Motorcycle Girl: Book Three

Chapter 18: Whipped and Proud

"Do you know I have only had sex a total of twenty seven times this year?" I whisper to Gabe and Mason while cleaning up from Christmas Eve dinner.

Mason drops his dish, looking at me with wide eyes.

"You're lying."

"I am deprived." I say.

It's Christmas Eve and she isn't home. I thought she wouldn't miss this for the world.

It's Noemie's second Christmas. She's only enough to rip things now. She's still only twelve months but last year she wasn't even a month.

"We should buy him a pocket pussy." Gabe hisses to Mason, who snorts. They both start laughing and I reach put, punching them in each of their shoulders.

"Ow." Mason rubs his arm and Gabe glares at me, sticking up his middle finger.

I turn the sink on and grab the sprayer, pointing it towards Gabe.

"Don't you fucking-"

I pull the trigger, soaking the front of Gabe' shirt.

"Nathan Benjamin Reed!" Mom exclaims. I snicker and put the sprayer back.

"You fucking dick." Gabe seethes. I can tell he isn't actually angry. He sprints towards me but I yelp and sprint around my kitchen counter, using it as a barrier.

He lunges over the counter and I dart around it, snickering.

Gabe grabs the back of my white sweater and yanks, forcing me back. He shoves me into the wall.

"Gabriel Reed!" Uncle Ryan scolds his son. Annalise is burping Gabe's son, Harper is laughing, and everyone else is watching in amusement.

Mason is cackling across the house in the kitchen, and Gabe as me pressed against the ice cold glass to the lanai.

"Your wife isn't here to save you now." Gabe says.

I shove him off of me violently.

"I'll go get you a new shirt." I snap. I stomp upstairs.

When Raylen was born we had Christmas at Odeletta and I's house and it has became a tradition.

I watch as Gabe pulls his red long sleeve shirt over his head, throwing it at me. I take it and stomp off to the mud room, throwing his shirt in the dryer. I put it on a quick cycle. The doorbell rings.

"I got it!" Gabe shouts from downstairs.

Rolling my eyes, I go into the bedroom through the pocket door in the study. I get one of my green long sleeve shirts and walk out through the bedroom door, sliding down the railing. I notice a stain on the fabric as I wander back into the living room to my cousin. I shove the shirt into his chest so hard that he coughs.

"Dick."

"It's stained." I say.

"Get me another shirt." He says.

"No. You shot me with tap water."

"What, are you too high maintenance for tap water? You deserved it. You said you were going to buy me a pocket-"