The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  My eyes scan the room as he flicks the overhead light on. It’s bigger than I thought it’d be since the townhouse Hank shares with his sister looks fairly small from the outside. It’s messy, which doesn’t surprise me. Tools are strewn over every surface and there’s a pile of laundry in the corner that I’m sure will make its way to me eventually.

  A nice recliner sits in the corner facing a TV hanging on the wall that’s really too big for the room. Men and their televisions.

  Actually, I can’t say anything. My bedroom TV is pretty close to the same size.

  My perusal of the room ends with my eyes back on Hank. I feel my eyelids droop as I give him a long once-over. I feel shameless right now but I’m pretty sure we both know we didn’t come up here to do any more talking.

  The uncertainty he’s carried for most of the date vanishes into thin air.

  Hank grabs me by the waist and tugs me close, his fingers digging into my hips like he’s trying to use my body to anchor us both to earth. I need that, because right now it feels like I’m floating right off the ground.

  He tilts his head down, mouth capturing mine with the same hard intensity as before. This time I’m ready for him, my tongue sneaking out to beg for more.

  He opens for me, his mouth welcoming mine like we’ve both been waiting for much longer than just a couple hours for the chance to share another kiss. He tastes like pizza instead of toothpaste this time and it’s so much better. So much more him.

  I can feel him growing hard against me, and the nerves start to kick in. I’ve never slept with two different people back-to-back.

  And despite my conversations with Cyrus about how everyone is okay with this, there’s still something that feels illicit about it. Like I’m doing something wrong.

  “Get out of your head, Gemma,” Hank breaks away to tell me.

  He looks at me with searching eyes, checking on me. I lean harder into him. He’s right, I am all wrapped up in my own head when really the only thing I want to be wrapped up in is him. I tilt my chin up to kiss him once more before pulling back.

  I’m sure my eyes are sparkling as I ask, “What’s today’s thing?”

  “Uh, we don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. It’s sort of… dumb.” His voice is flat.

  “Of course we’re going to use it. That’s part of this whole thing, right?”

  I sound much more adventurous than I feel. My stomach knots up a little as I realize it could be literally anything. Still, I can’t take the words back as Hank drags his feet when he pulls away and goes to the nightstand by his bed.

  I have to squint to see the item he retrieves. It’s just a condom packet. I raise both eyebrows at him, suddenly horrified. He thinks a condom is dumb?

  I don’t have sex without protection.

  And I sure as hell am not about to start now, not considering our arrangement.

  “There’s nothing dumb about a condom.”

  He winces slightly. “It’s flavored.”

  “Oh.” My brain turns in a circle. “Oh.”

  “I don’t expect you to…” His words trail off as my eyes drop down to the front of his pants.

  The awkwardness of this moment is probably to thank for him not being hard anymore, but I can still make out the faint outline of his cock through his pants.

  How long has it been since I gave a proper blowjob?

  Too long. After our first few months together, Colin was too busy counting the minutes away from his desk to enjoy foreplay.

  “Sit.” My voice cracks over the one word as I point toward the recliner in the corner.

  Hank freezes, his foot suspended mid-air from where he was coming back toward me. It takes a second before he steadies himself, planting his foot back on the ground as he faces me. His feet shuffle uncomfortably.

  He still doesn’t do what I’ve asked. I tread forward and put a hand on his chest. His chin drops to stare at where my hand makes contact through his shirt. With more pressure than I meant to use, I push him back.

  He moves easily for me, letting me continue to give him a couple more good pushes before he’s finally backed all the way to the chair.

  “Sit,” I repeat as I run my hand down his chest.

  I’m relieved when he doesn’t put up any more of a protest. I don’t want him to be all in his head about this. I just want him to sit back and let me make up for all the blowjobs I haven’t given over the last two years.

  As he sinks into the chair, I drop to my knees. He lets out a long, slow groan.

  I haven’t even touched him yet and already it looks like he’s barely holding it together. I settle comfortably between his legs. One perk of my job? I’m used to kneeling down to help stretch the athletes, so I’m not the least bit bothered being on my knees for Hank now.

  This is just a… different service I’m offering now.

  Hank stretches his legs and kicks off his boots on either side of me. I don’t know why but it makes me shiver.

  “I can turn the heat up,” he offers quickly, but when he goes as if to stand up, I run my hands up over his knees and press on the tops of his thighs so that he’ll stay right where he is. I’m definitely not shivering because of the temperature. If anything, it’s starting to feel a little warm in here.

  My hands only rest there for a moment before continuing their journey upward.

  I don’t stop until I reach his belt. His belt buckle is cool against my fingers as I work it open, the clinking metal the only sound in the air besides Hank’s breathing. It’s heavy as I slip his belt through the loops and abandon it beside one of his shoes.

  He shifts his hips for me when I’m ready to slide his jeans and boxers down his ass in one fluid motion. I recognize the striped gray underwear from doing his laundry.

  The intimacy of recognizing his underwear sends my mind off on a tangent. This is how it would be to live with a man. I can picture what it would be like to wake up with Hank, his long hair probably just as tangled as mine first thing in the morning. God, we’d probably share hair ties.

  I’m startled from my thoughts when Hank reaches forward and strokes his thumb across my cheek as if he can’t resist touching me.

  “I can take my hair down if you want,” I offer. Some guys like to have something to grab, I remember that well from my pre-Colin days.

  “No, I like it up. I want to see you.”

  Hank drops his hands to the armrests of the chair, giving me free reign to do as I please. Another shiver comes over me as I realize Mister Manly-Man knows when to let the lady take the lead.

  I keep one steadying hand on his leg as I reach out with my other to stroke the length of him. The velvety smooth skin of his cock feels amazing in my hand as I run my thumb over the tip of him, spreading pre-cum with my fingers so that my hand glides easier over him.

  I can feel him pulsing against my touch, almost like a heartbeat.

  “Have you thought about it before?” I ask, “What it would feel like when I touched you?”

  I’m not sure where the brazen question comes from but I hold my breath waiting for his answer. When I glance up, his face is staring back at me with the most serious expression I think I’ve ever seen.

  “I don’t even remember the last time I jacked off without thinking of you.”

  His answer surprises me so much my hand slips, his cock bouncing as it’s released but so hard it looks like it’s straining toward me still.

  I can’t help but think about how…

  “The guys are always giving you shit about jerking off too much.”

  He smirks. “Yeah.”

  Part of me wants to ask him to touch himself now, to show me what he does when he thinks about me, but impatience wins out. I want to put my mouth on him. I’ve never tasted a flavored condom before, either, and I’m admittedly curious to try it for the first time. Not that I’m expecting much, but it’s something new, and that makes it sort of exciting.

  He’s left the condom packet abandoned on
the armrest so I reach for it, open it, and sheath him myself. He grunts as I roll the condom down the length of him.

  I love the noises he makes. I especially love the way they sound when it’s obvious he’s trying to hold them in but can’t. I like that he can’t help himself.

  My lips part as I lean in, tongue inching out to make the first contact. I get the distinct taste of…

  Peppermint.

  It’s not the greatest thing I’ve ever tasted, but it’s actually not so bad, either. I widen my mouth so I can sink further down, taking more of him into my mouth as I let my tongue caress the underside of his cock. I’m seriously impressed when he still makes no effort to grab my hair or press my head down.

  As my head moves slowly over him, I let my teeth lightly graze him. That careful control of his slips as his hips jolt up, pressing his cock against the back of my mouth. I hold back the urge to panic as my airflow is temporarily cut off.

  Breathe through your nose, idiot.

  I suck in some air and relax. Hank sinks back down in his seat, but I follow, letting his cock continue to rest where it’s taken up residence practically down my freaking throat. I pull back some before swallowing him again, pressing on even as my eyes start to water. I take much more of him than I thought I could, reveling in all the animalistic noises he makes as I give what has to be the greatest freaking blowjob of all time.

  Not that I’m biased or anything.

  “Dammit, Gemma,” Hank growls, “just when I think you couldn’t get any more goddamn perfect.”

  A chuckle escapes me, my throat vibrating with the sound. He sucks in a sharp gasp and it’s game over. Thanks to the condom, it doesn’t matter that I got no warning. I keep bobbing my head until he goes still.

  When I pull away, wiping saliva from the corners of my mouth—and luckily nothing else, those flavored condoms were actually an A-fucking-plus idea—Hank is gazing at me with pure adoration in his eyes. I lean my head against his leg and close my eyes for a moment, catching my breath and basking in pride over how I’m the one that put that look of pure ecstasy in his eyes.

  “Gemma.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I need you to get on the bed.”

  I let out a small squeak as my eyes pop open and see the fire in his.

  “I’m going to fucking devour you.”

  My breath catches as I scramble to my feet. I’m already imagining how the scruff on his face will feel between my legs.

  I practically throw myself down on his bed. He isn’t far behind. He drags my jeans down my legs without the slightest bit of fanfare. We’re both frenzied, me writhing against his dark green comforter as he tosses away my pants and yanks my legs apart to settle between them.

  I’m already panting when he lowers his head and teases his tongue along the inside of my knee. His mouth travels up slowly, and I barely manage to resist the urge to yank him up by the hair.

  When he finally nips at the inside of my upper thigh, I let out an unexpected—and horrifyingly loud—moan. Slapping my hand over my mouth in horror, I glance down to see him wide-eyed. Our heads both turn toward the door at the same time, both of us with the same fear.

  Someone surely heard that.

  “Maybe we should—” he starts at the same time I blurt out, “Let’s go to my place!”

  Because I know what’s coming next—and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to keep quiet.

  Fifteen

  Gemma

  December 03

  I collapse on my couch with a carton of peppermint hot chocolate ice cream and my remote control, both clutched tightly to my chest. It’s early afternoon, and I plan to gorge on ice cream and Christmas cartoons until I’m sick to my stomach.

  Or until my day three mystery man shows up.

  I’ve given up trying to guess who it’s going to be—there’s no use when all twenty-five of them stare at me like they can’t wait to get me naked underneath the tree.

  I sigh and shovel a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth as I scroll through the listings for any and all things Christmasy. I hover over A Prince for Christmas for a few seconds too long before I remind myself that Cara’s the rom-com queen, not me.

  Keep telling yourself that, Gemma, and maybe no one else will ever find out about your secret obsession.

  I spoon another bite of ice cream down and keep scrolling until I hit the cartoons. It’s not usually my style to cut out of work early and watch cartoons, especially not when I’m rehabbing one of the guys, but I’m tired.

  I get cranky when I’m tired. And the last thing I want to do right now is accidentally snap at one of the guys because I’ve been getting sexed within an inch of my life the past couple nights.

  I’m not exactly complaining about my arrangement with the Storms, but I definitely wasn’t prepared. Sex with Colin didn’t even remotely compare. Didn’t even exist in the same league, really. He was as wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am as they come.

  Compare it to Isaac or Hank? The idea is laughable.

  Imagine the Charlie Brown tree in a decorating contest against the Rockefeller tree, and you’re almost in the right headspace.

  Turns out I wasn’t wrong when I said the guys looked like they’d fuck as well as they play rugby. My sore muscles are a freaking testament to that, too. It’s only been two days and two men, and I’m already beat. I scoop out another heaping mouthful of ice cream. It’s going to be one hell of a long, sexually gratifying, and completely exhausting month.

  I lose track of Frosty’s adventure through town as I remember how my body fell apart for Hank last night when we got back to my place.

  Suddenly, I come back to the present as melting ice cream starts spilling out of the container I’d accidentally let pitch sideways. I squeal when some of it hits the bare skin of my thighs, shocking me out of my filthy daydreams. I jolt to my feet, upending the entire carton onto the carpet while the Frosty theme song blares in the background.

  I let myself have one moment of overdramatic despair over the fallen carton of ice cream, head falling back so I can groan up at the ceiling.

  Fuck this, I’m taking a nap.

  I eye the melty mess on the floor warily before shaking my head and just walking away. I’ve been meaning to get new carpet anyway, maybe the massive stain will actually motivate me to get it done.

  I’m starting toward the bedroom when there’s a knock at the front door. I consider ignoring it, but I would never actually dare.

  I shuffle my feet to the door with my best impression of the Grinch on full display as I groan and grumble. “What’s a girl got to do to get a nap around here?” I snap under my breath as I reach for the door handle.

  The grumpy side of me takes a hike the second the door opens to reveal Oliver on the other side.

  He holds out a takeout bag toward me, but all I really notice is the way his eyebrows quirk at my disheveled appearance. Okay, yeah, to the perpetually put together neat freak in front of me, I must look like a complete freaking disaster.

  Oliver pushes his sunglasses up his nose, tangling them in his long hair as he does. His big ol’ baby blues flash with concern, and I can’t stop the blush that heats my face, especially when his eyes travel down my body and land on the sticky ice cream on my thighs.

  “Rough afternoon?” he jokes.

  And for the life of me I couldn’t explain why, but my eyes start to fill with tears.

  I throw myself against him, wrapping my arms around his lean waist and burying my face in his hunter green t-shirt. Holy cow, he smells amazing. Like evergreen trees and cinnamon and Christmas cookies.

  “Gemma, are you okay?” he whispers into my hair.

  I snuggle closer. He smells so good, and he’s so warm, and good god, I could fall asleep standing in his arms right here in my doorway.

  “I brought soup since you left early.” I mumble something that might be a thank you into his chest, and he squeezes me tighter. “Seriously, are you not feeling well? I can
go get you some cold medicine if you want me to. You have to stop letting Cyrus drag you out to the field for every practice.”

  “I’m not sick,” I mumble into his chest where he can’t hear me

  “What was that?”

  I turn my head to the side with a sigh. “I said I’m not sick.”

  “But you never leave early, even when you are sick. Everyone was worried, so I convinced Coach to let me go a little early so I could come check on you. Did you know Crusty Kringle has a soft side?”

  “Shh! Enjoy the moment! And don’t be ugly about Marty. He’s the best.”

  A startled laugh vibrates through his chest at the admonishment, and a wide grin breaks over my face. Oliver wrestles my arms from his waist—although I don’t make it easy—and takes a step back out of my arms. I make a grabby motion at him, and he shakes his head at me as he laughs.

  “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know what’s going on with you today, but you’re dead fucking wrong if you think I’m going to actually let you stand here and get whatever the hell that is all over your legs all over my pants.”

  “It’s ice cream.” The duh is silent but completely implied.

  Oliver rolls his eyes, but his shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter. “And why are you covered in chocolate ice cream?”

  “Peppermint hot chocolate ice cream.”

  “Oh, damn. That actually sounds really good. You got any more?”

  “Yeah,” I answer with a barely concealed laugh as I step back to let him in. I know I shouldn’t bait him, but I just can’t help myself.

  His eyes light up as he drops his duffle bag just inside the door.

  But when he steps around and sees the ice cream melting into the carpet in front of my couch, his eyes go wide with horror instead. He takes in the scene with all the enthusiasm of a man who’s just had his puppy kicked.

  “Do you need me to leave?” he asks as he moves further into the living room, shoulders tight as he approaches the mess I made. “You seem like you have a lot going on right now. It’s really not a problem if you want to reschedule.”