A Grump for Christmas (Piper Falls: Christmas #10)

Chapter One

? Isla ?

The first time had been a mistake.

The second time, a choice.

I chose to stay up.

I chose to sneak out after everyone was sleeping.

I chose to slip into the guesthouse to watch.

Afterwards, after I’d cum all over my fingers and the scent of sex and sweat clung to the air, I chose to creep back to my bed like some sick thief in the night.

But that’s just it. In those few moments while I huddled outside the door, knees up and open, fingers slipping through an insane amount of arousal, a lot happened. Not just the shameful act I committed by listening, but the secondary act taking place on the other side of the wall.

I’m sick.

I’ll never disagree with the fact. If ever caught, I have no leg to stand on. I’d have to throw myself at the mercy of my brother and his best friend and beg them not to deprive me of this one joy.

I have considered that this is partially their fault. Who doesn’t lock their doors in this day and age? They practically threw down the red carpet welcoming me in.

Mom is also to blame. Had she not sent me to grab the box of Christmas lights from the guesthouse basement, I never would have walked in on what started this whole thing. And Walker, Mom’s husband who put the decorations in the guesthouse in the first place.

So, realistically, I’m probably only twenty percent at fault. I can’t be blamed for the errors of others.

“Isla?”

I blink out of the sweet memory of the previous night and focus on my mother’s expectant expression.

“Sorry,” I say, dropping my forgotten spoon back into the bowl of soggy O’s.

Mom’s lips purse. “I’ve been talking to you for the last twenty minutes. It’s rude to ignore people like that.”

I wince at my own lapse in judgment. The events of the previous night have me distracted.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“Where did you go?” she presses, turning to grab a bowl of something under a dishcloth.

Sense tells me she might not appreciate the truth. She would definitely have follow up questions I’m not able to answer without getting a one-way ticket to jail.

Do they send people to jail for breaking into people’s homes and watching them fuck? I checked. They do. It’s pretty frowned upon.

“Just tired, I guess,” I lie.

A plump ball of dough is scooped out and dropped on the counter, sending a cloud of white dust into the air.

“Are you not sleeping again?”

It’s been a while since my insomnia kept me up at night. That’s not what has me lying in bed, wide awake, pussy throbbing and wet, staring at the ceiling waiting for her and Walter to go to sleep.

Even now, seated in her immaculate kitchen with my forgotten breakfast, my mind is trapped in the memory of Nicolas on his knees, hard, ripped body slick with sweat, gray eyes squeezed shut tight as Dominic fucked him from behind.

My brother of nineteen years had whimpered when his best friend since diapers fisted his hair with one hand and gripped his cock with the other.

???

Even now, seated in her immaculate kitchen with my forgotten breakfast, my mind is trapped in the memory of Nicolas on his knees, hard, ripped body slick with sweat, gray eyes squeezed shut tight as Dominic fucked him from behind.

My brother of nineteen years had whimpered when his best friend since diapers fisted his hair with one hand and gripped his cock with the other.

The multitasking had taken my breath away.

Watching Dominic jerk and fuck Nicolas while calling him a filthy whore had taken me out from my squatting position outside the living room door.

I had two fingers knuckles deep in my dripping channel and had to slap my other hand over my mouth as I came with Nicolas’s whimper of, “Harder, Daddy. Fuck my ass harder.”

I barely heard Dominic’s cruel chuckle over the brutal slap of skin on skin and Nicolas’s scream of pure agony.

“Fucking little whore. Don’t you fucking cum. I’m not done plowing your tight hole.”

I came again with enough force to send me to my knees, one hand braced on the carpet, the other driving deeper in my seizing cunt.

“I can’t. Please…”

“Don’t cum, slut. You know what will happen if you do.”

Nicolas’s wail had me peeking around the corner to find my brother seated in his friend’s lap, back to his chest, asshole stretched around Dominic’s thick cock while his own was being choked by Dominic’s fist.

“Fuck, please, Dom—”

The other man’s free hand shot up to close around Nicolas’s throat.

“What did you fucking say?”

“Daddy. I meant Daddy.”

In the gold hue of the lamplight, Dominic’s expression was sadistic and cruel. Vicious as he pumped Nicolas’s leaking, purple cock.

“Want to cum, little whore? You want to cum for Daddy while riding his cock?”

Nicolas’s face was a mask of unadulterated ecstasy. A desperate plea that nearly had me crawling out to fall face first on his beautiful dick and letting him finish down my throat. I’d even straddle him and take every inch.

But I did nothing but watch and finger my clit as my brother drove his hips up into Dominic’s fist and down on Dominic’s dick.

“Please. Please, Daddy.”

Dominic turned his face into the side of Nicolas’s. “You know what I want. You know what would make Daddy so fucking happy.”

Nicolas was shaking his head before the other man even finished. “I can’t. You know I… oh, fuck, Daddy. Fuck!”

Dominic groaned, knuckles white around the cock in his hand. “That’s how hard I get at just the thought. I need it, baby. I need you and that sweet little…”

I don’t hear the rest as Nicolas cums all over Dominic’s fingers with a strangled scream. Dominic jerks him until the last shudder, the last squirt before bringing all that jizz up and stuffing his fingers into Nicolas’s mouth.

Panting and wheezing, Nicolas grabs the wrist and greedily sucks and licks the mess.

“I know you want it, too,” Dominic drawls while the man in his lap bucks and rolls his hips on the cock still in his ass. “I know how hard your dick gets. How many times have I had to suck you off in your dad’s bathroom?”

“Fucking love seeing you on your knees with my cum on your tongue,” Nicolas moaned, rutting faster.

“Then let me.” The hand falls from Nicolas’s mouth to clamp around his neck, pulling his head back on Dominic’s shoulder. “Let me fuck your little sister. Let me put a baby in her tight cunt. I know you want it. Want to watch my cum pour out of her holes while her belly swells.”

Nicolas sobs, cock hard all over again. “Stop…”

“Take your pick, little whore.” Dominic has my brother’s cock in hand once more. “Let me breed your sister or you wear a plug to breakfast in the morning.”

???

Now, sitting in my mother’s kitchen, pussy sore and leaking as I replay that scene on the loop, it’s very obvious who the little sister is.

I’m the sister.

I’m the only sister.

It’s just me and Nicolas.

And Dominic wants to fuck me. He wants my stepbrother to watch. He wants me to give him a baby. Not as some surrogate, but where he puts it inside me himself and only hasn’t because of Nicolas.

Like it has all morning, my pussy rushes with heat. My panties flood. My clit swells.

I have to shift on my stool to ease the pressure, only making it worse.

It’s the soft tinkle of the front door announcing a visitor that distracts my brain... my mom.

“Now, who on earth could that be?” Mom twists her fingers in a dishrag and starts in the direction of the door. She pauses briefly to glance back over her shoulder at me. “Stay away from the cookies, Isla. I say this with love, but you can really do without any more padding.”

I had no intention of touching anything. I know the rules. Even as a child, baked goods were for everyone else. But it never stops Mom from reminding me what a shitty metabolism I have.

My weight has balanced itself out somewhat the last year or so. I’m pretty comfortable in my skin finally, but I know how easily that can tip with the wrong food, stress, or even just hormones.

I’m okay now.

At least, I thought.

Still, baked goods hasn’t held any appeal since third grade when Mom brought my class a tray of fat, chocolate cupcakes with a thick layer of the most decadent frosting lightly sprinkled with tiny, sugar stars and announced to the room at large that everyone was welcome to eat as much as they liked.

.. except me. I needed to lose some weight so I wouldn’t kill anyone when I collapsed the swing set.

For four years, I was called Swing Crusher. It stopped only when Mom met and married Walker and we moved to Piper Falls.

I think I was more excited than she was to leave that place.

My room was the first one packed. Only, apparently, kids are just mean everywhere.

Somehow, word got out about my nickname and it twisted from me simply being an overweight child to crude innuendos about my sexual preferences.

Crusher vanished and it became Slutty Swinger.

Hilarious because I’d been a virgin throughout high school.

But it wasn’t just the name calling that finally sent me running. It was the hands that would try to reach under my skirt. The boys who would corner me in empty stairwells and feel me up. It was the words carved into my locker.

Teachers were no help — kids will be kids. I should be flattered that the most popular boy in my class tried to put his hands inside my underwear. I should stop wearing skirts if I was self-conscious.

Mom took it as a personal insult that I was deliberately trying to ruin things between her and Walker. I was lying, making things up so I could go back to my dad.

I stopped telling people. I avoided deserted places. I skipped a lot of classes. Eventually, I just packed my things and ran. A few times.

But a teenager can only get so far on seventy bucks without paying by other means. I always came back and Mom never made me forget how I humiliated her.

So, no. I don’t want any cookies.

The shuffle of feet across the carpet has my head turning away from the cluster of unfinished dough to the two stepping into the kitchen.

Mom and a face I haven’t seen in a while. One that makes my stomach twist on the heel of my high school memories.

Stephanie Finley.

While other kids enjoyed watching my humiliation, Stephanie begged for it. With me as the new, shiny toy to kick around, everyone forgot about her. She was saved from their ridicule and abuse because it all fell on me.

I don’t blame her, honestly. I understand what it means to beg God to turn you invisible just to live one day in peace. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven all the times I know she saw what was happening and turned away, or when she feigned ignorance when I tried to get help.

But we’re adults now. Holding a grudge is useless.

So, I offer a faint bob of my head when she steps in after Mom.

“Look who came by.” Mom plucks the steaming tin of freshly baked pie — rhubarb by the smell of it — from the other woman’s gloved hands. “And this smells delicious.”

Awkward with a pale face dusted with a million freckles, Stephanie stuffs her hands into her pockets. Bright, orange curls peek out from beneath a knitted, green hat stuffed low over her brow.

“Mom made it,” she mumbles into the collar of her pea green jacket.

The pie is set carefully on the stove with the trays of tarts waiting to go in.

“Will you stay for a slice?” Mom turns, dusting her hands. “I was just making a fresh pot of coffee.”

Stephanie looks like she would rather be anywhere else. She’s already shifting backwards, edging to the door. “I should go.”

Mom purses her lips but doesn’t stop her. Together, they move back down the corridor with Mom urging her to stay a few minutes.

I know she doesn’t mean it. Mom abhors company when she’s busy. But it’s the polite thing to do, just like Stephanie leaving was the polite thing to do.

The smile is gone when Mom returns. She has the downward frown of someone ready for the day to be over. I can’t say I blame her. It’s only seven in the morning and I’m already done with today.