Page 43 of Filthy Rich Santas

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” I snap, some of my hurt spilling over. “Because you missed a spot.” I brush my fingers over the little triangle of trimmed hair on my pussy, getting them wet with the last of his cum then holding them up for him to see. “If you’re trying to clean up all the evidence, you should make sure to do a better job.”

He grimaces, looking away. “That’s not what I was doing.”

I scoff and roll off the bed, done with lying naked in front of him when he considers me a mistake.

I scoop up the silky shorts and camisole I slept in.

“There. Happy? It’s like it never happened now,” I say sharply once I’m dressed again, balling up my panties in my fist since I didn’t bother putting them back on in my haste to cover myself again.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking oddly vulnerable without his glasses on. “We both know it happened.”

“And that you regret it.”

A pained look crosses his face. “I didn’t say that. I said we shouldn’t have.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re Caleb’s little sister.”

My hurt feelings morph into anger. “So? You’re Meg’s grandson!”

He blinks, rearing back a little. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing! That’s my point! You’re more than who you’re related to, and so am I.”

Tristan shakes his head. “You’re comparing apples to oranges. You don’t have the same relationship with my grandmother as I do with your brother.”

“And what about your relationship withme?” My voice is rising, but I can’t help it. He’s infuriating. “Am I supposed to only be defined by who I’m related to? Because I’m pretty sure I’m a whole person. One who makes her own decisions.”

“Of course you are.”

“Am I, though? To you? Because it sounds like I’ll never be a woman in your eyes. Not if all you see when you look at me is Caleb’s little sister.”

“That’s not all I see,” he says after a minute, his heated gaze raking down my body. Then his eyes meet mine again. “But it’s still true,” he says with a sigh. “Caleb trusts me. He’s one of my best friends. I can’t just pretend that being his little sister isn’tpartof who you are.”

Even though the rational part of me knows it’s different, I suddenly flash back to Wade. He defined me by my family ties too. By who I was related to, what kind of connections he thought I could help him with, and the expectations he put on me because of that.

It’s everything I wanted to walk away from, and it’s suddenly too much to feel it from Tristan too.

“I never asked you to pretend,” I tell him stiffly, the fight going out of me. “But I’m more than that too, and someday I’d really like to meet a man who can see that.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but honestly, I think he’s said enough, so I don’t wait around to hear it. But it’s just my luck that the moment I open his door, still in my silky little sleep set and no doubt looking as well-fucked as I felt for those few blissful moments on the bed before reality crashed back down, Ryder and Beckett both step out of the room they’ve been sharing next door.

They freeze when they see me, their eyes widening in a way that would be comical if I were in a different mood. But I’m not, and my cheeks flame with embarrassment as I lift my chin in a small show of defiance, then quickly slip back into my own hotel room before they can say anything.

I head straight to the shower, but as good as it feels to step into the cocoon of hot steam and white noise, it does nothing to quiet my racing mind. I hate that I’m still turned on, even after the emotional ringer I just went through.

Of course, I’m still stunned that anything happened between us at all, and despite how upset I am about the aftermath, I can’t help replaying it in my mind as I soap myself under the water.

I’ve always liked Tristan. Not just the way he looks, but also the way heis. Smart. Quietly funny. Kind. But I feel like he just pulled the curtain back and showed me an entirely new part of himself. One that was filthy in all the ways I crave, and commanding too.

I’ve never been talked to the way he talked to me, and it’s that that got me off as much as what we actually did.

And I want more of it.

My hands go still, fingers buried in the lather I’m working through my hair, and something inside me deflates.

“It’s not going to happen though, is it?” I whisper to myself, the one memory I’d rathernotreplay in my head suddenly front and center.

Tristan thinks it was a mistake, and nothing I said changed a damn thing.

---