Page 38 of Holiday Power Play

“You’re saving yourself for marriage?” I ask her.

Her laugh rolls through her chest and out her nose. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

“I… we can’t do anything outside of here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you and I… whatever this is. It stays here.”

“And what is this?” I ask her.

If you ask me, this is two people realizing there might be something more than just a rivalry. But to her…

“It’s just lust.”

“Lust,” I say.

“I want you. And you want me. But it’s just physical.”

Just physical because how could she ever want a stupid jock who thinks with his cock. I see.

“Ok, little grinch. It’s just physical. After Christmas, we go back to our regularly scheduled lives where we don’t talk to each other and you can go back to hating me.”

“I still do hate you,” she says with a grin. “You’re a dick, remember?”

I sit back and pull her up with me, settling her on top of me. She straddles me and steadies herself against my shoulders.

“You want to see a dick, Lana. Just ask,” I say, thrusting my hips against her. She rubs herself over the length of me and I’m desperate to feel her take my cock.

“You think you’re such a stud, don’t you?” she asks, eyes hooded and looking down at me.

“I’m not the one riding my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had,” I say into her neck.

“Just promise me you won’t say anything to Vance,” she says, stopping her hips.

“About?”

“This,” she hisses.

“Oh, you don’t want me to tell your brother that I fucked his sister while he slept off his drunken night?”

She slaps my chest. “You haven’t fucked me,” she says.

“No,” I shake my head and then reach for her throat, pulling her lips down to mine. “But I’m about to.”

Now in one swift motion I rip off the shirt that she's wearing and she looks down and watches as the buttons go flying into the air all around us. Her eyes widen as she looks at me, and I take in the sight of the white lace bra. She looks like a snow angel.

“What's wrong, baby?” I say looking at her she stares back at me dumbfounded.

“Did you just rip my shirt?” she asks, incredulously.

“How else was I going to bind your hands and cover your eyes?” I tug the material down her arms, and before she has a chance to protest I flip her and she’s now in my spot.

“Hands on the back of the couch,” I tell her.

“What are you–”

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