A FILTHY Christmas (Filthy Line Book 6)

  A FILTHY Christmas

  Jaxson Kidman

  Contents

  A FILTHY Christmas

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Do you really think I’m done here darlin’?

  More from Jaxson

  A FILTHY Christmas

  We have a mutual hatred for two things:

  Christmas. And our exes.

  So what happens when we end up celebrating Christmas and having to face our exes? We make a deal. We fake a relationship to make everyone else jealous. That fake relationship leads to a 'friends with benefits' kind of agreement.

  He's a rock star.

  I'm a backup singer.

  We've both dealt with this before.

  This should be simple. But it's not.

  Forget Christmas. Forget our exes.

  Remember the time spent in bed... and the way he looks at me after...

  Ah, shoot. I broke the cardinal rule of getting mixed up with a rock star. Which is this: Do NOT fall for a rock star. Ever. No matter what. Ever.

  I was never good at following rules anyway...

  Prologue

  SHANE

  I walked off the stage and when I got to my guitar case, I noticed a pair of hot pink panties waiting for me.

  I looked around and spotted a woman eyeing me up and down.

  She was in a black shirt and a low-cut top.

  I held my guitar with one hand and pointed to the pink panties with the other.

  The woman pulled at her shirt, showing off her bare shoulder and a hot pink bra strap.

  Meaning the panties were hers.

  Meaning I had done my job well enough as a guitar player that she wanted to have a private show.

  I nodded to her. A sign of appreciation of her attention.

  She motioned for a drink and I nodded again.

  The goal was to get her to walk away for good.

  Which she finally did.

  I lifted my guitar case and shook the panties out to the floor.

  As tempting as it was, I already had someone waiting at home for me.

  We lived in a shitty, third floor apartment, but it was ours.

  And it was time to upgrade… everything.

  I crouched down and put my guitar in the case.

  I locked it shut and stood up, carrying the guitar case, making a line for the back door.

  Outside, I paused and reached into my pocket.

  I took out the engagement ring and studied it.

  The fucking thing cost me more than I ever thought I’d pay for a ring.

  But six months ago - for fun - Stacy wanted to look at diamond rings. She wanted to have fun one night and pretend we were rich and famous. She knew I was on my way. Maybe I wasn’t in a band, but I could out play anyone on guitar. And my phone was always ringing for a gig or some studio work.

  I saved up the cash and went back and bought the ring.

  Tonight, I was going to ask her to marry me.

  I told her my show was going until two in the morning because I wanted to catch her completely off guard.

  I wanted to catch her in one of my t-shirts with her hair messy. I wanted to catch her drinking wine and eating ice cream. I wanted to catch her yelling at the TV over some dumb reality show. I wanted to catch her crying over a chick flick.

  That’s how I dreamed of proposing to Stacy.

  Just walking into the apartment and having her being surprised I was home early. Then I’d just drop to one knee and boom…

  It was busy in my head on the ride home.

  I clutched the ring tight in my hand.

  Tonight, my life was going to change.

  I opened the apartment door and looked at the couch.

  Stacy wasn’t there.

  The TV wasn’t on either.

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  I wondered if she went out.

  That meant I would be home waiting for her.

  Even still…

  I put my guitar case down and shut the door.

  I kept the ring in my hand, just in case.

  I opened my mouth to call out her name when I heard her giggle.

  A smile climbed across my face.

  She was in bed.

  Probably watching a rom com, having a drink.

  That was even better.

  I’d jump up on the bed and then-

  I heard a moaning sound.

  It was Stacy’s voice.

  Moaning… groaning…

  My mind raced even faster.

  Now I was picturing her pleasuring herself. Thinking I wasn’t home. Getting into bed. Watching some adult stuff…

  I hurried across the apartment.

  The bedroom door was slightly open.

  I stood and listened.

  It was her. Breathing. Groaning.

  The bed…

  I heard the bed making noise too.

  I put my hand to the door and pushed it open.

  I heard a grunting sound as I flicked on the lights.

  There was Stacy, riding some guy’s dick reverse cowgirl style.

  She looked at me and stopped.

  The guy grabbed her ass and moved her. “I’m not done yet, girl.”

  I laughed.

  The guy looked at me.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said.

  I opened my hand and looked at the engagement ring.

  I closed my hand again.

  I looked at the guy. “Hey, bro. Take your thumb and rub it you know where when she’s like that. It makes her buck her hips faster. You’ll come in no time.”

  “Shane!” Stacy yelled.

  I shut the bedroom door, walked to grab my guitar case, and I left the apartment.

  New plan?

  Find the woman who left me the pink panties.

  I went back to the club and found the woman who left the pink panties.

  We went back to her place after a few drinks and I fucked her until the sun came up.

  She made me coffee and something to eat.

  Then she told me to leave.

  I grabbed my guitar case again and walked out.

  A free man.

  Heartbroken.

  And in dire need of a shower to wash the night away for good.

  LITA

  The first time I saw Blaze on stage, I fell in love.

  We were teenagers and that was it for me.

  It also didn’t hurt that I was a great singer and knew how to work my way closer to him.

  We were attached at the hip - then other places.

  It seemed crazy to think two musicians would find each other the way we did and stick it out.

  His first band broke up and I kept Blaze sane. I sang to him at night. I made him put the bottle down when he started to go too far. We sang at little clubs and cafes just for fun.

  Then he decided to start a new band.

  He wanted to be a rock star lead singer.

  I stayed by his side.

  How could I not?

  I loved him.

  He looked really hot up on stage.

  And when the
show was over, and women threw themselves at him, he always reached for my hand.

  Everyone thought I was his prized groupie.

  I was just the girl he was going to marry.

  Blaze asked me to marry him on stage in front of about twelve hundred people.

  He stopped in the middle of a song and told the crowd he had something on his mind. People cheered, booed, everything. They wanted to hear the band. They wanted to know what was bothering Blaze.

  He talked about love.

  Then he told me to come up on stage.

  The crowd parted and I walked to the stage.

  Two bouncers helped me up onto the stage and I stood next to him, a little drunk, mostly smiling.

  Blaze then told his band to play a sweet song.

  They played the band’s ballad - When I Love You - and the crowd got into it.

  Next thing I knew he was on one knee, holding my hand, sliding a diamond ring on my finger.

  The crowd cheered.

  The thing was… I never gave him an answer.

  But trust me - it was always a big YES!

  It was after the band’s biggest show to date.

  They were the opening band but stole the show for sure.

  I sat on a leather couch that smelled suspect, with a topless woman grinding on me.

  She was beautiful, high as a kite, and kept trying to get me to take a pill by putting it on her tongue and kissing me.

  I had no desire to kiss another woman or take a pill.

  She kept swallowing the pills, which started to worry me.

  The lights were dimmed in the room.

  Blaze locked the door and stood in the middle of the room, watching.

  His eyes were all over the woman. The only time he looked at me was to make gestures with his fingers… suggesting I touch the woman.

  My hands were at my sides.

  The woman grabbed my hands and put them to her breasts.

  I pulled them away.

  She turned around and kept moving against me.

  Rubbing between my legs like I had a dick.

  She leaned forward and motioned for Blaze to come toward her.

  As he did, he opened his jeans.

  I sucked in a breath and shook my head.

  “I’m a rock star now,” Blaze said. “You’re my fiancée. She’s my whore. There’s a difference.”

  Blaze winked and pulled his dick out for the woman to savor.

  She went right to town in front of me.

  I snuck away from the couch and ran out of the room.

  Blaze didn’t call my name. Or follow me.

  I got a ride back to our apartment and slept.

  In the morning, Blaze was in the kitchen, making breakfast like nothing happened.

  He poured me coffee and kissed my forehead.

  “Do you remember last night?” I whispered.

  “Of course I do,” he said.

  “I don’t… no…”

  “It’s the life, Lita,” he said. “We’re playing shows. On the road. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “Has it happened before?”

  Blaze didn’t answer.

  I put my coffee down and backed away from the counter. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Lita…”

  “So if I went out on tour and let other guys fuck me, that’s okay?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, so they could go down on me?”

  “No,” Blaze growled.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a woman,” Blaze said. “It’s different.”

  “Different? How?”

  “Some whore slobbering on my cock is simple,” Blaze said. “She sucks. I come. I wipe my dick off. With you? It’s someone going inside you. That’s different. You can’t just wipe that out and walk away.”

  I slid the ring off my finger and left it next to my coffee.

  “Oh, fuck this,” Blaze said. “Are you stupid?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m a rock star. I’m going to fuck anything I want. As long as I come home to you and make you breakfast, what does it matter?”

  I grabbed my coffee cup and walked to the bedroom to pack my clothes and leave.

  I told myself I would never ever fall in love with a rock star again.

  1

  SHANE

  Another beautiful, sunny, bright California day, and I felt like someone had an icepick lodged into my skull. Right behind my eyes. Both eyes. Even with sunglasses on.

  To be fair, I was the one standing outside, taking in the sun.

  Smoking a cigarette.

  Thinking about the studio session inside the building I leaned against.

  It was for some of that wannabe pop rock bullshit that would hit the radio in a month. Then all the girls getting their licenses would blast the song out of Mom and Dad’s car while heading to the beach to flirt with some boys.

  This shit was a far cry from the rock star life I dreamed of, but it did provide one hell of a living.

  I could mostly fly under the radar.

  The nights I got up on stage and played what I wanted, I never went home alone.

  At the same time, I had every record company sending their goons out to my shows to drive me crazy about putting a band together around me. That wasn’t what I wanted in life. To be the front man of a rock band and have full control over the rest of the band. It would be a one man show with some session guys.

  Kind of like what I was now.

  Except nobody yelled at me. Nobody told me what to do.

  If you didn’t like what I had to offer…

  I took a drag off my cigarette and sighed a deep breath.

  The door opened next to me with speed and force, smashing into my left shoulder.

  “Yeah, well, fuck you too!” a voice yelled.

  The door shut and a woman turned and looked at me.

  I instantly told myself this was the woman I was going to marry.

  She ended her call and stared at me.

  “Did I hit you with the door?”

  “Yes, you did,” I said.

  “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who were you on the phone with?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said.

  “Can I get you a light?”

  “A light?”

  I pointed to her right hand. She was holding a cigarette.

  She looked at the cigarette. “Oh. This.” She laughed. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t smoke. I just say I do so I can get extra breaks.”

  “Ah. You found the loophole.”

  “Well, if you’re going to stand out here and get cancer, why can’t I watch?”

  I laughed. “I love non-smokers. Like you don’t do anything harmful to your body?”

  “How would you know?”

  “Yelling on the phone like that… that causes stress. Stress isn’t good for the body. I bet stress is worse than the occasional cigarette.”

  “And where did you get your medical degree?” she asked, curling her lip.

  When the sun hit her brown hair, I saw streaks of red. Hidden red. Her face was almost catlike. Which probably sounded horrible, but it was… a pretty resting bitch face. Her eyebrows high. Her eyes like milk chocolate. Her cute little nose with a small diamond stud through her right nostril. Her lips were pouty without makeup.

  She was wearing a stretched-out t-shirt that hung off her left shoulder, showing off her bra strap. Add to that some ripped jeans and old, beat up shoes, this woman was…

  “Are you recording in there?” I asked.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m recording in there.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “You look like you rolled out of a dumpster in an alley. Let me guess… you’re a wannabe rock star?”

  “Just about,” I said. I took
the last drag of my cigarette. I flicked it to the ground. “I better go inside and ice up my shoulder. If I can’t play guitar, I’m out of a job. If that happens, then I’m going to have to track you down and sue you.”

  She scoffed. “Real nice to say. And your cigarette is on the ground burning.”

  “Then step on it,” I said. I reached for the door and opened it slowly. “See what I’m doing here? Looking around before I throw open a door.”

  “Asshole,” she said.

  “No. The name is Shane. Yours?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ah, right,” I said. “I blew my chance because I smoke and look like I live in a dumpster. Not that you’re much better.”

  She lunged at me and grabbed my arm. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re screaming on the phone to someone,” I said. “And you look like you escaped some wannabe rock star’s bed. Knowing you really didn’t fuck the lead singer of a band but rather the guy who sets up the mic stand for the lead singer of a band.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  “See you around, no name beauty.”

  “Beauty, huh? Even with what you just said?”

  “Hey, beauty. I’m filthy, right? I’m a rock star, right? The thought of you between the sheets… I don’t mind sharing.”

  “Get the fuck away from me,” she said.

  “You’re the one holding my arm.”

  She released her grip and backed away.

  “Hey,” she called out as the door started to shut.

  I kicked my foot back to stop the door and looked over my shoulder. “Yeah?”