs intensifies. Damn Gaige. He says the kind of things that my brain tells me I should think are totally misogynistic and repulsive things to say, yet my body seems to feel exactly the opposite.

  "You think I'm just going to do whatever you tell me to do?" I ask. But I don't move my hands. I stand there, letting the hot water pour over me. When Gaige steps out of the shower, the blast of air-conditioned air hits me. For a second, I think he's just decided to leave, but he pops back inside, foil wrapper in hand.

  He covers my palms with his, my hands still above my head, and leans in close to my ear. "I think you're going to do what I tell you to do," he says, sliding one hand down my arm, then along my back, and over my ass. "Because you like that someone has the balls to do it."

  I laugh. "And you think you're the one with the balls?"

  I hear the wrinkle of the foil wrapper, and I swear, I practically melt at the sound. What the hell is Gaige doing to me? Then his hand is on my hip, and he's pressing against my entrance, and with one swift movement, he's inside me.

  "I know I am, sweetheart," he says, thrusting deeper inside me, until I feel his heavy balls pressed up against the bottom of my pussy. His palms cover my breasts, and he moves slowly inside me as the warm water from the shower pours over us. "Now, I want you to touch your clit for me. Rub it while I fuck you."

  A moan escapes my lips as I comply. As if I'm not going to listen to an order like that. Pleasure courses through my body, bringing me higher and higher until I'm calling out Gaige's name again and again, hoping the shower drowns out my cries.

  "I'm going to come in you, darlin'. Do you hear me?" Gaige's voice is strained.

  I grunt my response, too caught up in my own pleasure to form words, but Gaige grabs a handful of hair and pulls my head back. "Tell me you want me to come inside you," he demands.

  As if on cue, I'm on the edge as soon as he orders me to say it. "Please," I beg. "Please." It's all I can say. I had no idea someone talking to me so crudely could be so damn hot.

  "Fuck," he groans, his hand still tight on my hair. The pain heightens the intensity of everything, and I'm putting more pressure on my clit, completely swept away in the moment. "Tell me, darlin'."

  "Oh God," I gasp. "Fill me with your cum."

  Gaige lets go of my hair, both hands on my waist as he thrusts inside me one last time, crying out, the sound almost feral. His orgasm triggers mine, and I feel myself crashing over the edge. His grip on me is tight, his fingers embedded so deeply in my flesh that it's the only way I don't fall over when I come, his arms wrapping around my chest, drawing me close to him.

  It's a few minutes before either of us speak, my head too foggy from my orgasm. We just stand there, Gaige still inside me, his body pressed against mine.

  "God, I really like how you are in bed," Gaige says.

  "Thanks, I guess? You haven't actually been to bed with me yet."

  "That's right," he says, slapping my ass. He slides out of me and steps out of the shower. "We'll have to remedy that."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gaige

  I'm lying on her bed, still wrapped in a towel and reading her novel, when Delaney comes out of the bathroom. Before I can even make a comment about the book, she's snatched it out of my hand.

  "Why are you reading this?"

  "Because it was sitting on your pillow."

  "So you thought that was an invite?" She's shoving it in her desk drawer, hiding it away, I suppose with good reason because that book was pretty fucking dirty. I knew Delaney had a wild side to her.

  "An invite is me telling you to sit on my face," I say. "You leaving your dirty books lying around just means anyone can pick them up and read them."

  "It's not a dirty book," she says.

  "Really?" I ask, getting up and rushing toward her desk. She lunges back toward the desk, going for the desk drawer, but she misses, and I pull the book out, flipping open to one of the pages. Delaney jumps up, one hand holding the towel around her breasts. Honestly, the only reason I even hold the book out of her reach is because I want her to lose the towel. I read from the book: "Brayden thrust his throbbing manhood into her slick channel of love. Holy shit, what the fuck is a channel of love?"

  "Stop. Seriously!" Delaney reaches one more time for the book, and I slip my finger under the edge of her towel, watching it fall to the ground. Then, satisfied, I return the book back to her. She groans her frustration, and when she bends over to pick up her towel, I make sure to get an ass-smack in.

  "Goddamn, I'm not going to get tired of slapping you on the ass like that," I say.

  When she stands up, her eyes are flashing. "What the hell was that for?" she asks. "You really are twelve years old, aren't you?"

  "You liked it before."

  "That was different," she says, bringing the towel back up around her, but I wrench it away from her.

  "Stay naked," I tell her. "I like you uncovered better." It's true. Shit, this girl makes me wound up, just looking at that curvy ass and tits. I'm not sure what the hell I'm still doing in her room, except that I don't want to stop touching her. Not yet.

  Delaney squirms away, grabbing the towel from me and wrapping herself up again. As if I didn't just have my hands all over that naked body of hers. As if I weren't just inside her.

  She sits down against the pillows on the bed, setting her book on the bedside table. "Do you think our parents are home?"

  I shrug. "Who cares?"

  "You don't think they heard anything, do you?"

  "In this house?" I ask. "No. Are you worried?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "Nope," I say, lying down beside her on the bed. "Not in the least."

  "Your boot is off," she says.

  "You're just noticing that shit now?" I ask. "Seriously?"

  "I noticed before," she says. "But that was upstairs when we were…"

  "Fucking?"

  "You have a way of making everything sound so….crude."

  "Sorry," I say, but I'm not. "I'll say making love instead."

  Delaney giggles. "Oh my God, I think I'm going to vomit."

  "Make loooooovvvve," I say, dragging out the words, my voice sickly sweet. "That's what that novel of yours would say, wouldn't it? I'd make love to you with my throbbing manhood?"

  "Stop," she says, rolling her eyes as she swats me on the arm.

  "Hey, I'm not the one reading it," I say.

  "At least I can read," she says. I make a meowing sound and a pawing gesture at her, and she sticks out her tongue at me. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you want to go back to your room?"

  "And miss out on the chance to bug you?" I ask.

  "Seriously," she says. "Isn't that your thing? Casual sex?"

  "Yeah, so what?"

  "Doesn't that involve not hanging around afterward?"

  "Delaney Marlowe, are you treating me like a one night stand?" I ask, putting my hand on my chest. "I'm hurt." Okay, I'm being sarcastic, but I am kind of surprised. I mean, come on, usually I'm the one who's out the door as soon as I can get away with it afterward, but Delaney's acting like she's the one who wants me gone. I'm more a