Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Micah, Ledger, and I managed to get that thing back to the house under the cover of darkness. But the body was too badly mangled to fix. The Mustang was the joy of my mom’s life but none of us would ever fess up to what happened that night.
She narrows her gaze. “We were kids. It’s been ten years. She wouldn’t still hold a grudge.”
I’m silent because we all know the machine was like a fifth child. She babied that car and was constantly detailing it. Dad got her a new one, a midnight blue Mustang from a different decade. But it’s not the same and we all know it.
“And you wouldn’t tell on me anyway.” Her tone is different now, not as certain. A little more desperate.
I keep silent again. I keep silent around Cassie all the time because there are things I want to tell her. Fantasies about her, filthy and depraved ones. Things a man has no business thinking about his best friend’s little sister, much less whispering in her ear.
“You’re trying to blackmail me. It’s not going to work.” She starts pacing the workshop. The little hem of her dress is swishing back and forth, rubbing across her thighs. Fuck, how is it that I’m jealous of a dress that gets to wrap around her curvy body and hug that luscious ass?
When she passes my way again, I shove my hands in my pockets to avoid the temptation to reach out and run my fingers along the soft material. I want to know if she’s as firm and juicy as I’m thinking.
My favorite fantasy of us together pops into my head. The one where she’s in my bed, completely at my mercy. Her pupils are blown, and her lips are swollen. She’s drenched, her sexy scent filling the air. She’s begging me to fill her sweet holes, to feel my cock ram deep into her.
“I’m impervious to your tricks!” She finally declares with a finger upheld.
I shrug and step toward the door. “Suit yourself.”
One step, two steps. Before I can make the third, she’s calling my name. Damn, it’s sweet torture to hear my name on her lips and know she’ll never call it in ecstasy. She’ll never call it while she’s writhing and moaning, her naked flesh pressed against mine.
“I’m not doing this for you.” She has a defiant tilt to her chin. I want her to defy me later. I’d teach her a lesson. Keep her on edge until she was begging and pleading for her release. Only then would she get to come. Then I’d make her come again and again. Just so I could watch her curvy body shudder and shake.
“Course not,” I mutter. When have I ever done anything that would make her think we’re friends? It’s always bugged me that I can’t be the first person she calls when she has good news or the last person she wants to text at night. But hell, I made this bed. It’s not right to complain that it’s a cold and lonely one.
“I’m doing this because I love mom and dad,” she says. “But if you ever threaten me again, I’m telling mom about the filthy magazines under the couch that you blamed on Ledger.”
Shit, I forgot about that teenage lie. This is the problem with growing up with your crush. You have all the dirt on each other. “I’m telling Dad about the time you fake cried to get out of a ticket.”
“I’m telling Mom about you spray painting filthy art on Old Man Teller’s barn before letting his bull out of the pen.”
Shit, I’m not sure about the statute of limitations on what my brothers and I did to Old Man Teller. The guy was a mean bastard to us growing up. It’d probably give him enormous satisfaction to see the three of us picking up trash on the side of the highway these days.
I hold up my hand because we aren’t going to get anywhere doing this. We have a lifetime of sins and misdeeds on the other. “Let’s just agree to work together in the spirit of Christmas and not because anybody is blackmailing anybody.”
Her grin turns triumphant and there’s a blush creeping down her neck. I want to peel that dress off and see if that flush goes all the way down. I want to know what color every inch of her skin is, know the exact shade of her nipples and the precise hue of her pussy lips.
“Deal,” she announces. “Though we both know mom would have been more disappointed with you than me.”
“Where’s the rest of your dress?” I demand when Cassie shows up in Santa’s workshop later that day in a red dress that clings to her skin like she was born in it.
What is it with Cassie wearing half-finished clothes around me? It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. All I want to do is charge her and maul her like an animal. Pretty sure that’s not the show all these decorators came to see.