A Very Dirty Christmas

by Sabrina Paige

  "Shit!" Caulter grabs my arms and pulls me up, somehow sliding out of me, his pants around his ass and a condom dangling off the end of his dick.

  "Oh my God, we broke it," I look between him and the top of the ladder. I can't contain my laughter. This isn't me. I'm not the girl who breaks ladders fucking a boy in the library. What the hell has gotten into me?

  And then I hear Rose's voice, calling out from down the hallway. "Kate, are you okay? I heard a crash."

  "Shit." Caulter has pulled up his pants before I can blink, and is looking casual and blasé by the time Rose opens the door.

  "What happened?" she asks, looking back and forth between us.

  "I -- the ladder came off the tracks," I say.

  Caulter interrupts. "She was trying to reach one of the books on the shelf up there, and it just...gave way. Someone should definitely come out to look at that. It seems like a safety hazard. That's a problem with these older houses." He looks so sincere I almost believe him.

  Rose looks at me long and hard and I try not to blush. "You were trying to reach one of those books up there on...medieval history?"

  I swallow hard. "I was browsing. For research purposes."

  "Research purposes," she repeats. "It's a good thing Caulter was in here to help you when the ladder gave way."

  I clear my throat. "Yes. It's definitely a good thing."

  Rose turns to leave, but pauses when she reaches the door. "I'm glad to see the two of you getting along so well."

  I look at Caulter wide-eyed after she's gone. "Do you think she knows?"

  He shrugs. "Maybe. Who cares?"

  "I care, you idiot," I say. "Don't you? What if she says something to my father? What if someone finds out? I can't believe we broke the ladder in here, for goodness' sake."

  "For goodness sake?" Caulter laughs. "Okay, grandma."

  "I'm being serious, Caulter," I say. I'm getting irritated with him for taking this whole thing so lightly. "Behavior has consequences."

  Caulter is standing close to me, and I immediately feel the thrill of his nearness. I silently curse my damn body for being so attracted to him. "So what if your father finds out?"

  "It'll ruin his campaign."

  "Why?"

  "You know why, Caulter," I say. "We're...going to be related."

  "We're not related," he says. "You're being ridiculous. We're barely even step-siblings."

  I bristle at the way he brushes off my concerns as if they're nothing. "People won't care about what's true, Caulter," I insist. I'm angry that he's dismissing me, the same way my father dismisses me. "They thrive on scandal. They'll latch onto it and run with it. It'll ruin his campaign and his public image."

  Caulter traces a finger down the front of my chest, and I smack it away, but not before it gets a physical reaction from me, goose bumps dotting my skin. Damn him. "Why do you even give a shit about it?" he asks.

  "Because he's my father."

  Caulter laughs, the sound bitter. "Yeah, he seems like a great father."

  "You don't know anything," I say, defending him despite my mixed feelings. All I know is that I'm irritated with Caulter.

  Caulter leans in close to me, slips his finger underneath one of the straps on my dress. "I know that you're not the good little straight-laced girl your father wants, the poster child for his campaign. I know that you're so fucking pent-up with all your studying and being responsible and being so damn perfect all the time that you've been dying for someone like me to come along who will let you out of your pretty little shell and make you feel something."

  Now I'm beyond irritated. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and holds me tight. "You don't know a thing about me," I say.

  "I know that you're living up to everyone else's idea of who you should be," he says. "I don't think for a fucking second you want to go to Harvard, be a lawyer or a doctor or whatever the hell daddy has planned for you. I see you with your sketchpad, drawing all the time. You just don't have the fucking balls to do what you want to do."

  It's somehow over the line, him watching me draw, noticing things about me. He notices too many things about me. I yank my wrists away and push him, hard. "Fuck you." I spew the words from my mouth like they're poison. "Fuck you, Caulter. You're so damn high and mighty, rebelling against anyone and everything because you're too cool for conformity. Yet here you are, doing exactly what your mother wants you to do because....why, exactly? She won't give you your paycheck? You think rebelling means you know who you are? It just means you're full of shit."

  I walk out of the room before he can respond, anger flooding my body. He just gets so far under my damn skin. He's so infuriating and smug and self-satisfied. He acts like he's so much more mature than I am, with so much more experience under his belt. He's just a trust fund baby who doesn't know the least little bit about things like obligation and family.

  Later, I lay in bed, my head resting on the pillow while I prop the sketchpad on my thighs, lazily drawing. I know Caulter is in his room, because I heard the door close, and I find myself wondering what he's doing. I have to force my mind to focus on something other than Caulter.

  Anything but Caulter.

  Like the picture I'm doing right now. Of Caulter's cock.

  I tear the piece of paper off the pad, crumple it, and throw it across the room. Screw Caulter. And screw the stupid stuff he said about me.

  I close my eyes, and bring up my mother's image in my head, beginning to sketch her from memory. But my mind is in a different place. I have the nagging feeling that Caulter is right -- that I am just too much of a coward to stand up to my father. It's why I haven't told him about UCLA.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caulter

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Katherine is running across the lawn, waving her hands at me like a complete fucking lunatic.

  A hot fucking lunatic.

  Her brown hair bounces over her shoulders as she runs, trying futilely to pull her skirt down over her ass. "Are you insane?"

  "Insane? Nope. I'm roasting marshmallows." I pull the marshmallow off the stick and pop the warm gooey goodness into my mouth. She looks at me, her chest rising as she catches her breath, her cheeks flushed. It's the same way she looks when she's just had an orgasm.

  I haven't made her come all week. She hasn't let me, not since the fight we had in the library after we screwed on the ladder.

  What I should have done after that was go out and find a replacement Katherine. But what I'm finding, much to my irritation, is that Katherine seems to be crawling under my skin. Like a disease.

  So I'm taking the mature road and talking to her about things like an adult. While eating marshmallows. "Want one?" I ask.

  "You can't light a fire out here -- there are regulations, you idiot," she yells. "Who fucking gets a -- where did you even get a barrel, anyway? And what the hell are you -- Oh. My. God. Those are my clothes in there. My pants. My underwear!"

  I lied -- I'm not taking the mature road here. At all. This might be one of the most juvenile things I've ever done.

  I grin and shrug. "I told you I wanted you in skirts. No panties."

  She grabs the stick from my hands, poking it into the barrel. Flames shoot up, sending sparks flying in every direction. Grabbing her by the arms, I pull her back against my chest.

  Which is exactly where she belongs, I can't help but think as soon as her body touches mine.

  But she only rest there momentarily before she yanks herself away from me. "What are you, some kind of psychopath?" she asks. "Who lights someone's clothes on fire? Something is seriously wrong with you."

  "I'll get you new clothes," I say. I don't add that I already have. I've ordered her a whole new wardrobe from some hot shit designer that my mother's stylist swears is what all the chicks want to wear. I also ordered her the best lingerie and panties money can buy. Personally hand selected by yours truly. And I bought new jeans to replace the ones I torched. I mean,
I’m not a complete asshole.

  But no new granny panties. That just crosses a line.

  Kate stands there glaring at me with her hands on her hips. She’s pissed. If it were possible for a human to physically blow steam out of their ears, she would be doing that. She balls her hands into fists and screams, which just makes me laugh. “You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” she yells. “You’re completely fucked up in the head.”

  I expect her to punch me. If I were a girl and some guy had torched my pants and panties, I'd slug me. But she doesn’t. She just gives me a look of disgust and walks back to the house, muttering to herself the whole way.

  That's fucking disappointing.

  I expected her to hit me or something. Hit me, and then look up at me the way she does when she gets angry. Like she can’t decide if she wants to kill me or fuck me. Obviously, I imagined she'd pick the option that involved fucking.

  I didn't expect her to just walk away.

  I pick up the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. I guess I'll have to up my game if I want back in her bed.

  ***

  “Are the two of you listening?” Senator Douchebag has been talking about the schedule of events for the week. He literally has this shit color-coded and flagged. He’s almost as ridiculous as my mother, with her wedding planning. She has a chart set up in the living room on an easel, a seating plan that she and the Senator examine, hands over their mouths and brows furrowed as they determine strategic seating arrangements for the big event. I’m surprised they haven't unrolled a giant chart on the table like a war map, so that they can plot personal alliances and strategic socializing.

  “I heard everything,” Kate says, her voice emotionless. “The engagement party is on Friday.”

  “I know it’s all happening very quickly,” Ella says, her hand on the Senator’s leg. “And I really hope you don’t feel like I’m trying to replace your mother, Katherine. No one could replace her.”

  I glance at Kate, who has paused in the middle of lifting her fork to her mouth. “Of course not,” she says.

  The Senator doesn't wait for her to continue. “No one thinks you’re trying to replace her mother, Ella,” he says, patting Ella’s hand. “Kate doesn’t think that, do you Kate?” Katherine opens her mouth, but he interrupts. “And she understands that we’re on a tight schedule here with the campaign, isn’t that right?”

  I’m annoyed by the way he just answers for her, and irritated with her for just sitting there, chewing on her forkful of chicken instead of responding. “Why don’t you let Kate answer for herself?”

  The Senator glares at me, a dark look passing over his face. “Kate just answered for herself.”

  Ella looks uncomfortable. She's not good with these kinds of situations. “Katherine,” she says. “I know that your mother was a special woman, and I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes here. I’m --”

  “Seriously,” Katherine says, tossing me a look of annoyance that makes me regret even taking up for her at all. “It’s no big deal. I mean, it is a big deal for you guys. I’m happy for you. But I’m an adult. We’re all adults here. People remarry all the time. I wish you nothing but happiness.”

  “Thank you, Kate,” the Senator says.

  I send Kate a text.

  Liar.

  She looks down at her phone and back up, pointedly ignoring me. “Ella, if there’s anything you need me to do for your engagement party, please let me know.”

  A broad smile crosses Ella’s face. “Thank you, Katherine,” she says. “That’s so kind of you. I think actually my stylist is going to bring dresses to the house next week to do fittings for the wedding, and I’d love to ask her to send over something for the engagement party as well. Unless you had something else in mind.”

  Kate nods. “Sure.”

  “Oh, she mentioned she was redoing your wardrobe,” Ella says, looking at me. “She said you asked Caulter to set it up.”

  Kate pauses, her napkin on the corner of her mouth. “She did, did she?”

  “I’d have been happy to set it up for you,” Ella says. “I’m pleased Caulter was able to. She said something about summer wear, dresses and that kind of thing.”

  Kate coughs into her napkin, and I’m not sure, but I think she might be laughing.

  “She could use more dresses for the campaign,” I say. “It’s more...functional. For the campaign, I mean.”

  I watch as color rises to Kate’s cheeks, but the Senator interrupts, saving her from scrutiny. “That’s thoughtful of you, Caulter,” he says. “Absolutely. Dresses. More feminine, appropriate for the setting.”

  “Yes.” I nod. “Dresses would definitely be very useful.”

  Kate coughs again, this time harder. Yeah, I’m pleased with myself.

  “Caulter, do you know who in the world left that barrel out in the back?” the Senator asks. I think Kate might choke on her bite of food this time.

  I shrug. “No idea,” I say. “Probably the gardener.”

  “Ridiculous,” he says. “You really can't get good help these days. We’re back to DC tomorrow, but the engagement party is Friday. Ella, the planners and all of that will be taking over the house for the next two days, I assume?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” she says. “You and Katherine will need to direct things, Caulter. No parties.”

  I look at her, mock innocent. “Have I gotten into a single bit of trouble since I’ve been here?” I ask. “Have I been out to a single party?”

  Ella narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t trust me - reasonably so. The part about parties is true, though. I’ve not been to a single one since I’ve been here. I’ve not put my dick in a single girl, either. Except Kate, of course.

  “Not that I’ve seen in the newspapers,” she says.

  “Leave the young man alone,” the Senator says, gesturing toward me with his fork in hand. “He’s cleaned himself up, and has behaved quite responsibly since we sent them out here. I told you, Ella, it’s all about boundaries. Rules. If you give children rules and expectations, they will conform. Caulter here is a perfect example of that.”

  I have to clench my fists as I listen to him talk about me as if he’s talking about a preschool-aged child or a dog. “Yes,” I agree. The old Caulter would have lifted up the end of the antique table we’re sitting at, and sent dishes flying, before storming out of the room and driving off in my mother’s hundred-thousand-dollar car. The new Caulter, the one fucking the Senator’s daughter, is cool, calm, and collected. “You know, I think it’s really due to Kate rubbing off on me.”

  Kate coughs more violently this time, and the Senator looks at her. "Are you catching a cold?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Katherine

  “So you and the hot step-brother,” Jo says. “Dish.”

  “There’s nothing to dish,” I protest. I'm annoyed because of how fixated Jo is with Caulter and me. We’re sitting outside, our feet dangling off the edge of the dock, watching as the party planners set up tents and engagement party paraphernalia in the backyard. My father has some kind of notion that I’m supervising all of this. “Ugh. Do you really think he’s hot?”

  As if on cue, Caulter walks out onto our shared balcony, wearing nothing but boxer briefs. It’s like he thinks he’s a fucking male model, strutting around like a peacock with no concern for the people in the yard.

  People who stop and gawk.

  He’s done the same thing every damn morning for the past three days, standing outside my window like I’m going to see his hard-on and lose my mind. Yesterday, he pressed it up against the glass door, making lewd gestures with his tongue and rubbing his nipples. He's trying to get a rise out of me, and it's definitely working.

  Jo slides her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and makes a show of wiggling her fingers at him. “Yeah, he’s hot, Kate,” she says. “You really don’t see it? I mean, I guess you like clean cut guys, and he’s very....not, with the tattoos, and the nipple pierc
ings, and...shit, he’s got a nice ass.”

  “He’s a disgusting pig,” I say, my tone not as convincing as I try to make it. I can’t help the way my eyes wander up to the balcony where he stands, leaning on the rail and smoking, the sunlight glistening off his muscular arms and chest. “Plus, he smokes.”

  Jo shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind it,” she says.

  “He’s arrogant and insufferable.”

  “Didn’t you say he sent Ella’s stylist to replace your wardrobe?” she asks. “He’s not exactly Satan.”

  “Yes, but --” I groan in frustration. “You don’t understand.” How do I explain that the Devil up there -- the ripped, tattooed, pierced, so amazing in bed that I can’t think about anything except his cock -- set my fucking wardrobe on fire because he wanted me to wear dresses without panties? He's clearly insane.

  “What I understand is that you’re living with Caulter Sterling,” she says. “He’s like...legendary when it comes to fucking.”

  “Jo!” She’s right, though; he has a reputation. But what the hell do I know about sex, anyway? I've only been with Caulter. Maybe he's not the only guy who will ever rock my boat.

  Of course, looking at him up there on the balcony just makes me think about him rocking my boat. I press my thighs together, smoothing the fabric of my skirt over them.

  "Is that one of the dresses he bought you?" Jo asks.

  I roll my eyes. "Yes."

  "Looks expensive."

  "I'm sure it is."

  Jo shrugs. “I can give him a test run,” she says. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “What? You and that guy broke up?” Jo bounces from one to another, so I can't remember his name.

  “Last week.” She kicks her foot in the water. “Caught him cheating.”

  “What a dickhead,” I say.

  She shrugs. “It wasn't like I was faithful," she says. "But it's different if he's the one doing the running around."

  I don't point out the hypocrisy in the statement. "I'm sorry."

  “I'm not,” she says. “He was a drag. Anyway, there’s a party tonight you need to go to. Are your dad and Ella back yet?”