A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  "We could go back to the hotel and you could really rub off on me," I say.

  "Or, we could stay out here," Hendrix says, reaching for the button on my pants. I laugh and smack his hands away.

  "Out here?" I ask, thinking of photographers and tabloid photos of us on the beach. "That's just what I need."

  Hendrix's mouth is against my ear, and then on my neck, and when I tilt my head, my mouth finds his. "Maybe that is just what you need, Addy-girl."

  "Sex on the beach?" It makes me giggle, until he slides his hand underneath my tank top and inside my bra. His thumb finds my nipple, and his touch makes me moan, the way it always does.

  "Remember the last time we were here?" he asks, his finger running circles around my nipple until I'm practically begging for him.

  Like it was yesterday.

  I have to shake off the feeling, that sense of deja vu that comes over me, being out here together. "I haven't been to the beach in a while."

  "You know what I thought about doing when we were here before?" he asks. He slides his hand down lower.

  "What?" I ask, glancing around in the dark.

  "I thought about pulling those little bikini bottoms you wore right down over that tight little ass of yours and riding you, right out here in the middle of everything, where anyone could see us."

  "That's what you thought about, back then?" I ask. He's said he fantasized about me before, but hearing him say it again now sends a thrill of arousal through my body.

  "Yep."

  "Anyone could see, you know," I say. But I slide my hand over his chest and down the front of his jeans anyway.

  Hendrix shrugs. "I guess they could."

  "You're a bad influence."

  "The worst." He pulls me down on top of him in the sand, and I laugh as I collapse on him, then glance around at the deserted beach again, straddling him.

  "This isn't a good idea," I say as he cups my breast through my shirt. "I'm famous, you know."

  "Are you?"

  "I am. And there are photographers. Paparazzi."

  "Well," he says, lifting my shirt over my head. "Maybe we should give them a show."

  I slap his arm, hard. "You'd better not be serious."

  "Relax," he says, laughing. "There's no one fucking out here." He pauses for a beat. "Except us, soon."

  I hover over him, feeling his hardness underneath me. "I want you now," I breathe softly, between kisses.

  Hendrix slides my skirt up around my waist and reaches between my legs. His hand grazes my pussy, and he makes a growling sound under his breath. "No panties," he says. "And you're wet."

  "I told you I wanted you." I pull at his jeans, helping him slide them quickly over his ass before I wrap my hand around his cock, guiding him toward my entrance.

  "Don't fucking tease me like that, Addy," he warns.

  "You're clean?" I ask. I don't know why I'm doing this. I've never done something like this, completely unprotected. I'm always safe. I don't take risks.

  "Addy," he says. "I'm clean. But I have condoms and -- "

  "I'm on the pill, and I'm clean."

  "Shit, Addy," he groans as I touch his head against my wetness. He reaches up to kiss me. "I've never had sex unprotected."

  The thought of both of us doing it like this for the first time, with no barrier between us, makes me even more certain. "Neither have I," I say.

  "Are you sure?" he asks. Am I sure? No, I'm not sure. I'm in the middle of the beach and I have my stepbrother's cock in my hand and I'm rubbing the tip of it all over my pussy like he's my own personal sex toy.

  I'm positive I've lost my mind.

  "I want you inside me," I whisper. "I want to feel you."

  "Shit, Addy," he says, his voice breaking. I love that. I love that I make his voice break like that. I love that I bring him to his knees.

  When I lower myself onto him, it's not gently or gingerly. I slide onto him easily, aided by my slickness, and Hendrix lets out a moan, uttering my name followed by several expletives.

  This time, I'm the one who threads my fingers through his, pinning his hands above his head so I can ride him. Close to him at first, rocking against him and savoring the feeling of him inside me, of being in control of the man who's usually in control, then sitting up as waves of pleasure wash over me again and again.

  Hendrix grips my hips, plunging me down tightly on his cock until I'm filled to the hilt. "You feel so fucking good like this, Addy," he says, his voice low.

  I love the feeling of him bare, the tip of his cock stroking me inside, pressing against the most sensitive place in me. I reach down, rubbing my clit as I ride him, letting the sensation wash over me as he brings me higher and higher until I'm almost on the edge. "Oh, God, Hendrix, I'm so close," I moan.

  "I want to feel you come on me," Hendrix says. "Nothing between us."

  The thought of coming on Hendrix's bare cock pushes me over the edge, and I let go, crying out loudly, moaning Hendrix's name. His hands are tight on my ass cheeks and he groans as he presses his cock into me and fills me up with his warm seed.

  Later that night, I lie in bed with Hendrix back at the hotel room, my eyes closed but not sleeping.

  "Are you awake?" Hendrix whispers.

  "Yep."

  "The song tonight," he says. "It was good. Really good."

  "Indie-folk is not a seller, my record label says. Not for me," I whisper.

  "Fuck 'em," Hendrix says. "You were alive up there, you know. More than when I've seen you perform, or in the studio. That was different."

  Because it was about you, I want to say. It's different because it was for you.

  Then he asks the question, the one I've been wanting him to ask. "Who was the song about?"

  I pause, opening and closing my mouth several times before I answer. "It was just a song, Hendrix," I lie. My words catch in my throat, and I'm glad he can't see me in the darkness. Why didn't I say what I wanted to say? It's so easy, putting the words down on paper, singing them in front of a room full of strangers. But now when it's the two of us here, alone in bed, it's suddenly impossible to speak the words out loud.

  I love you. I've loved you forever.

  I'm scared to love you the way I do.

  I'm terrified of losing you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  HENDRIX

  TEN MONTHS AGO

  Addy-girl,

  I haven't written you a letter in a long time. I used to write them every week. Hell, sometimes in Afghanistan it was every fucking day. I think I needed to hang on to something, when I was out there.

  Out in the field, I'd think about swimming lessons in the pool, replay those nights over and over in my head until I swear I could almost smell the chlorine instead of the stench of dirt in my nostrils. And I would tell myself that if I could make it through, I'd go to you. I'd show up on your front door, and I'd make a grand declaration of love, tell you all the things I didn't say before because I was young and stupid and thought that I had so many years ahead of me it didn't matter.

  And then after that, I couldn't write anymore.

  I can't write you anymore.

  I'm coming back to Nashville. You don't know it, but I am. I'm not a Marine anymore. I'll wear a collared shirt, and sit at a desk, and waste away.

  I'll rot away in the same city where you live, but I can't bring myself to see you.

  So I won't write you anymore. I have to let you go.

  I'm going to try to let you go this time. I think I can.

  * * *

  PRESENT DAY

  "Are you nervous?" I whisper, once we're backstage. I'm trying not to stare at her, except it's really hard not to when she's looking like nineteen fifties glam, like she just stepped off the set of an old movie. It was on purpose, her mother's idea to channel a time characterized by wholesome American values, a reaction to the fact that we went running off together on a road trip. A few people uploaded videos of Addy singing at the bar, and they went viral.