My pussy clenches involuntarily because I recall last Christmas.
Bobby—Bronteate me out three times, brought me a box full of Christmas cookies to snack on in between, before he finally and dreamily fucked me to sleep.
I woke up the next morning with him there, but I couldn’t tell you from lack of memory who it was.
Bobby or Bronte.
And I don’t think I want to know.
“Mhm, she likes dirty fucks,” he muses above me. “Bobby ever fuck you like this, Daydream? Has he ever gotten you on the floor, shoved his cock into you, and treated you like a piece of property?”
No.
But that word isn’t going to leave my lips, and I sure as hell am not going to give him the satisfaction to know that.
I’m also not going to tell him that I like it when he uses me because it’swrong.
“Not with you,” I muster and force from my lips with a sneer. “I’m too busy imagining that you’re Bobby right now.”
His nostrils flare a bit before he locks his jaw.
I fully expect him to come back with something or a clapback to my bait, but instead, he locks an arm underneath my lower back and positions me so that my upper half is suddenly underneath the Christmas tree.
Colorful lights and glass ornaments hang off the spruce’s branches in my current view, but Bronte is still fucking me like he’s trying to expel Bobby from my head.
“Here you go, Daydream,” he drones. “It’ll help you with your imagination, so you don’t have to look at the man you married and loved to fuck.”
My eyes roll into my head, not from his comment, but when he spreads my ass cheeks and takes me even deeper.
I told him to stop, but if he did right now, I might die.
Shamefully.
I was just engaged to Bobby and pledged my life to him, but now I’m getting pounded away by his twin brother, whom I secretly married, and now I see why.
It was supposed to be a secret, so I couldn’t back out. It’s craftiness at its finest.
How are you going to explain this to Bobby, Meirna?
Shooting upward, I knock into branches and feel afew scratch at my face. A few ornaments fall and bounce off the hardwood floors as I’m ready to give Bronte another go for his money.
But when I see his light green eyes honed in on me, packed with hunger and a vulnerability I haven’t seen yet, I pause.
I stupidly fucking pause.
“Miss me already?”
Moment of temporary relapse broken.
Cocking my hand back, Bronte doesn’t stop me when I slap him across the face again. “I saidstop.”
“Wrong word,” he mutters, cupping the back of my calves so it doesn’t hinder his cock leaving my body.
“Please.”
I can’t believe I’m sayingpleaseto this jerk who put me in this position in the first place.
Bronte doesn’t say anything, too busy looking between our bodies as he enters me harder, hypnotized by what he’s doing to me.
