A Very Dirty Christmas

by Sabrina Paige

  "I don’t want to have missionary sex once a week,” I blurt out.

  Caulter laughs. “I hope not,” he says. “Where is this coming from? Is this some kind of third-trimester freak-out?”

  “Are you having second thoughts about the wedding? About settling down?” I ask the question, despite knowing it’s ridiculous.

  Caulter loves me. He’s happy. He just put together a nursery.

  From my seat, I can see Caulter wrinkle his forehead. “Are you having second thoughts about everything? Because I’m pretty sure there’s a no-return policy on babies.”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “What’s with the once-a-week-sex comment?” Caulter asks, turning at the next road we pass.

  “You’re Caulter Sterling. Women used to throw themselves at you. Do you think you’re really going to be happy with the prospect of domestic bliss?”

  Caulter shakes his head and doesn’t answer, driving silently down the small, quiet road dotted with houses decorated for Christmas. There’s patchy snow on the ground out here, and the grass that peeks through in spots is brown and shriveled, the decorations bright against the barren landscape.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. The fact that he hasn’t responded makes me wonder if my concerns are right on the money.

  Can a bad boy really be tamed?

  When we pass the last house on the road, Caulter pulls over to the side, in a space shaded with a cluster of trees. "Kate," he says, his voice urgent.

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  "I didn't answer you then, because I wanted to pull over and tell you this," he says.

  "Tell me what?" I ask, looking at him.

  "That I’m pretty effing satisfied with the prospect of domestic bliss,” he says. “And that you're sexier now than the first day I laid eyes on you.”

  "Well, I hope that much is true, at least," I say. "I mean, I was pretty un-sexy in high school."

  "I don't know about that," Caulter says. "That night in the hotel room, when you called me to hook up, you were pretty sexy, in your conservative dress and your headband."

  "Oh God," I groan. "Don't remind me about the headbands I used to wear. Why did I wear those?"

  "You were the hottest thing I'd ever seen that night," Caulter says. "Actually, you should wear headbands more often."

  I stifle a snort. "You have a thing for headbands?" I ask. "Is that why you hooked up with me? Headband fetish?"

  "I have a thing for whatever you wear," Caulter says. "Or don't wear." He leans forward, his elbow on the console between us, and slips his finger under my chin, bringing his lips to mine. When he kisses me, it's not tender or gentle, the way it is so often now. It's passionate, urgent, his tongue finding mine the way he did the first time in that hotel room.

  His lips on mine send a shiver up my spine, a tingle of electricity that rushes through my body all the way to my feet.

  When he finally pulls away from me, my lips are swollen, throbbing under my fingertips. The way he looks at me, eyes filled with lust, is the same way he looked at me that summer at my father’s lake house -- as if the prospect of containing himself, of my denying him, would be too much.

  "In fact, right now I want you out of those clothes," he demands.

  "Right now?" I ask, looking around the SUV and laughing. "Like, you mean right now, in the car? We're on the side of the road. Anyone could drive past and see us."

  "Right now," Caulter says. "I want to taste you.”

  His words make me flush warm, no matter how many times I've heard him say the exact same thing before. "Do you think you can fit back there with me?”

  “I’ll manage somehow,” he says, his voice gruff. “Now, it’s too cold outside, or I'd be pulling down your jeans on the side of the road. I'd like to put my face between the legs of my hot pregnant wife. So get in the backseat."

  I open the car door, shaking my head. Caulter definitely seems un-bored with domestic life right now. In fact, he is just as inappropriate and filthy as when we first met.

  He slides the SUV seat back until it slams up against our suitcases in the back. “Still concerned about that boring married life thing?” he asks. “Because I’m enjoying the idea of figuring out new ways of fucking you. I’m pretty sure I have a lifetime of ideas.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask.

  “No more talking,” Caulter says. “Take your pants off.”

  His words send a rush of arousal between my legs. Tugging at the sides of my pants, I pull them down over my hips as Caulter drops to the floor of the SUV in front of me, yanking them off completely.

  "This is the best view I've seen all day," he says as he tosses my pants onto the floor of the vehicle.

  "I can't believe I'm pregnant, pantsless, and in the back of a car with you," I whisper, only half-joking.

  It's Caulter Sterling. Of course I can believe it.

  "Pregnant, pantsless, and getting eaten out on the side of the road," Caulter says. He runs his hand up the inside of my thigh, and my body responds immediately to his touch.

  When he presses the tips of his fingers between my legs, he groans. “You’re soaked.”

  "I know," I say. "I'm so wet lately."

  "That is so hot," Caulter says, his finger rolling easily over my clit. Desire courses through my body, and I close my eyes lightly, surrendering to his touch.

  He pulls my hips forward, bringing his mouth between my legs, and a whimper escapes my lips as his heat envelops me. I try to watch what he's doing but can barely see over my pregnant belly, and finally give up, leaning my head back and letting go while he does what he does so well with his tongue.

  Caulter licks and sucks my clit until I'm nearly breathless, practically panting. "I want you," I say, trying to pull him up, my voice needy.

  Instead, he fucks me with his tongue, moving in and out until I'm throbbing, leaving me teetering on the brink. "I know what you want," he says. "But I want your pussy. I've been thinking about it all morning, and I want you to come on my face."

  "Damn it, Caulter," I whisper, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

  "I'll have you riding my cock soon enough," he says, teasing my opening with his fingertips. I bite my lip, trying to stifle my whine. "Does that feel good?"

  I laugh. "You know that feels good," I say. "You're just taunting me."

  Caulter chuckles. "I am," he says. "Because I want to hear how badly you want to come."

  "Make me come, Caulter," I say, my breath catching in my throat as he circles his fingers near my entrance, then over and over my clit.

  "You didn't say please," he teases. "It's not really begging unless you say please."

  "I want your tongue on me, Caulter," I say. "Asshole."

  "Goody two shoes," he says, referring to the names we called each other that summer at the lake house. He brings his tongue to my clit, so gently that the movement is more like a flutter, a breeze brushing over it. I'm so desperate for him that even that slight movement is almost more painful than pleasurable.

  "I gave you my tongue," he says. "Like you asked. Is that it?"

  "I want you to suck my clit," I say. "I want you to fuck me with your tongue until I come, Caulter. I want to wrap my legs around you and fuck your face."

  Damn, where did all of that come from?

  Caulter growls, a sound deep in his throat. "That's what I wanted to hear, Princess," he says.

  He doesn't wait, then. He covers my pussy with his mouth, the warmth sending waves of arousal rushing over me, one after the next. Licking and sucking, his tongue flicking in and out of me, he brings me to the edge.

  "Wrap your legs around me, Princess," he says, his hands on my ass cheeks, pulling me tightly against him. I do what he tells me to do, my legs over his shoulders, thighs pressing against his face as he thrusts his tongue inside me. I buck against him, and when he groans into my pussy, the sound is too much. It sends me over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me with the intensity of a freight tra
in.

  Caulter doesn't give me any respite. He doesn't wait until I'm finished. Instead, he pulls away from me, leaving me throbbing, practically whimpering. Unbuckling his jeans and pulling them down his legs before I can even register what he's doing, he sits on the seat beside me. "Come here," he demands.

  I know he wants me to ride him, but I don't want to do that. Not yet. "I want you in my mouth," I say.

  Caulter shakes his head. "I don't want my pregnant wife on her knees in the car, sucking my cock."

  "Are you saying you don't think I can fit?" I ask, dropping to my knees between his legs.

  "I told you not to do that," Caulter growls, but the sound changes to a groan when I wrap my hand around the base of his cock. His thick hard dick springs to attention at my touch, and despite his protest, Caulter slides forward in the seat so I can reach him.

  My eyes on him, I run my tongue up the underside of his cock, trying not to smile when he groans louder this time. "That fucking tongue of yours," he whispers.

  "This one?" I ask, licking his head, before wrapping my lips around his cock.

  "Those fucking lips of yours," he says, as I go to work, bringing him deep into my mouth. I take him in further each time I go down on him, sucking more forcefully when I reach the head of his cock. He threads his fingers through my hair as I suck him, careful not to pull me down on him, careful not to lose control.

  He's been careful with me ever since I got pregnant, as if he's afraid he's going to break me.

  But I don't want him to be careful. "Stop treating me like I'm fragile," I whisper.

  "I'm not treating –" he starts, but I interrupt.

  "I want you to fuck my mouth," I say. The words come out of my mouth in a rush, almost surprising me. I'm frustrated by his restraint. "I want you to come on my tits. I want you to come on my face."

  "Careful what you wish for, Princess," Caulter says, his voice thick.

  I don't respond. I keep my eyes on him while I slip my shirt over my head. He yanks my bra off and tosses it to the side, roughly now, and my swollen breasts hang heavy.

  I'm pregnant, buck naked in a car, telling my soon-to-be husband to come on my face. I guess I don't have to worry about the whole boring married life thing, if it's anything like the way things are now.

  Caulter caresses my breasts as I wrap my lips back around him, returning to doing what I was doing. It's not long before he pulls me tighter, his cock deeper in my throat as he starts to lose control.

  When he calls me Princess, repeating it over and over as he fucks my mouth, I know he's close. He's hard to the point that he's about to explode, and I taste his pre-cum, salty in my mouth.

  Finally, he warns me. "Princess, you better be ready. Are you sure?"

  I moan my approval, and he pulls out, spraying me with his hot cum. I feel it dripping on my cheeks, my breasts, down my belly, and I reach up to touch my fingers to it when Caulter speaks, his voice terse. "Oh shit," he says.

  "It's okay," I say. "It was totally hot."

  "No, Kate," he says, his voice insistent now. "There's a cop behind us! I can see him in the rearview mirror!"

  "What? Oh, shit." My heart is pounding at a rate that can't be healthy for a human being.

  Running my fingers frantically through my hair and wiping my mouth, I, pulling my pants back up around my belly. I scramble for my shirt, not bothering with the bra, and shimmy into my maternity pants with all of the grace of a very pregnant woman.

  That's the one good thing I can say about these stretchy maternity pants, at least – they're great for pulling off and on. Which makes them great for quickies in the back seat of cars. The pants manufacturer should definitely think about that fact when they're coming up with advertising campaigns.

  I bring my hand up to my face as Caulter struggles to zip his pants up and buckle them beside me.

  "Oh shit," he says, wiping his shirt across the cum on my face. "Get in the passenger seat and I'll climb into the driver's side."

  But we don't have a chance to do that before the cop knocks on the car window. Caulter rolls down the back passenger window. "Can I help you, officer?" he asks, his voice innocent.

  The policeman looks at us behind mirrored sunglasses. "Got a report of a suspicious vehicle pulled over on the side of the road here," he says. "License and registration, please."

  "Sure," Caulter says, giving him his best choirboy grin. "I'd be happy to get it. The registration is in the glove compartment, so I need to get out of the car."

  The officer pauses. "Any particular reason for loitering on the side of the road?"

  I interrupt, my hands on my pregnant belly. "That would be my fault, sir," I say. "I was car sick and my husband found a place to pull over to give me a break from riding in the car."

  The officer grunts. "Well, you pulled over in a small town," he says. "Mrs. Winters up the way likes to watch for loiterers with her binoculars. There are better places you can pick to pull over, I'm sure. Next exit up from here, there's a Wal-Mart with a parking lot."

  "Yes, sir," Caulter says. "We will do that."

  "Alright," the officer says. "It's probably best to get along now if you're feeling up to it."

  "I'm feeling much better," I say, trying to look serious while cum is dripping down my breasts underneath my shirt.

  He turns to walk away, then pauses. "Try those ginger candies," he says. "My wife used to use those a lot when she was pregnant. They settle the stomach."

  "Yes, sir," I say.

  As soon as he's out of earshot, a giggle erupts from my throat.

  "I know something else that settles the stomach," Caulter says.

  I slap him on the arm, but I can't stop laughing. "You'd better not say your cock in my mouth. Shit, we almost got charged with public indecency or something, Caulter!"

  Caulter shrugs. "I can't help it if you're a filthy girl."

  "Shut up," I say. "You got us into this."

  "You called me your husband back there."

  I realize I called him my husband without even thinking about it.

  The thought warms me inside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CAULTER

  We pull into the driveway of the Senator's lake house. We've been back here more frequently since we moved to Boston. Kate and her father patched things up, mostly. He's been on better behavior, mostly. He was a total asshole for so long, I still call him Senator Douchebag in private, even though Kate glares at me when I do it.

  At least I try not to call him that in public.

  We've been back here to visit, on weekends here or there, and Kate makes it a point to visit her mother's grave every year.

  I get the same feeling of nostalgia whenever we come here.

  This will be the first time we've been back here at the lake house for longer than a weekend. This is where Kate wanted to have the wedding, since she has so much history here.

  We have so much history here.

  I reach for Kate's hand and give it a squeeze, and she looks at me with a radiant smile. I love the flush on her cheeks that lingers for hours after orgasm, the glow she has that's a reminder of what happened between us.

  "You're thinking of all the naughty things we did in this place," she says.

  I don't hold back my laugh. "I actually wasn't," I say. "But now that you bring it up…"

  "Keep your dick in your pants, husband," she says. "Rose already saw that we're here."

  The housekeeper is walking toward us, and Kate opens the passenger side door and slides out of the car before Rose reaches us. Rose has always been important to Kate. After Kate's mother died, Rose was a maternal figure for Kate. She needed someone like that in her life, especially since the Senator's parenting plan seemed to be to ship Kate off to boarding school and be done with her, wiping his hands free of any actual parental duties.

  Of course, if he hadn't done things that way, I wouldn't have met Kate. Sometimes bad shit does have a silver lining.

  "Kate!" Rose says
warmly, her arms outstretched. She only lets Kate hug her for a second before she pulls her away to look at her. "Oh, you look more and more like your mother every day. Eight months, right?"

  "Thirty-four weeks," Kate says.

  Rose tsk-tsks her. "You're cutting it close with the wedding," she scolds. "And you're carrying low."

  "What does that mean?" I interrupt, as Rose puts her arms around me.

  "The baby gets lower, the closer you get to full term. Now, come inside," she says. "It's cold out here. I made Christmas cookies."

  Wait. Was she hinting that Kate might have the baby early?

  I don't get the chance to ask before they're off, chitchatting and laughing as they walk toward the house. I pull our suitcases and wedding attire, wrapped in plastic, from the car, being extra careful not to drag it on the ground

  I'm also careful not to look at the dress. Kate insists we have to adhere to tradition, which means I can't see the dress before the wedding. She actually proposed that we might not have sex the month prior to the wedding, but collapsed into giggles at that ludicrous idea before she finished the suggestion.

  Was Rose right? Kate's obstetrician was one of the best in Boston, and he'd approved of our travel to New Hampshire. "Go," he said. "Get married." Like it was no big deal.

  Now, I'm internally panicking. We considered about having the wedding earlier, but Kate was wrapped up in completing a series of paintings for an exhibition and she didn't want to be distracted from the wedding.

  Besides, the idea of a winter wedding was romantic.

  We thought we'd have plenty of time, since she wouldn't be due until forty weeks. Kate assured me that a first baby never came early, and the obstetrician echoed that sentiment.

  I make a mental note to call the obstetrician first thing in the morning.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," Kate says when I come inside with the luggage.

  "I'm fine," I say. Okay, I lie. I'm not fine at all. As much as I've been trying to do stuff to get ready for the baby – Daddy Boot Camp, the whole nine yards – the thought of being responsible for caring for another human being does scare me slightly.

  And the thought of that human being arriving early, or medical complications with Kate or the baby, or shit…the thousand things that could possibly go wrong… is terrifying.