Ten Dirty Demands (Dirty Duet #2.5) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Laurelin Paige

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Paige Press

  Leander, TX 78641

  Ebook:

  ISBN: 978-1-957647-34-0

  Paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-957647-35-7

  Editing: Erica Russikoff

  Proofing: Michele Ficht

  Cover: Laurelin Paige

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  Also by Laurelin Paige

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  The Dirty Universe Continues…

  Let’s stay in touch!

  Also by Laurelin Paige

  Paige Press

  About Laurelin Paige

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  ALSO BY LAURELIN PAIGE

  Visit my www.laurelinpaige.com for content warnings and a more detailed reading order.

  The Dirty Universe

  Dirty Duet (Donovan Kincaid)

  Dirty Filthy Rich Men | Dirty Filthy Rich Love

  Kincaid

  Dirty Games Duet (Weston King)

  Dirty Sexy Player| Dirty Sexy Games

  Dirty Sweet Duet (Dylan Locke)

  Sweet Liar | Sweet Fate

  (Nate Sinclair) Dirty Filthy Fix (a spinoff novella)

  Dirty Wild Trilogy (Cade Warren)

  Wild Rebel | Wild War | Wild Heart

  Man in Charge Duet

  Man in Charge

  Man in Love

  Man for Me (a spinoff novella)

  The Fixed Universe

  Fixed Series (Hudson & Alayna)

  Fixed on You | Found in You | Forever with You | Hudson | Fixed Forever

  Found Duet (Gwen & JC) Free Me | Find Me

  (Chandler & Genevieve) Chandler (a spinoff novella)

  (Norma & Boyd) Falling Under You (a spinoff novella)

  (Nate & Trish) Dirty Filthy Fix (a spinoff novella)

  Slay Series (Celia & Edward)

  Rivalry | Ruin | Revenge | Rising

  (Gwen & JC) The Open Door (a spinoff novella)

  (Camilla & Hendrix) Slash (a spinoff novella)

  First and Last

  First Touch | Last Kiss

  Hollywood Standalones

  One More Time

  Close

  Sex Symbol

  Star Struck

  Dating Season

  Spring Fling | Summer Rebound | Fall Hard

  Winter Bloom | Spring Fever | Summer Lovin

  Also written with Kayti McGee under the name Laurelin McGee

  Miss Match | Love Struck | MisTaken | Holiday for Hire

  Written with Sierra Simone

  Porn Star | Hot Cop

  ONE

  “Not happening,” I say, adamant despite Sabrina’s pleading expression. I don’t know which is harder to look at—her puppy dog eyes or the red and white monstrosity on the hanger she’s holding.

  She takes a step toward me. “But Donovan…”

  I don’t let that but Donovan go anywhere. “Not a fucking chance.” I scoot past her to adjust my bow tie in the bedroom mirror. Or to pretend to adjust it so that I don’t have to look at her, which backfires because, well, mirror’s happen to be reflective, and I can still see the pout of her mouth and the tension in her chest as she holds her breath, praying I’ll change my mind.

  Knowing I’ll change my mind.

  Because don’t I always when it comes to her?

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

  She obviously hears me since her smile is hopeful when I turn around. I glance at her lips and then again at the suit. The thing has to weigh a ton. Wearing it over my tux, I’m sure to get heat stroke, and no way am I putting that rented piece of shit against my bare skin. I shudder to think about who else has sweated into the fabric.

  No. It’s too awful. “Nate would be a better option for this.” I have no qualms about offering up my business partner for the job. He’d do the same for me. “Or anyone else at the office. Stan. Or that new guy in sales.”

  She’s shaking her head before I even finish talking. “This party is a gift for the staff. We’re not asking anyone to do anything. This is their night off. And Nate…well, I already asked, and he said you’d already bribed him to show up so no.”

  Of course he’d say no, not just because he has other things he’d rather do with a Saturday night. He has self-respect and isn’t wrapped around Sabrina’s little finger. Not for the first time, I lament that our other partner Weston is in France, running the Reach office there. He’d have done it. I might have had to twist his arm, but that would have been easy enough.

  If I do this, he’ll find out. Across the ocean or not, he’ll find out and he’ll never let me live it down.

  He’s my best friend, but I hate giving the asshole the satisfaction. “We don’t have to have a Santa,” I insist. “It’s not like there are kids at the company party. No one is going to miss him.”

  “I’ll miss him.”

  And that’s why I’ll do it. That’s why I’ll put on this fucking outfit and sweat like a pig, because this year she took over the Reach holiday party for the first time, and if it doesn’t go as she planned—if there’s no stupid Santa giving out the holiday bonus checks because the man who’d been hired got the goddammed flu at his mall gig earlier in the day—then she’ll consider the whole event a failure.

  She’ll consider herself a failure, and as the man who loves her more than life itself, I cannot allow that thought to even cross her mind.

  Which is why I’m about to consent to playing Santa myself.

  Kill me now.

  “Fuuuucck,” I say again, drawing it out on a sigh. “Will it even fit? The thing looks pretty large.”

  Excited now that she knows I’m about to relent, she throws the horrible thing at me so she can pick up some round puffy thing from the bed. “You wear this to fill it out,” she says. “Makes you jolly.”

  “Honey, it’s going to take a whole lot more than a pillow strapped around my waist to make me jolly.” I take it from her, though, and inspect it before tossing it back to the bed. I’d rather be dressed baggy than wear the stifling padding.

  I transfer the suit to my other arm as she steps toward me to run her hand over my chest. “I was hoping my outfit would be what made you jolly.”

  God, she’s good. The seductive tone in her voice, the flutter of her eyelashes, and yes, the super short Santa’s helper costume she’s donned is much appreciated. It’s red and fake-fur lined, and the cleavage she’s sporting has me imagine ways I could add a bit of white to her look. “I’d be jollier if I could skip this whole party and spend the evening getting you out of that outfit instead.”

  “Think of that as your reward after the party is over.”

  “You can’t offer what’s already mine as a reward.” I slip my hand under her dress, and to remind her just who belongs to who, I squeeze her ass. Too bad she’s wearing panties.

  “I’ll owe you one,” she says, suddenly serious. I can feel her awareness of the ticking clock. I’m well aware of the time. We don’t have all night to negotiate, but we don’t have to rush quite yet.

  “Oh, you’ll owe me more than one.” I release her so I can examine the suit. The beard is attached to the hat—clever—but it’s scratchy as hell.

  “How much will it take?” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I wonder if she realizes that the gesture makes her breasts even more pronounced, if that’s a tool she’s wielding purposefully or if it’s entirely coincidental.

  Honestly, she could just stand like that for another few minutes and let me have my naughty thoughts, and I’d be…

  Well, I’m not going to be happy. Not playing fucking Santa Claus, but I’m not exactly not happy. It’s hard to be discontent with my life at all when she’s in it.

  Not telling her that though. Especially when I see an opportunity to salvage this night another way. “Ten.”

  “Ten favors? I owe you ten favors for this one?”

  “Yep. And I decide the favors.”

  “So ten demands, you mean.” She knows me so well.

  “Ten dirty demands.”

  “Fine.” She scowls, but I know how much she likes this kind of play. Her pretending that she doesn’t is part of the kink.

  “Okay, then. Give me your panties, and we’ll seal this deal.”

  She doesn’t jump up and down, but she’s as giddy as she gets as she scrambles to get her panties off over her heels. She bunches them into a ball, as though they’re something she wants to keep secret, and passes them over. She gives me a peck on the lips. “That’s one,” she says.

  I want the kiss to go longer and deeper, but she’s already started the countdown, and this isn’t where I want to spend my demands.

  Before I can deliver another one, however, she’s poking me with her finger. “Get dressed,
Santa.”

  “No fucking way am I going outside in this get-up. I’ll change when we get there.”

  She twists my wrist so she can look at my watch. “Then we better leave now.”

  We’ll be plenty early, even if we delay departure for another fifteen minutes, but just then, my cell rings with the tone that indicates the limo’s waiting downstairs, and now that I think about it, what I have in mind can easily be taken care of on the ride over

  I stuff her panties into the inside pocket of my tux. “Lead the way, my love.” And lucky me, I don’t even have to demand the show she gives when she bends down to put on her heels on the way out. She gives it to me absolutely free.

  TWO

  We’ve only just pulled away from the curb when I make my next demand. “Play with yourself. Get yourself wet.”

  She glances toward the front of the car. The glass is closed between us and the driver, but it’s clear, which I’m guessing is the reason that she keeps her legs closed and her skirt covering her hand as she slides it underneath. “Three,” she says, counting off this task like there’s an invisible checklist.

  “No, no, no. I need to see.”

  I try to pull up her skirt, but she shoos my hand away. “That will cost you another demand.”

  “Like hell it will. How do I even know what you’re touching? You could be rubbing the top of your thigh for all I know. I need your legs spread and your cunt glistening for it to count.”

  She hesitates, her eyes flicking again toward the glass. When I don’t offer to close the current, she moves to the seat facing me, which I wholeheartedly approve of, because then she pulls up the tiny skirt and spreads her thighs apart and the view is better than what’s out our window, Rockefeller Center, all lit up with Christmas.

  I remain stoic, but my eyes are transfixed as she draws her finger up and down her seam before nestling it inside her folds where her clit is buried. “I still say it counts as two demands.”

  I know her better than I know myself, and there’s no doubt in my mind the argument isn’t genuine. She likes the fight, just as much as she likes the submission. Just as much as she likes the fact that she’s baring her pussy to me while another man sits in the front seat unaware.

  “Don’t try to reduce your sentence, Sabrina. The demand is that you play with yourself for my entertainment, and that means doing whatever you need to make sure I’m entertained.”

  “I could do the job with sound alone.” She’s already breathless, and she’s right—the little moan that passes her lips as she speeds up the swirl of her finger against her clit is quite entertaining.

  Despite her words, she brings one heel up to the seat next to her ass, tilting her pelvis backward, giving me an even better view, and fuck she’s wet. Not only can I see it, but I can hear how slick she is as she draws the moisture from her entrance to her clit, and it’s all I can do not to lean forward and draw that swollen little bud into my mouth and make a feast of her.

  But we’re only a block away from Reach, and her rhythmic whimper and inability to keep her eyes open says she’s close to coming, and that means it’s time to…”Stop,” I say.

  “Stop?” Her hand doesn’t rest. “But I’m almost there.”

  I lean forward and grab her hand before she explodes. “I know,” I say when she opens her eyes to give me a questioning glare. “That’s why I said stop.”

  This time, her scowl is authentic as she understands what I’m up to. “You asshole.”

  “You love it.”

  She drops her foot from the seat with a stomp and throws her skirt down to cover herself, much like a little girl having a tantrum. “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” she huffs.

  “So frustrated. And so entitled. It’s almost as though you forgot these demands are supposed to be about satiating me, not you.”

  “Like I said—asshole.” I’m still holding her hand, and when she tries to pull it away, I clutch tighter.

  She responds by yanking with more force, so I move over to her side of the car so I can keep hold of her hand and put my other arm around her while I continue to patronize her. “You didn’t think I’d make this easy, did you?”

  The car starts to slow and pull toward the curb, and she seems to recognize the futility of wrestling with me further when we don’t have the opportunity to let it turn into anything fun. “That definitely counts as number three,” she says. “The show was one, the stopping was another.”

  I’ll give that to her, though I don’t admit it out loud. Instead, I bring her still wet fingers up to my nose and sniff. Her eyes are dark as they widen, and a shudder runs through her.

  But then the driver opens the door on her side, and when she jerks her hand back, this time I let it drop.

  She climbs out, managing to keep her skirt down as she does—believe me, I look. As for myself, there’s no hiding how aroused I am. Perhaps I should be grateful that I have the Santa suit to carry as I step out of the car.

  No, that’s going too far.

  But she’s wet and aroused and without panties, and knowing this evening will be difficult for both of us sure makes it a whole lot less dreadful.

  THREE

  Two and a half hours later, the party is in full swing, and while the Santa suit is just as hot and stifling as I’d imagined, I’m surprised to find that intermingling with my employees in the get-up isn’t all that terrible. There are even some unexpected benefits. It reduces the need for small talk—I fucking hate small talk—and I’m able to throw around the word “Ho” without having to be worried about a lawsuit.

  The downside, however, is that, as Sabrina had expected, everyone loves the idea of Santa for Grownups, which has meant I’ve been surrounded all night long. The event photographer has basically been glued to my side, and while Sabrina has been as well, there hasn’t been much opportunity to demand anything dirty.

  Finally, all the bonus checks have been distributed from my bag of gifts, and most of my employees are either huddled around tables with their favorite coworkers or making a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor. Someone has opened a door to the balcony, so a cool breeze sweeps through the ballroom just as Sabrina puts a tumbler of scotch in my hand.

  “I’m very happy right now,” she says before she takes a sip of her champagne, and I have a feeling the source of her mood is not the alcohol. The party’s a success, and she’s thrilled, and she credits a good deal of that to her husband dressing up as Kris Kringle, which is fucking bullshit. The event is a success because of her and her alone. I could tell her, I should tell her, but I actually am an asshole when it comes to expressing how I feel with words. I’m much better with action, and that means it’s time for another one of my demands.

  Because, despite what I said earlier, the demands are about her, not me. Just like everything I do is about her. My greatest, and perhaps only, gift is being able to know exactly what she needs, and right now I know she needs a reward.

  I get the chance to give her one when her assistant approaches us. “I got my gift earlier, but I need a photo with Santa,” Roxie says. “Weston will never believe you did this without proof.”

  Of course it would be Roxie who betrays me. She was Weston’s assistant for the first five years the company was in business. Sabrina inherited her when he moved to France, and she took over his job.

  “You traitor,” I (mostly) tease. “If it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you, I suppose. Hop on.” Praying that my Human Resources director isn’t watching, I spread my legs wide so she can perch on my knee without being too inappropriate. Then, I look at Sabrina. “Santa’s helper should get in on this too, don’t you think, Roxie?”

  “Oh, yes! The more the merrier.”