Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)
Elf Against the Wall: Chapter 29

“I’m not going to cry.”

After months of spilling tears over Braeden, I swore I wasn’t going to cry over a boy ever again.

“Anderson’s a grown man, definitely not a boy, so maybe I can take the loophole,” I decided as I scrubbed the lingering touch of him from my skin in the shower.

He’d used me.

When he was fixing the window and laughing and helping bake cakes, he was just pretending to be nice, pretending to like me.

He was literally only entertaining the blackmail thing because he wanted to fuck with my parents.

I was suddenly exhausted.

I wanted to stay under the warm water until Christmas.

My skin prickled as the water started to get cold.

“Aaahhh!” I screamed in the shower of the tiny bathroom in the half-finished attic.

Instead of spending the money to finish the build, my parents had spent money adopting me. I was reminded of the fact whenever Ian and I had complained about sharing a room when we were younger. Of course the triplets got their own rooms. Three rooms. Once each. So that they could self-actualize, according to the expensive psychologist my parents had hired.

I took a breath.

“I am not bitter. I love my family. And I hate Anderson.” I opened the shower door too hard, and it slipped off the track.

Cursing, I slipped and slid on the cracked tile floor as, water dripping into my eyes, I tried to force the door back on the track.

“Stupid.” I was stupid, stupid, stupid to think that Anderson actually cared about me.

Clearly, he wasn’t a good person. No matter how much I wanted to change him, he was a villain. He probably got off on sticking it to my parents and humiliating me. Anderson had a fucked-up childhood and lived to spread chaos to those of us from good families.

I raced through the freezing-cold attic room to my bed. The saggy mattress buckled under my weight as I climbed under the mound of blankets, curling up into a ball.

My mom was right. It hadn’t been the first time I’d been caught kissing a boy in the mudroom, but it was definitely going to be the last.

“New Year’s resolution: Evie Murphy is turning over a new leaf. I’m going to get a job, I’m going to try really hard to replace a decent boyfriend, and I’m going to replace a place to live that isn’t me mooching off of family members. And I am never ever thinking or even speaking to Anderson Wynter.”

He was not a bad boy. He was a terrible man.

I flopped over onto my back, thinking about the last time I had almost given in to the temptation and fantasized about him.

Not anymore.

He was dead to me.

Too bad my hoo-ha hadn’t gotten the memo.

I turned over onto my stomach.

My fresh panties were completely soaked even though I’d been trying my hardest not to think about him.

It was just the unfairness of it—how smug, how sure he had been that of course I wasn’t going to be able to resist him.

I sat up in bed, the covers falling off of me.

“Stop thinking. What the hell is your problem?”

My problem was him.

Anderson didn’t get to have the final word.

“Lick his cum out of his hand,” I grumbled as I stuffed my feet into my boots, zipped up my long, heavy coat over my sleep shirt, and tiptoed down the creaky stairs.

The family members still hanging around late in the evening were watching the game highlights, drinking wine, and playing cards.

So wholesome.

I snuck past them to the back kitchen door.

I just made the bus and sat in my seat, fuming as the bus rumbled through town toward the Gulch and to Anderson.

The entitlement.

The arrogance.

The aggression.

The maleness.

He was the absolute worst.

When I walked up to the converted industrial building where he’d taken me last time, light glowed from one frosted window.

He was there.

“Anderson!” I rammed my fists on the metal. “Anderson, I know you’re in there. You don’t get to ignore me.”

No response, damn him.

“You open this freaking door right the eff—oof!”

The door swung open, and I stumbled inside, falling right in front of a shirtless Anderson.

His gray eyes blinked at me as he closed the door.

I scrambled to my feet, brushing off my coat.

“Look who came crawling back, begging for my cock,” he sneered.

“That is not what is happening. I’m here to yell at you.”

“Yell my name as you come?”

“Screw you. I’m not attracted to you.” Despite the cold, my face felt hot. I clenched my hands in their mittens.

He crossed his arms, the motion making his biceps bulge, sending those tattoos dancing.

I launched into my speech. “You pretended to be nice to me to get me to think you were a good person, then you used me.”

Anderson snorted. “I didn’t use you.”

“Yes, you did, for your sick games against my family.”

“Gingersnap, if I’d actually used you, you’d have cum dripping out of your ass right now.”

My eyes bugged out of my head.

“Now, take off that fucking coat.” His deep voice dropped an octave.

“I’m not staying.” I hated that my voice trembled.

“Gingersnap.” He reached out and tugged at the little knitted snowman on the tassel of the zipper. “I bet you aren’t wearing a bra under there.” The zipped rasped down. “You were lying alone in your bed, trying to talk yourself out of touching your clit.”

“I—”

Suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing my neck, holding me in place so he could force his other hand between my legs.

Through the flimsy nightgown fabric, he could feel I was soaking wet.

“Knew it.” A slash of a smug smirk filled his face.

He leaned in, crushed our mouths together, and pushed my coat down my arms.

His large hands slid up the nightgown. They were everywhere, on my tits, tugging at my panties.

“If you don’t take the nightgown off, I’m going to rip it off. Have fun explaining that when you stumble home.”

“How do you know I’m sleeping with you?” I croaked, pushing at his waist.

His large hand grabbed a fistful of the nightgown fabric, jerking me forward. My hands splayed over that muscular chest.

“You showed up here, didn’t you? You want to act like you’re the perfect Murphy princess, but you’re not. You want me to fuck you on the floor of this garage.”

I fumbled at the buttons at the neckline.

“Time’s up.” He grabbed the sleep shirt, ripping it straight down the front, buttons popping everywhere.

Then his mouth was kissing me, his tongue sweeping in my mouth. Then his teeth were on my nipples, which were pebble-hard.

I moaned as he stroked me through my soaked panties.

“Greedy little slut.” His voice was harsh. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?”

His hand slid under my panties, and a whimper slipped out.

“You know I like to hear you, like to hear you tell me how good that feels, how much you crave it.”

My legs trembled as he stroked me. A moan escaped. I didn’t want him to know what he was doing to me.

He kissed me roughly as I clung to his tattooed shoulders.

“I could make you come just like this. Is that what you want?”

I bit my lip, trying to keep from crying out.

He kissed me, the hand that had just been stroking my clit gripping my jaw. “You want me to leave you like this?” he growled against my mouth. “You want me to tell you to walk home with your pussy dripping down your legs?”

“Don’t leave me like this,” I whimpered, hating myself for giving in.

“Then I want to hear you beg.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

He whispered a horrible sensual curse in my ear. “I want to hear how much you want me, where you want me to fuck you, how you want me to fuck you.”

I swallowed.

“I want to hear you tell me how you want my cum in your hair and all over your tits and how you’ll kneel there, your cunt taking my thick cock as I fuck you raw, fuck you till you can’t even scream my name.”

Put me on the naughty list, but that was all I wanted for Christmas.

“I want you to hold me down and take me,” I choked out. “I’ll be a good girl for Christmas and hold my pussy open for you so you can ram your cock into me, every thick, throbbing inch. I won’t even touch myself, just hold my pussy open so you can take me.”

I reached for his zipper.

He nipped my lip. “You want me to fuck you that bad that you don’t even care if you come?”

“I know you’ll make me come.” I scraped my teeth on his jaw.

“Did Braeden ever make you come?”

Mrs. Claus’s tits. “What the hell?”

“Did he,” Anderson enunciated, “ever make you come? Did Preston? Did any of those guys you were fucking in the car, in your parents’ house, they even make you come?”

“Er… yeah?” I squeaked. “Definitely. Well, not Preston, but er—eep!”

He picked me up around the waist, took two large steps, then sat me down facing backward on his motorcycle, which was parked by the closed metal garage door. “You sure they made you come?”

The leather seat had me tilted back. I tried to struggle off the bike, grabbing at the handlebars, my legs splayed open.

Something glinted in his hand. A switchblade. He flipped it open.

“Oh my god!” I started screaming. “You’re going to murder me, and I’m not wearing a bra. My mother’s going to kill me.”

He pressed a large hand on my chest, forcing me back as I struggled.

“Police! Help!”

The blade cut through the red panty fabric with a whisper.

He flipped the blade closed with a snap, then he grabbed the cut scrap of fabric, pulling forward, making me feel excruciating pleasure as it slid along my slit.

“I knew this was a fetish for you,” I gasped.

“You hoped this would be a fetish for me,” he corrected me, tossing the scraps to the floor, then looked at me, those intense silver eyes darkened to a slate gray. His gaze swept down my naked body, from the rapid rise and fall of my tits, down my torso, down to the glistening slit of my cunt.

“You got your pussy all ready for me.” His thumb slid briefly along the beginning of my slit.

“Women can do groom for their own personal enjoyment.”

“Nah, Gingersnap, you were hoping to have my mouth on your clit.”

I gulped and struggled back against the handlebars. I let out a gasp as his fingers traced a line down my slit. His mouth was back on my nipple, sucking it while his fingers played in my pussy.

I couldn’t get any purchase to move my legs to close them or lift them up. I just had to lean back and take it, him stroking my hard clit with two fingers. He moved from my tits up to my mouth, kissing me, his tongue tangling with mine, claiming me.

His fingers slid down to push their way into my opening, stroking me like I wished he would fuck me—rough, hard, heavy.

“You are a bad girl,” he rumbled. “You’re getting my bike all dirty.” He added another finger.

I moaned, my nails digging into his hair.

Another long, slow kiss followed as his thumb rubbed my clit, and my hips surged up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been with a girl with a cunt as juicy as yours, Gingersnap.”

I clung to him as his fingers worked between my legs, stroking my clit.

“You like it, don’t you? I bet you’d love my cock up your tight little cunt.”

I mewled as his fingers twisted around my clit. In me, his fingers moved faster.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“I love getting fucked,” I moaned. “I like getting all dirty with cum. I want your cum all over me.”

His fingers curled in me, and my back arched up. He leaned down to take my tits again, teeth scraping the nipple as I gasped and my hips ground needy circles against his hand.

He stroked me faster, harder, working my pussy as I begged for his cock, for his cum.

We were going a hundred miles an hour to the cliff edge, then I was gushing all over his hand and the leather seat of the bike as he kept working my clit, milking my orgasm.

“Christmas crackers,” I gasped, pushing back my sweaty hair.

Arm and thighs shaking, I tried to haul myself off the bike. Anderson just watched as I struggled.

“I could fuck you just like that.” His voice had a dangerous lilt to it.

I stopped moving. “Then do it.”

He stepped up to me, grabbed me around the waist with one arm, and lifted me off the bike.

He was kissing me as soon as my feet hit the floor.

I pawed at his zipper.

He slapped my hand then turned me around.

“Bad girls who make a mess on my bike don’t get my cock. Now.” His large hand on the back of my neck pushed me forward. “Clean it up.”

My nose was practically in the wet spot on the leather. He had me bent over the bike, ass in the air. I struggled ineffectively.

“Don’t disobey me.” He swapped his hand, moving the one on my back of my neck to grab my ass, forcing my legs apart. He stroked my still-raw pussy then slapped me hard on the ass, making me squeal.

“I said clean it. Or you want me to use my belt?”

Damn.

My tongue darted out hesitantly to lick at the juices from my pussy. I got earthy musk and the slight animal scent of the leather. My tongue darted out again, licking long and slow along the leather.

Anderson’s fingers were back in my pussy, stroking me hard then moving down to finger fuck me.

I couldn’t help it. As much as I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, my hips rocked back against his hand as he added another finger, really working my pussy.

“I bet you want me to fuck you just like this. Your pussy’s wet enough. It’s dripping down your legs. You want me to make you come again? You want to come on my hand again, Gingersnap?” He twisted his fingers.

My pussy was still raw from moments ago, and all I could do was moan as his fingers stroked my cunt. His fingers tightened in my hair, pressing my face into the leather seat.

“Please fuck me,” I begged.

“You made a mess on my bike. Dirty girls don’t get cock.” His fingers surged up in my cunt, making me cry out. “They get punished.” He slapped my pussy hard.

“You can go home after this, your pussy still swollen, wishing you’d had my cock.” His knuckles dug into my clit. “But nothing you do to yourself is ever going to feel as good as this, no matter how much you try to touch yourself.”

His teeth sank briefly into my bare shoulder.

I was close. I couldn’t control my hips as they rocked back against his hands, needing, seeking, wanting.

I let out a sobbing moan.

“I could work your pussy like this all night.”

Then I was coming, the leather seat stifling some of my cries as he pumped his fingers into me as I shuddered my orgasm around his hand.

When it was over, I half lay there, draped on the bike, stunned.

He stroked me one more time then twisted my head and wiped his fingers on my mouth and chin.

“Lick it,” he ordered.

He let me suck on his fingers for a second then leaned down to kiss me hard, possessively.

His hand dropped, squeezing my ass like he owned it.

I struggled to push myself up, leaning on the bike.

“You don’t want to…” I trailed off.

His eyes flicked down my naked body dismissively.

“What? Fuck you? No, I don’t want to fuck you. I just wanted to prove that you did secretly want the man who almost killed your brother to destroy your pussy.”

He leaned in to spit the words into my ear. “Think about me when you touch yourself tonight. Think about me the next time you’re spreading your legs for one of your brother’s shitty friends. Hate me while you try to come. You Murphys need to pay for your sins. You’ll never escape me.”

He picked up my torn clothes off the floor and threw them at me.

Trying not to shake, I pulled on the nightgown and coat and drew them around me, all under his dismissive gaze.

I hated him. He’d made me come harder than any man had, and while I felt used, I still would bend over on the floor and let him come in me, just like he’d said.

Get it together, Evie.

I had come to get the parting shot. Not get the most mind-bending orgasm of my life.

“You’re so full of yourself,” I said haughtily. “No one fantasizes about getting fucked on a motorcycle in a shack. It would have been better if it was in a Ferrari in front of a mansion.”

Head held high, I strode to the door to do the walk of shame in the snow.

“I hope you don’t need a ride home,” Anderson called after me. “Be warned—if you mess up my bike, I’ll make you clean it up in front of your parents’ house.”

“You’re sick.”

“I told you I was a shitty person.”

The door slammed in my face.

Stunned, I walked to the bus stop on the corner.

What had I been thinking?

But then, wasn’t that how it always went? Find a shitty guy, build him up in my head to be the Nutcracker Prince, then get surprised and shocked when he was just a giant rat?

My phone rang.

“Girls’ night!” Granny Doyle whooped when I answered. “I already got Sawyer. The rest of them just want to stay home.”

In the background, music blared. Snowball was barking, and Sawyer was screaming, “Watch out for that truck!”

“Boo! Lame. Learn how to drive, asshole!” Granny Doyle laid on the horn.

“Let’s go, Evie! You’re my fun granddaughter.”

“I’m actually at Anderson’s.”

“Getting railed? I figured. No judgment. You gotta keep him on his toes. I’ll pick you up. I’m bringing you a change of clothes. I bet Anderson got cum everywhere.”