A Very Dirty Christmas

by Sabrina Paige

  And then I slept with him again – despite hating him. Okay, I slept with him a lot. That part was really good.

  And finally, I fell in love with him.

  Now I'm pregnant, and we're getting married.

  That is a real life fairytale, folks.

  "Earth to Kate." Caulter's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I spin around, a pre-lit pine garland in my hands.

  “Sorry,” I say, shaking off the feeling of nostalgia as I reach back to place the garland over the mantle.

  “You looked like you were lost in thought,” he says. “You’re not having second thoughts about all of this, are you?”

  He's asking if I'm having second thoughts about the wedding and the baby.

  I cock my head to the side and pretend to be contemplating my answer, but in reality I’m standing here checking out my fiancé. Caulter still remains that bad boy from high school, but he’s grown up into someone far more attractive than he was back then.

  And not just physically, either – although my soon-to-be husband is pretty damn hot, if I do say so myself. He still has that rough-around-the-edges look, with his dark hair and brooding eyes, but all of that has mellowed out slightly the past few years.

  He’s growing into the kind of man I think will be a great father.

  “You’re pausing for an awful long time,” Caulter says. He crosses the room and slips his arms around me, my ever-expanding belly pressing against him. When he looks down at me with his lips hovering close to mine, my heart races, the same way it has since the first time he kissed me.

  “I’m considering all of my options,” I tease.

  “Oh?” he whispers. “Is that the case? Maybe I need to remind you why you're marrying me."

  "I'm pretty sure I'm marrying you because you knocked me up," I say.

  Caulter chuckles low under his breath, before he brings his mouth down on mine, his way of reminding me exactly why I'm marrying him.

  As if I'd ever forget.

  His lips are the most familiar feeling in the world, yet a thrill rushes through me all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, every time he touches me.

  The way he touches me now is nothing like the way it was in the beginning. Back then, sneaking around with Caulter was itself an aphrodisiac. He was a bad boy, off-limits to a good girl like me, the relationship made even more forbidden when we found out our parents were getting married. Back then, there was a sense of urgency in every furtive coupling, each liaison made even more exciting because there was an expiration date on what was happening between us.

  I was certain it was simply a summer fling – something dangerous and exciting and rebellious that would end when our parents got married.

  But it wasn't.

  It was more than that.

  It did end at our parents' wedding, actually. For a little while. I didn't see Caulter for a year after that. I didn't think I'd ever see him again, in fact.

  But then he came back.

  And now, when he kisses me like this, his lips soft against mine, his touch the most comforting thing I know, it's somehow more exciting than before. His tongue seeks out mine with the kind of familiarity that comes from certain knowledge of exactly what I want. It's the kind of familiarity that develops over time with someone.

  And it only makes me want to be with him even longer.

  I hear a moan escape my lips as Caulter's hands slide over my arms and find the small of my back before he releases me. Heat pools between my thighs, every sensation heightened now because of the pregnancy.

  I'd always heard that pregnancy increased sex drive, but I never believed it.

  All of those rumors are definitely true.

  "You're flushed," Caulter notes as he looks at me, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  "Hormones," I say. The pregnancy hormones are out of control. I thought the second trimester was crazy, but the third trimester is even more intense. I find myself wanting to rip Caulter's clothes off all the time, on edge almost immediately at the mere thought of him inside me.

  Caulter has been very obliging, of course.

  "I love these hormones of yours, you know," Caulter whispers, his breath warm against my ear. The heat from his mouth sends a shiver down my spine. When he trails his lips lower, touching the sensitive place below my ear before moving down my neck, the shiver turns into a very visible shudder.

  "Why am I not surprised?" I ask.

  Caulter laughs. "If I'd had known how hot this would be, I would have tried to knock you up a long time ago."

  "Classy," I say, the word more of a murmur than anything coherent as he slides his hand over my chest, cupping my breast through the fabric of my shirt.

  "What's that, Princess?" Caulter asks. He runs his thumb across my nipple. It comes to attention underneath my bra, the response immediate. "If you think that was classy, you're going to love your gift."

  I inhale sharply through my teeth as he slides his finger underneath the top of my bra. "We said no gifts," I remind him. "The wedding…and the baby…"

  "Yes?" he asks, looking at me as his finger continues to work its magic, stroking my nipple. He loves to tease me, knowing that my breasts are even more sensitive as the pregnancy goes on.

  "We agreed…those were our gifts…" My breath is short, my words punctuated with little inhales as he continues to touch me. He smiles knowingly, aware of the fact that I'm wet for him, knowing that if he reached between my legs right now he'd find I'm ready.

  "We needed a new piece of furniture in the bedroom anyway," he whispers, taking his hand away from what it was doing and threading his fingers through mine.

  "Oh no," I groan. "What did you buy?"

  "Come here," he says, leading me toward the bedroom, where he gestures toward a modern-looking cream-colored leather chair with bronze decorative studs that dot the length of the edge. "You got a…chair?"

  Don't get me wrong – it's a pretty chair. With long, lean lines and modern curves, it's elegant-looking but…it's kind of an odd surprise gift.

  Caulter just smiles, pulling me toward it. "It's not just any chair," he says.

  "What, it has magical powers?"

  He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe," he says. "Come here and I'll show you."

  I laugh. "Show me what?"

  Caulter reaches for my shirt, raising it over my head before I can object, then drops to his knees. He slides his palms over my stomach, pausing to tenderly caress my pregnant belly. He kisses my stomach, grinning as he looks up at me. "Have I told you today how sexy you are?"

  I laugh. "Not nearly enough," I tease.

  "Well, I should make sure to catch up on that," he says. "Because I'd hate for my pregnant fiancé to think she's anything except the sexiest woman in the world." He grasps the sides of my cotton skirt in his hands and yanks the fabric over my hips, where it falls into a pool at my feet.

  "Your pregnant fiancé is starting to feel somewhat unsexy," I say, my hands clasped over my belly. I'm far past the second trimester, when my cute little belly had just popped out and I was finally looking pregnant. Now I'm less comfortable and I think I've developed a waddle when I walk.

  "That's unfortunate," Caulter says, his hands moving up my legs. He cups my ass cheeks, making a growling sound deep in his throat, the one that reveals his obvious approval of my body. Then he slides my panties over my hips and tosses them aside. "Because I seem to have developed quite a thing for pregnant women."

  I arch my eyebrow. "Women, plural?"

  "This pregnant woman, specifically," he says, spreading my legs. He inhales deeply between my legs before covering my pussy with his mouth. When he explores me with his tongue, the heat from his mouth envelops me, distracting me from all of the self-conscious thoughts about my body. He makes approving sounds as he licks me, and hearing that from him makes me able to let go of the nagging self-consciousness and enjoy his touch.

  He slides his fingers inside me, his mouth covering my cl
it, and the sensation nearly pushes me over the edge. Everything seems so much more sensitive now, and Caulter knows that. So he torments me by working his magic between my legs for what seems like an eternity, then denies me. "Not yet," he says, standing with his hand in mine.

  I hear myself let out a small whimper, disappointed in the absence of his fingers. The throbbing between my legs is insistent, demanding his swift return. "Not yet?" I pout, but my momentary disappointment is erased as I watch my fiancé slowly disrobe.

  He does it seductively. With excruciating slowness, he unbuttons the dress shirt he wore to his meeting earlier today. He's still managing the foundation he started several years ago, the one what assists struggling and deserving businesses as an angel investor. Despite his lack of formal college education, Caulter has a brilliant mind for business. And he looks the part, too, in his suit pants and collared shirt – the shirt that's now in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  I watch as he slowly takes off the rest of his clothes, my breath hitching as he removes his pants and stands naked before me, his cock fully erect.

  Even if I see Caulter naked every day, the sight never fails to make my heart skip a few beats in my chest.

  I'm a lucky girl.

  Caulter gives me that crooked grin of his. "Don't think I don't see the look in your eyes when you see this specimen of manhood in front of you."

  I roll my eyes. He's right, but I'll never let him know that. "You're a specimen of something, that's for sure."

  "Get your sweet little ass on that chair," he says, more teasing than demanding.

  "My ass is hardly little anymore," I note. "What is this thing?" It's not a regular chair and certainly not a recliner, not with its elongated s-shape and narrow width.

  "It's a sex chair." Caulter grins at me like he's inordinately pleased with himself.

  "You got a sex chair?" I squeal. "That's your gift to me?"

  "That's right," he says, pulling me toward the chair. He straddles it, a leg on either side, his back against the raised curve, and pulls me down to his lap, my back against him, inside me in one swift movement. "Now, tell me what you think of this gift."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Caulter

  My fiancé.

  My soon-to-be-wife.

  Katherine Harrison.

  The formerly stuck-up, too-nerdy-for-her-own-good girl from Brighton Academy who used to be the only thing about high school I'd look forward to every day. God, how I loved to get a rise out of her back then – I'd do anything I could to get those cheeks to flush bright red from embarrassment.

  And back then, that happened on a daily basis.

  Who would have thought that Katherine Harrison would be pregnant with my child? And that she would be marrying me in a few short weeks?

  Who would have thought that Katherine Harrison would be sitting astride my rigid cock, grinding her pussy against me as my hands caress her swollen breasts?

  She complains of their soreness, the fact that they've gotten several cup sizes larger in the past few months, and moans when I touch them now.

  Whether she's vocalizing pain or pleasure, I'm not quite sure.

  She rocks slowly on my cock, the movement subtle. Her pussy is swollen now, because of the pregnancy – warmer and tighter than before, wetter now for me.

  Kate thinks she's become less attractive. She worries because she's gained weight and gotten stretch marks – but holy hell, I can't even explain how much more attracted to her I am now than I was before.

  This woman who's riding me, who's making these little sounds – a cross between whimpering and moaning – has become someone other than the girl I fell in love with. Everything about her is more womanly than before – the way her curves have become full and round, her face radiant and glowing, her movements somehow softer and more sensual. I can't look at her without thinking of her in my bed, without wanting to bury my face between her legs and drink in her rich scent.

  Everything about her has changed, yet everything is the same.

  The pregnancy has changed the sex, too – she's ready, wanting me all the time, and wanting to try new things. She says it feels better, more intense, more alive. And that's why when she rides me now, her hair falling back down her shoulders, pushing me more deeply inside her, I come close to letting go.

  Her warm wet pussy throbs around me. It pulls me in deeper, demanding my release, but I steel myself against it.

  Not yet.

  I wrap her hair around my hand, pulling her head back and sliding my arm across her chest, my fingers playing with her nipple the way I know she likes. Her pussy tenses immediately in response, and I know I have her. I breathe against her ear, whispering, knowing that the little hairs on the back of her neck will rise in response, that it will send goose bumps down her arms.

  That it will bring her so close.

  "Are you enjoying this gift, Kate?" I ask. "Because I've been thinking about how much I wanted you on it since I first saw it."

  She groans her answer, the word unintelligible as she arches back, pressing her pussy down further on my rigid cock. I force myself not to come inside her, despite how ready she is for me. Despite how much I want to fill her up.

  I tug her hair again, eliciting a squeal.

  "Tell me, Kate," I say. "Tell me how much you love riding me."

  "Oh, God," she groans, the sound guttural. She rocks faster against me, and the head of my cock presses deep inside the walls of her swollen pussy. "Not Kate…"

  "What do you want me to call you, Kate?" I ask, teasing, knowing full well what she wants me to call her. It's what she loves for me to call her now, despite the fact that it started as a joke, a demeaning term that somehow turned into a term of endearment.

  "You know," she whispers. Her slick wet pussy clenches tighter around my cock.

  "Then tell me how much you love my cock inside you," I whisper. "How much you love me bare inside your sweet pussy."

  "Oh fuck, Caulter," she says, riding me harder. Her hand reaches down between her legs, and although I can't see what she's doing, I know she's stroking her clit, bringing herself to the brink as she bounces on my dick. But I'm not going to let her come, not so easily. Not until she tells me what I want to hear.

  "Tell me you love my cock," I say. "Stroking you inside, fucking you."

  "Oh God, Caulter," she says. "I'm so close. I love your cock bare inside me. I love feeling you when you come inside me."

  "Fuck, Princess," I say, calling her by the name I know she wants to hear. It never fails to push her over the edge. "Come for me, Princess."

  And she does.

  Before I even finish the phrase, she comes, screaming her orgasm with abandon, not the way she used to have to be careful, in her Senator father's house in New Hampshire when we were sneaking around and hiding from everyone.

  Now she yells her orgasm, loud enough to shake the fucking walls, and I feel my balls clench tightly before I let go, filling her up with my hot seed.

  Afterward, I pull her tightly against me, brushing aside her hair and burying my face in the side of her neck as I breathe in her scent. She smells like everything that's right with the world, like sunshine and warmth and flowers.

  That's probably the lamest thought any guy has ever had, but it's true. Everything about her is right, and when she's close to me like this, her breath coming in long deep gasps, I know there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be but here with her.

  "Nice chair." Her words break the stillness between us.

  "Do you agree now that it's a classy gift?"

  "Something like that," she says.

  "Classy as fu –" I start to say, but she interrupts me.

  "That's going to wind up being the baby's first word."

  "We're in the bedroom," I say. "It doesn't count."

  "Mm-hmm," she murmurs, her breath long and low.

  "You know, this chair is good for lots of other positions," I point out helpfully.

  "Oh, is it, now?" she as
ks.

  Since she asked, I take the opportunity to show her.

  Later, Kate breathes in deeply, her head snug on the pillow next to me, my hand lingering protectively on her belly. We're supposed to be at a cake taste-testing appointment in twenty minutes, something that's apparently uber-important, but Kate fell asleep after we broke in the new chair twice. With how exhausted she's been lately, I felt like it was better to be late to the appointment and let her sleep.

  The past few weeks, she's been tossing and turning at night, more and more uncomfortable as her belly gets bigger. She also has nightmares now, although she says she doesn't remember what she dreams. But I hear her mumbling in her sleep, her forehead scrunched up, and she wakes up in a panic, her hand over her chest.

  She says it's nothing.

  I mentioned it to Ella a few weeks ago. Over the last couple of years, things have dramatically improved when it comes to Ella. When Kate and I got engaged in Bali, Ella made it happen, insisting I use her private plane to fly her there. And over the past year, Ella has been Ella – irresponsible, dramatic, and flighty – but more involved with Kate and I.

  She blows into our lives more now that she's been on set filming a television show in New York, a crazy whirlwind of drama and excitement and "Oh my God, you're getting married, you must let me help with the wedding planning and who's your obstetrician and never let the child call me grandmother, I'm simply not old enough to be a grandmother, for God's sake!"

  Kate likes having her around.

  A few weeks ago, Ella told me she had nightmares when she was pregnant, too -- something about the hormones.

  "Darling," Ella says, waving her hand dismissively the way she does when she considers something self-evident, "Kate is not having pre-wedding jitters. That girl is head-over-heels for you. Now, pre-baby jitters, maybe. Oh! My trainer has the number of a woman who can come cleanse her chi, get rid of the bad energy."

  "Kate is not going to let someone come clean her chi, Ella," I say, shaking my head.

  "She doesn't even have to know," Ella protests, digging in her purse for her phone.