Filthy Christmas by Darcy Rose EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Darcy Rose
- Language: English
- Genre: New Adult & College Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
FAITH
I’M AT MY DESK, STARING OUT THE WINDOW OF MY SECOND-STORY
townhouse. It’s Christmas Eve, and the trees outside are covered with white
snow. The sky is full of clouds, and though it’s barely into the evening, the
streetlights have come on. Golden circles of light fall on the glimmering
snow, and I see the lights on at almost every house in view—all except
Vincent’s.
Vincent. Just the thought of him sends a shiver down my spine. Our
neighbor, Vincent, is an enigma. A handsome, broody, and unfortunately
way too old for me enigma. Simply thinking about him feels wrong and
forbidden, so I try not to.
Instead, I’m fantasizing about the day I get out of here, the day I can
finally get away. I tap my finger gently against my lips as I daydream about
a strong stranger, some man carrying me over the threshold of a new home.
A new life, a new future…
I imagine my lover as tall, with close-cropped dark hair. His veins
throbbing through his forearms as he touches me, the sharp angle of his jaw
as he presses his forehead to mine, the feeling of his fingers pressing into
the grooves of my spine.
I wrap a tendril of my brown hair around a finger as my fantasy turns a
little darker. Ignoring the novel still open on my desk, waiting to be read, I
close my eyes and focus on my daydream. My stranger starts to look more
and more familiar, as I realize who I really wish was touching me…
“FAITH!” my mother’s shrill voice rings up the stairwell, making me
jump half a foot in the air. My heart rate triples, and I shove the dirty
thoughts out of my head.
As if she could read my mind. I know she can’t, but sometimes she
gives me a look so judgmental and condescending that I fear she might hear
my innermost thoughts. Which are, to be fair, pretty resentful. We don’t
exactly get along.
“What is it, Mom?” I call back, turning in my seat but not getting up.
The seam of my jeans is pressing just slightly against my now swollen
clit. I cross one leg over the other, trying to ignore the throbbing as my
mom appears in the doorway to my bedroom.
Her hair is in curlers, and she has an almost frantic look on her face.
She’s pouting slightly, and suddenly, I am reminded of her beauty pageant
days. Sometimes, she still has the beauty queen affectations, namely, the
megawatt smile on command and perfect graceful wave. It used to
embarrass me so much when she would pick me up from middle school and
wave at me from the car like she was on a parade float or something.
She tried to get me to do beauty pageants when I was a kid. After I burst
into tears onstage three pageants in a row, she gave it up. Even as a child, I
preferred to stay home, held up in my room, with my nose stuck in a book.
It has always been our biggest point of contention.
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