A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  Gaige chokes on his drink. "You're kidding, right?"

  "We're just – I mean," I stammer, feeling stupid for even saying anything. "Because if you wanted to stop this, it's okay."

  Gaige's hand is on my waist. "Do you want to stop this?"

  "No," I say. But my voice catches in my throat. I should want to stop this; that would be the smart choice. I'm a person who makes smart choices. I don't make reckless ones. And Gaige is reckless. I find myself throwing caution to the wind when I'm with him, doing things I wouldn't normally do.

  He pulls me against him, his arm snaking around to the small of my back, and I can feel his hardness pressing against my leg. "Does that answer your question?"

  Heat rushes between my legs at the sensation. "Yes," I say, choking on the word.

  "Good," he says. "Because I want your panties."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me," he says, his voice low in my ear. "You apparently think that just because I'm interested in talking to you and listening to what the hell you have to say, that it means I don't want to put my cock in that sweet pussy of yours just as soon as I get you alone. So I want you to be ready for me, in case I want to bend you over and fuck you on the way back to the hotel."

  I laugh nervously, but lean closer to him. The heat from his body radiates through my dress and it makes me want more. "I'll go to the restroom and take them off for you."

  "Take them off right here," Gaige says, his hand sliding up to the middle of my back. He pins me firmly against him. Then he looks to the side, and takes a sip of his drink as if we're casually discussing the weather and not my removing my panties in the middle of a very crowded, very public, very classy place.

  "There are a million people around," I say. "I refuse."

  He spins me around, but instead of his hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently, he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. He steers me through the crowd, leading me by my hair, and talking to me the entire time. "You're going to slip your hands up under your skirt and take your panties off right here in this bar, and then you're going to hand them to me. Because I asked you to."

  Gaige stops at the bar as we pass it, taking my glass from my hand and setting both glasses down before leading me to a dimly-lit corner. There, he stands in front of me, his body only partially shielding me from view, leaning with his forearm on the wall over my head.

  My eyes never leave his as I sneak my hand up one side of my skirt, yanking down the edge of my thong, and then do the same with the other side, shimmying as my panties slide down my thighs and drop to the floor around my ankles.

  He's making you reckless, I think. The rational part of me nags at my thoughts. He's making you reckless and reckless is not good.

  Gaige sinks to the floor at my feet, picking up the panties in his hand and slipping them into his pocket. "Good girl," he says. He traces a finger down my neckline and between my cleavage. "Now, tell me we're close to the hotel, because if we're not, I'm going to have to fuck you right here in the middle of this bar."

  "Close." I choke out the word. I don't mean the hotel. I'm so close.

  He leans in, his lips inches from mine, and smiles. "I can see that, darlin'," he says. "You pretend you don't like it, and you can protest all you want, but taking off your panties in the middle of this bar made you wet."

  "No," I say.

  "No," he says, studying my face. "That's not all of it, is it? You like when I tell you what to do."

  I realize, with growing horror, that he's right. "No way," I protest.

  Gaige grins. He realizes that he's right, and that I know it. "It's okay, darlin'," he says, then he drops his voice. "I like it."

  I laugh. "Of course you do," I say. "And it's not accurate."

  "No?" he asks. He trails his finger over my collarbone and to the top of my shoulder. Gaige has a way of making the most innocuous gesture completely sexual. "Then I won't tell you that in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to spin your ass around, walk you out of this bar through all the people you just took your panties off in front of, and take you back to the hotel. When we walk into the hotel room, you're going to drop to your knees before the door shuts."

  He pauses, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue. My head tells me it's ridiculous for me to stand here and listen to him tell me what he wants me to do, yet the throbbing between my legs is insistent. It distracts me from the rational thoughts in my head. "Yes," I say, more of a murmur than an actual coherent word.

  Gaige has his hand on the small of my back, and he leads me out of the bar and down to the elevator. The young Japanese couple in the elevator nods at us, then studies their phones as Gaige runs his hand up my back and whispers softly in my ear. "Are you wet yet, darlin'?"

  The girl in the elevator glances at me, then back at her phone and my face flushes red. When we're out of the elevator, I smack Gaige hard on the arm. "She heard you," I say.

  Gaige shrugs. "You didn't answer me," he says, as we walk on the sidewalk. "Are you wet?"

  Of course I am. He knows I am. Apparently, he knows better than I do what turns me on. But I don't say any of that. I just say, "Yes."

  "How far are we from the hotel?"

  "A few minutes, I think."

  "Good," he says. "Because I'm going to spend the rest of the walk back telling you exactly what I want to do to you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Gaige

  I can't fucking see straight. I'm wound so tight after spending the last fifteen minutes telling Delaney what I want to do to her. I hope she's as wrapped around the axle as I am. There's something about her that makes me crazy.

  We're still a block away from the hotel when I realize Delaney is limping. "What's wrong?"

  She kicks up one of her feet and sighs. "The perils of wearing heels in Japan," she says. "I don't know how the girls here do it, walking everywhere in stilettos. They must be masochists."

  "Fuck walking," I say, and I pick her up before she can protest, but she does anyway.

  "What are you doing?" she squeals.

  "How far away from the hotel are we?" I ask.

  "I don't know, a block, I think," she says. "Put me down before someone sees."

  "Afraid not." I keep carrying her, ignoring the looks I get from strangers on the sidewalk. A couple of expats laugh as we pass them, and I explain, "She's totally drunk."

  Delaney hits me on the shoulder. "I am not! Don't say that."

  "You could be," I say. "If anyone sees us, that's the excuse I'm going with."

  "Do not," she orders.

  "I don't see where you're really in a position to argue about anything with me here," I point out. "Anyway, I've never carried a girl through the streets of Tokyo before, so you should stop your griping and enjoy the ride." I pause for a beat. "The same rule applies to the sex later on tonight."

  "Very funny," she says, and she slaps me again when we walk through the lobby of the hotel. "Put me down."

  "I don't think so," I say. When we pass the concierge, I explain, "She hurt her foot."

  Delaney huffs, but she doesn't fling herself out of my arms, either. When we're in the elevator and alone, she turns her head and kisses me. We're still kissing when the door opens and I back out into the hallway with her in my arms, spinning her around.

  And then I see her.

  Chelsea stares at me, her eyes wide. And then a look – the smuggest, most self-satisfied goddamn look in the world – crosses her face. She says something to Akira Ito, who reddens deeply.

  Delaney follows my gaze behind her, and her face turns ashen. She slides down quickly, standing and smoothing her dress. "Chelsea. Akira-san," she says.

  "I'm incredibly sorry to disturb your evening, Delaney." Chelsea's voice drips with sarcasm.

  "Gaige was just helping me. My feet were –" She speaks in Japanese to Akira, something I don't understand, then bows deeply. Akira gives her a barely perceptible nod of his head, and walks past us i