Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She climbed out, dripping, small. Ashamed.
Right then, I decided I'd take whatever punishment he wanted to throw.
I’d protect her. I’d carry it.
She’d be half-eaten with guilt, but I’d take the full weight.
“It was my idea,” I lied. “I told her to come. I thought it’d be fun. Nothing happened.”
He rounded on me, his fist raised.
“Stop being a fucking gobshite,” I said before I could think.
The swing came fast. I ducked, blocking it. Ducked another.
I wouldn't hit him.
I couldn’t.
He was still my father.
But I wouldn’t let him hit me, either.
“You absolute bollocks—”
“Stop!” Emma screamed. “Stop! Please, don’t fight! We were just swimming!”
He grabbed her by the arm, and something in me snapped. Red. Blinding. Final.
I’d never raised my hand to him. Not once.
But if he hurt her—
“Let her go,” I growled. “Let her go, or so help me, we’ll have a fuckin’ problem, you and me.”
He stared at me. Took only seconds to process he was in over his head, but he let her go.
That’s all that mattered.
“Get your stuff. Get back to the house. Put some fucking clothes on,” he barked and stormed off.
Emma stood there in the mud, dripping, looking young and terrified.
Heartbroken.
“Don’t be listenin’ to him, Em,” I said, stepping closer. I put an arm around her shoulders, tried to warm her with my body.
“It was harmless,” I said. “You’re just my sister, right?”
I ruffled her hair and tried to make her laugh. Tried to make it not hurt.
“We were just swimming.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Just swimming.”
Why did she look so sad?
And now—
Now I wait to hear her scream. A gasp. A slap. Something. Anything.
But there’s nothing.
I finish drying my hair and glance at the mirror. My hair’s sticking up—just like it did that day by the creek, the last time we ever swam together.
I was hers that day, even if she didn’t know it. Hell—I didn’t even know it. Not really. But I loved her then, and I love her now. I was so ready to tell my father off, to make a move… and then fucking Jake.
I brace myself to walk back out, expecting her to be gone.
But she’s not.
She’s on the couch, her legs tucked under her, the laptop closed. Firelight paints her in gold and red, shadows flickering across her skin.
She didn’t open it.
She lifts her eyes to mine—calm and trusting.
My god. What I wouldn’t do to keep that look in her eyes forever.
“I didn’t look,” she says.
My throat goes tight, but I just nod slowly.
“I trust you, Owen,” she says again, softer now.
“Come here, Emma,” I say, my voice is low and rough. I’m not asking.
She stands. Her bare feet whisper across the wood floor as she crosses to me, her body soft and warm from the fire.
That’s when I see it: She’s wearing my hoodie. It swallows her whole, draped over her like a claim I didn’t even ask for. And then she steps into my space, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
I hand her the slip of paper from my hand. Her eyes flare. Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.
“You cashing in another coupon?” she asks, breathless.
“You’re fuckin’ right I am.” I unfold it slowly.
She goes still, then flushes. That gorgeous, dangerous red blooms all the way down her neck, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“What was I thinking when I made these?” she says with a giggle. “Do you have anything in mind? Any kind of music?”
My fingers slide along her jaw. I tilt her chin up.
“Maybe I do.”
I cross the room, walk over to the old speaker on the shelf, and scroll through my playlist. I tap my phone and find the one I saved just for this—the perfect Christmas song. The one she could make sinful: “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”
My mouth goes dry. She tugs the hem of the hoodie and lifts it straight over her shoulders.
Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker. She’s wearing nothing underneath, not even a scrap of panties or a hint of a bra.
She climbs into my lap as the first notes play, straddling me slowly. Her knees spread wide over my thighs, framing me like a gift.
I really should go…
“Baby, it’s cold outside,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Is this okay?” she murmurs.
I grab her hips. “Christ, you’ve no idea.”
The hoodie falls. Her body moves in slow, perfect rhythm with the beat, like she was born for this. Small deliberate circles. Just enough friction to keep me on the edge of snapping.
Her eyes drag up my chest and into my hair.
She whispers the lyrics, pretty and soft, while I kiss her cheek and chime in.
I sing the lyrics, convincing her to stay.
And we become them—the song’s lovers.
Me trying to keep her, while she gives every excuse to leave.
I kiss her cheek as her voice trails off. We both know where the song goes next… about there being “talk tomorrow.”