A Very Dirty Christmas

by Sabrina Paige

  But I put thoughts of him aside. I hooked up with Gaige O'Neal once. I can't hook up with him again. Even if every part of my body is screaming at me to go back into the bedroom and tell Gaige that I want him.

  I know better than to do something like that, for all kinds of reasons, like the fact that Gaige is my step-brother. If my mother found out, she'd lose her shit. Anja would be horrified. And my father would be unimaginably disappointed. Or the fact that Gaige is not a relationship kind of guy. Besides, I really don't know if I can even stand him outside of the bedroom.

  In the bedroom, though…fireworks. I'm not terribly experienced – I slept with a grand total of two people in my life, before Gaige. Both people had been boyfriends, people I thought I cared about. So the sex should have been amazing, right? It's supposed to be amazing when it's with someone you love.

  Except last night with Gaige – someone I can barely tolerate, let alone love – was so much better than anything I've ever imagined.

  Of course, I have to put it out of my mind. I'm sure Gaige already has. I'm certain this is nothing to him.

  When I step out of the bathroom, my towel wrapped around me, Gaige is gone, and for a second, I think about walking next door and telling him that I've reconsidered, that I'd rather call in sick and spend the morning in bed with him.

  But I don't.

  Instead, I go to work and try to put the entire thing out of my mind.

  ***

  It turns out that it's really fucking hard to forget what happened when your stupid stepbrother refuses to stop reminding you.

  "Do you have the schedule ironed out for the fourteenth?" Chelsea stands in front of me, her hands on her hips, scowling. "Did you make contact with the rep?"

  She's asking about the schedule for one of the dates for the Japan trip, and I answer her, "Of course," while thinking about Gaige's text.

  "You're distracted," she says. "I hope that won't be par for the course during this entire trip."

  "I'm tired – I think it must be allergies or something," I say. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I slept with Gaige last night, or the fact that Gaige just texted me telling me, in explicit detail, exactly what sex acts he could fit into the rest of the day before twenty-four hours is officially over.

  "Must be nice to have the luxury of fatigue," Chelsea says, before whirling around and walking out the door. I watch the door close behind me before responding to Gaige.

  Stop texting me. I'm trying to work.

  I'm responding to an email when my phone buzzes again.

  I'm your client. You can't ignore me. Those are the rules.

  It's accompanied by a picture of his dick. Which is, well, pretty fucking fantastic, I think, as I turn the phone to get a better view from every angle. I admire it for a minute, then text him back.

  Clients don't text me dirty photos.

  I don't even get two words typed on the computer before my phone buzzes again.

  I hope not. If they do, I'll have to kill them.

  Okay, so that makes me smile. But I shut off my phone and put it in my purse. Texting Gaige all day is not going to help me get him out of my head.

  ***

  "Are you going to keep ignoring me?" Gaige is in my doorway, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of motorcycle logo on it. I know nothing about bikes or racing, and despite my attempts to educate myself about the sport, I don't recognize the things I should probably know about.

  "If you keep –" I step toward him, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Texting me the way you are…"

  "What? A photo of my cock is too distracting for you?"

  I roll my eyes, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. "It's not distracting the way you think it is."

  Gaige steps into my room and shuts the door. "The real thing is a lot better," he says. "But you already know that, don't you, darlin'?"

  "Our parents are home," I hiss. "Get out of my room before someone catches you in here."

  "We're not doing anything except having a friendly conversation," he says.

  "We're not talking about anything," I say. "You're just hoping to get laid again."

  A grin spreads across Gaige's face. "I'm definitely hoping to get laid again," he says. "Aren't you?"

  "We can't," I protest.

  "Because it's unprofessional?" he says, his tone mocking.

  "Because – yes, it's unprofessional," I say. "And because we're about to travel overseas together for a business trip."

  "Are you afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me?" he asks.

  "No!" I protest. But that's definitely not true. "You think way too highly of yourself."

  "Darlin'," he says, crossing the room and standing inches away from me, "I know you haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You're lying to yourself."

  "Why, because you're so amazing in the sack?" I ask, my voice wavering. He's right. Everything in me cries out for his touch. I want to feel him inside me.

  "Don't act like it's not exactly that," Gaige says. His gaze falls from my face to my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. I picture him putting a finger between the top buttons of my shirt and yanking, scattering buttons everywhere. I'm terrified that's exactly what I want him to do. "If I recall correctly, you were moaning my name last night, right? Fuck me, Gaige, right?"

  "Be quiet," I hiss, covering his mouth with my hand. He grips my wrist, yanks my hand away from his mouth and pulls me against him. Damn it. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, and my body responds with an immediate flood of heat between my legs.

  "I can try to be quiet," he whispers. "I just don't know if you can."

  "You have to leave," I order.

  "Or what?"

  Or my resolve will weaken. "Or I'll scream."

  Gaige grins. "Scream my name," he says.

  "I'm not joking, Gaige," I say, my voice firm. "Get out of my room. Right now. Or I will scream." I immediately regret the words coming out of my mouth. I want to take them back, to tell him to stay here. I want to slide down to my knees and take him in my mouth again.

  But Gaige just smiles, leans in close to my ear. "How long do you think it'll be before I'm back inside that sweet pussy of yours? A day? A week?"

  "We can't, Gaige," I tell him. But my voice is strained.

  "Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, darlin'," he says. "But I'll be right next door when you change your mind."

  Only after he leaves and the door shuts behind him does my heart stop racing. Crap. I turn the shower on, ice-cold. Do cold showers actually work?

  Ten minutes later, I feel exactly the way I did before – horny as hell. Except now I'm shivering and horny. Faking sick to avoid dinner with Gaige and my parents doesn't help me feel any better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gaige

  It's been two weeks since Delaney and I hooked up. Fourteen days. She's been carefully avoiding me, and I've been spending every waking moment in physical therapy and back on the bike at the track. And thinking about how to get back in Delaney's bed.

  "This is an important night for your step-father," Anja says. I've just walked in the door, still wearing my riding gear, helmet in my hand, and she's up my ass already. "Don't walk through the house in those boots."

  "I'll take them off in my room," I say. "Unless you want me to strip off everything right here in the foyer?" The housekeeper ducks out of the entryway, smart enough to avoid this scene.

  "Have some class, Gaige," she sniffs.

  "Cocktails, already, mother?" I ask. "Not even bothering to wait for the party?"

  Anja sips from her tumbler. "You'd better not ruin this for Beau," she says.

  "I'd better not ruin it for Beau?" I ask. "Ask yourself who of the two of us is more likely to ruin anything for Beau tonight."

  "You know what I mean," she hisses. "I know what's going on with you and Delaney."

  My heart stops cold in my chest, but I keep my voice calm. "What d
o you think is going on with me and Delaney?"

  "You think a girl like that is ever going to look at you twice? Even if she weren't your sister, she'd be out of your league." She takes another swig from her glass.

  "Step-sister," I correct. "She's my step-sister, not my sister."

  "You're disgusting," she hisses. "It's disgusting."

  "I haven't looked at her any way at all," I say. "Maybe if you weren't half in the bag all the time, you'd have a clearer view of things."

  The door opens, and Delaney walks inside, stopping short when she sees us. "Hi," she says, her voice tentative. "I came home early to get ready for the event."

  "Don't worry," I say. "Anja is already pre-partying herself. She's concerned that we all understand the importance of tonight."

  Delaney nods, silent as she looks back and forth between us. "Um, sure," she says. "It's going to be a great event. Some of the reps from the Japanese manufacturer will be there, Gaige. I don't think you've met them yet, but I'll introduce you."

  "Perfect," I say. I'm so preoccupied with Anja's intimations that I can't really think about anything else. If she were to tell Beau what she suspected about Delaney and I…

  I remind myself that what she's saying is just the ravings of a drunk.

  "I'm certain you'll make sure Gaige has everything he needs tonight," Anja says, looking at Delaney. She takes another sip from her glass, her expression smug, and I've never wanted to hit a woman, but I really want to knock that fucking glass out of my mother's hand.

  Delaney's forehead wrinkles, and she looks from my face to my mother's and back again. "Absolutely," she says. "That's my job. So if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready."

  I wait until Delaney is out of earshot before I speak. "Delaney didn't remember you as being quite so petty and vindictive," I say. "Unlike me. I know you've always been this way."

  Anja smiles, her lips drawn tight. "Remember what I said, Gaige," she says. "Don't ruin anything for Beau. And stop looking at your sister."

  "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Anja," I say, before I turn and walk quickly down the hall. I don't want a response from her. I just want to get the hell out of this conversation.

  Delaney's door is open, but I walk past it into my bedroom and set my helmet on the desk. I'm sitting down and taking off my boots when she steps inside. "What did you say to her?" she whispers.

  "Nothing," I say. "Absolutely nothing."

  "She doesn't know what happened?" Delaney looks panicked, and her voice squeaks.

  "She's a drunk," I say. "Do you really think she knows anything?"

  "She seemed like she did."

  "Well, it's a good thing there's nothing to know, then, is there?" I unzip my jacket and lay it across the back of the chair, turning to see Delaney just standing there watching me.

  "There's nothing to know," she echoes, and I'm not sure if she's asking a question or repeating my statement.

  "Nothing happened between us," I elaborate. "So there's really nothing to know. Now, I'm trying to get in the shower. Did you have something else to ask?"

  Delaney shakes her head slowly, still staring at me. "Did you ride?"

  "Yep."

  "Your leg is doing better?"

  "Yep."

  "Are you just going to answer me in one-word responses?"

  "What do you want me to say, Delaney?" I walk toward her, and she backs up until she's pressed against the wall in my bedroom. Irritation surges through me, although the sight of her against the wall makes my cock stir. "You're the one who wanted us to be professional."

  "I –" she starts, looking up at me with pleading eyes. "I want us to be friends, though."

  "I already told you," I whisper. I watch as her chest rises and falls, her breath short. I want to taste her. "I don't want to be your friend."

  "What do you want, then?" she asks.

  "Don't fucking do that, Delaney." I put my hands on her wrists, pin them at her sides, then change my mind and push them roughly above her head. Her lips part, and she arches her back, her breasts high in the air.

  "Don't do what?"

  "Don't ask questions that sound innocent, and then look at me like you're doing right now, like you want me," I say. "I'm not playing a fucking game here."

  "What do you want?" she whispers.

  Holding her wrists against the wall with one hand, I slide my other palm up her thigh, moving it higher and higher and bunching her pencil skirt up around her ass. "You know what I want," I whisper. "I want to slide my cock inside your wet pussy until you call my name like you did that night. I want to hear the little whimpering sound you make before you come."

  She says nothing, but she makes that sound in the back of her throat, the one I just described. The whimper. My fingers aren't even between her fucking legs, and she's making that sound. Fuck, that sound is going to be my undoing.

  I reach between her legs. Her panties are soaked already, and I think that fact alone might make me come. She looks at me, her expression colored with lust.

  "Tell me what you want, darlin'," I whisper, my fingers moving across the surface of those panties. "Still want to be friends?"

  "It's not – shit, Gaige, it's not a good idea." But her breath is already coming in gasps.

  "I tell you what I want to do to you, and you can't do the same?" I ask. "You kick me out of your room the morning after, then ignore me for the past fourteen fucking days. And now you're in my room panting and you're still not going to say you want me? Just say it, darlin'. I want to hear the words come out of your mouth."

  "I –" she starts. Then she looks at me. "I want you."

  I drop to my knees in front of her and yank her skirt up to her waist while she runs her hands through my hair. "Not good enough," I say, my fingers trailing along the surface of her panties. "I want to hear exactly what you want."

  "I want you," she says. Gripping the side of her thong, I tear the fabric in two. "What are you doing?"

  "I want to rip these the hell off you," I say, doing the same with the other side. "What do you want me to do? For a girl who's so fucking mouthy all the time, you're awful quiet now."

  "I want you to –" She clears her throat. "I want you to lick me."

  I touch my tongue to her pussy, tasting the sweetness of her juices. She's practically dripping, and she moans the second I touch her. "Like this?"

  "I want you to do what you did before," she says. "Make me come on your face." I slide my fingers inside her, cover her clit with my mouth, sucking it in as I listen to her breath become shorter.

  "Keep talking," I say. "Tell me what else."

  "Oh, fuck, Gaige," she says, her breath shorter. "I want you to fuck me. I want to feel your cock inside me when I come."

  Hearing those words come out of oh-so-professional Delaney's mouth nearly does me in. My cock is throbbing against the fabric of my pants. But I stand, my fingers still inside her, and kiss her hard on the mouth. When I pull back, she gasps for breath and I withdraw my fingers, sliding them over her bottom lip, coating it with her wetness. "Tell me you're mine," I demand.

  "I'm yours." She whispers it. She's so far gone now she'll say anything I want her to say.

  "Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'm leaving now," I tell her.

  "What?" Her eyes fly open, and she looks at me in disbelief. "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

  Leaning in close to her, I whisper. "It's your father's party," I say. "We need to get ready. And you need to learn a lesson in making me wait."

  "So that's…it?"

  "Darlin', I'm just getting started," I say. "What you wear tonight, you wear for me. No panties, no bra. And no touching yourself between now and the party. Do you understand?"

  Delaney raises her eyebrows. "So, you're going to just issue orders and expect me to fall in line, then?"

  I lean in close to her. "I'll know if you touch yourself," I say, reaching between her legs to stroke her clit one last time before I leave. She clutches my
arms as I roll my finger in circles. "And not only am I going to issue orders and anticipate that you'll follow them, I'm going to expect you to be dripping when you do."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Delaney

  "Kombanwa," I say, bowing as I speak my greeting, good evening, in Japanese. "Hajimemashite. Watashi no namae wa Delaney Marlowe desu." I introduce myself in Japanese, already rusty after not speaking it since I've been in Texas.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Marlowe." Akira Ito is young, probably late twenties, and looks like a Japanese film star. No one told me that. How do I say I thought you were an old man, in Japanese? He's covering my hand with his and looking me in the eye, apparently not content with just a Japanese greeting. "You speak Japanese with ease. Tell me you didn't just learn an introduction for us."

  My father walks up beside me, claps his hand on my shoulder, and Akira drops my hand. "Delaney was an Asian Studies major in college," he says. "She's been studying Japanese for years."

  "I'm thrilled to be helping with Gaige's tour," I say. "And I'm very much looking forward to visiting Japan." Mentally, I'm only partially here. I haven't seen Gaige all night, not since what happened earlier in my bedroom. As soon as he left, I slid my fingers between my legs and made myself come. It was impossible to wait after what he'd done to me, how close he'd brought me to the edge and then stopped. Touching myself did nothing to satisfy me, though, and the aching between my legs tonight is a constant reminder of where I want Gaige to be.

  My father's voice jerks me out of my daydream. "Isn't that right, Delaney?" he's asking.

  I nod. "Yes, of course." I have no idea what I've just agreed to.

  "Then I will look forward to giving you a personal tour when you're there," Akira says, before he walks away.

  A personal tour? How much of the conversation did I miss?