The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  “Patience, love.” I move my lips to the valley between her breasts, tracing my tongue in a long line up her throat and toward her mouth. “I intend to savor every last moment of this.”

  I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss before moving my attention back to her neck and biting down gently. I hook my fingers around her bra straps and drag them down until her breasts are revealed to me.

  I waste no time in capturing one of her pebbled nipples between my teeth, all the while pinching the other between my fingers. Her moans are music to my ears, and I reach for the chocolate sauce once more. As I lean back, our eyes meet just as I start to pour the chocolate over her tits and then down in a line that runs all the way past her navel, not stopping until her clit is poking through a fine layer of chocolate, too.

  She squirms under the layer of cold sauce—I waste no time warming her up. I map her chocolate covered body with my tongue, lapping it up like it’s the last thing I’ll ever eat.

  And if chocolate-covered Gemma was truly my last meal, I’d die a happy man.

  My name is a constant moan from her as her hands clutch at the sheets. Her back arches off the bed when my mouth closes over her clit. I suck, nip, and lick until she’s nothing more than a writhing mess. I press a finger against her entrance, desperate to get her off at least once before I bury my throbbing cock inside of her.

  She catches my wrist in her hand as she swallows a moan. “Not so fast,” she murmurs before pushing against my chest.

  I’m not sure what the fuck is going on, but you’re not going to catch me complaining about it.

  How can I? Not when she’s reaching for the chocolate syrup and my boxers at the same time. I lift my hips and drag my underwear down for her, tossing them over the side of the bed as she runs a line of chocolate all the way down from my bare chest to my aching cock.

  Her tongue flattens against my chest, and I swear my eyes roll all the way to the back of my head as she trails her tongue all the way down my body.

  When she teases the tip of my cock with her tongue—all bets are off.

  I start to reach for her hair, to thread my fingers through the silky tresses, but stop short at the sight of it piled high on top of her head.

  My fingers fist in the sheets instead as I groan her name. It feels like she’s swallowing me whole, her hands covering the inches her mouth simply can’t contain. She hums as her head bounces up and down, but I have to end it. The last thing I want to do is shoot my load into the back of her throat.

  The next time her head bobs up, I pull away from her, cupping her cheek in my shaking hand as I shake my head at her. Her eyes narrow for a moment, like she’s considering not pulling away from me. I smile down at her as I reach for the strip of condoms on the bedside table, tearing one off and opening it all in one swift motion.

  Gemma lays back as I roll the condom over my length, and I waste no time positioning myself above her. My tip strains against her entrance, and our eyes meet as I cradle her face between my hands. I dip my head for a kiss that’s filled with passion.

  I swallow more of her moans as I push my way into her, and my own pleasure-filled noises soon join hers as I finally sink into the wet heat that’s waiting for me.

  Never in a million years could I have imagined it feeling this good to finally be with her. There will never be any going back to what we used to be, not after this.

  I push in and out of her slowly, wanting to stretch the sweet agony out as long as I can. But Gemma rests her heels against my ass, urging me deeper into her, and I don’t need any more prompting. I let go a bit more, picking up my pace, my hands still cradling her face as I swipe my thumbs against her cheeks.

  I’m so close, and by the way she’s tightening around me, I know she is too.

  “Kyle,” she moans my name as she cums, and the feel of her spasming around my cock has me following soon after.

  I collapse onto her, chest sticking against hers with the sweat of our exertion.

  Gemma runs her hands through my hair before pulling my face back down, catching my lips with hers. She kisses me languidly, and I smile against the pressure of her lips on mine. It’s with great reluctance that I finally pull away from her in favor of searching out a too-big t-shirt for her and a pair of sweats for myself.

  She glances at me curiously as I offer her a hand to help her up.

  “We’re definitely going to need a shower.”

  A slow smile curls over her lips as we both glance at the bed. A smear of chocolate sauce has undoubtedly stained the sheets permanently.

  It was so worth it.

  Eighteen

  Gemma

  December 06

  “No! Dammit!” Dad shouts, nearly spilling his beer on me as I let out a much more enthusiastic cheer.

  There are lots of things in life we agree on. The New York Knights being superior to the New Amsterdam Vikings isn’t one of them.

  As he drops back onto the couch with an annoyed grumble, I smile over at him.

  “Sorry, old man. Can’t win ‘em all.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “And some teams can’t win at all.”

  “You little brat,” he spits out, but he isn’t serious.

  This teasing during games is an old pastime of ours. It keeps things lively, that’s for sure. I stand up to stretch my legs and wiggle my empty glass bottle.

  “You want another beer?” I ask him.

  “Sure. Thanks, kiddo.”

  I wait until I’ve turned my back to wrinkle my nose. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times that it’s fine if he wants to call me Gemma. I smile a little as I head for the kitchen because honestly? It’s not that big of a deal, and at this point he only does it because he knows it annoys me. As far as I’m concerned, the world’s greatest father can call me whatever he wants, even if it does annoy me sometimes.

  When I come back with the beers, Dad thanks me for his and then points casually to the boxes lining the back wall of the living room.

  “I was thinking about doing the tree tomorrow. You gonna come by and help me get it all put up?”

  I almost tell him no because tomorrow’s my date with Cyrus, but then I think better of it. Cyrus has been moodier than usual ever since the guys got their order for this whole Christmas thing. I think he thought he’d be getting Christmas Day by default, so he’s been moody as hell over getting just a random day in December instead.

  I’m not sure how much he’s into the meet-the-parent thing, but he’s always been polite to my dad. Maybe decorating for Christmas could be the kind of thing to make a random date feel a little more special.

  “Could I bring someone?”

  Dad looks back at me warily.

  “You back with Colin?” He sounds less than thrilled by the prospect.

  “Definitely not.” His face relaxes. “I was actually thinking maybe I would bring Cyrus along. He doesn’t have family around here, and I thought it might be nice for him to do the whole family Christmas thing.”

  “Team captain, huh?”

  His eyes seem to sparkle and I get a queasy feeling deep in my stomach. I don’t want him to invest in the idea of Cyrus and me together. I still can’t guarantee these twenty-five days work out in the end. And even if they do, I’ll then somehow have to explain to my poor old dad how I’ve got not just one new boyfriend to worry about, but a whole team’s worth.

  “It’s not serious,” I warn him, mostly so he won’t end up blindsided later if I slip up and mention one of the other guys.

  He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Sure.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So it is serious?”

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “But he isn’t?”

  “He is!”

  Dad grins triumphantly and I let out a groan that transports me right back to my teenage years. My dad’s always been really good at getting me flustered.

  “Stop trying to distract me from the fact that the Knights are about to score a
gain.”

  I fix my eyes on the TV even as I can see my dad staring at me from the corner of my eye. His grin doesn’t fade at all, not even as I cheer as the team mascots congratulate each other congenially on screen.

  The buzzer sounds, making the Knights’ win official.

  Not that you’d know by looking at my dad. Looking at him with that happy grin on his face, you’d think the Vikings just won a Stanley Cup.

  I really, really hope inviting Cyrus won’t turn out to be a mistake.

  The next day, I can’t even remember why I was even worried in the first place.

  I stand back sipping spiked eggnog as my dad works his way through pictures of my third Christmas. He’s taking way too much joy out of showing Cyrus pictures of my bare baby ass from where I stripped in the middle of unwrapping presents for no freaking reason.

  My mom was still there back then, too. Looking on with disdain as my dad took photos instead of disciplining me.

  She was real good at sucking the joy out of a room.

  That was only a few weeks before she packed up for good. I’ve got every detail of those pictures memorized. As a kid, I used to pour over them for hours, looking for some hint as to why my mom didn’t love me the way my friends’ moms did.

  As an adult, I’ve got my shit straight. My mom was never nurturing enough to be a parent, not the way my dad was. I was better off without her.

  Still, the result is that I’m all too familiar with the embarrassing photos my dad is taking great joy in showing off. He never really liked Colin—and Colin wasn’t around enough anyway—to dive into the photo albums together.

  Cyrus, on the other hand, seems like he’s having the time of his life.

  Every once in a while, he glances up, his eyes finding me as if he just wants reassurance that I’m still within view. It’s not at all necessary. I couldn’t stay away even if I tried, I think that much is clear.

  I hover on the periphery, watching my dad bond with someone I’m dating for the very first time. I expected my nerves from yesterday to carry over, that fear that my dad might get too invested. But the truth is, now that we’re here, I can’t bring myself to care.

  I like seeing the two of them together. And I like picturing how my dad would get along with the other guys.

  A soft chuckle escapes me as I picture showing up for holidays with all twenty-five of them.

  My dad and Cyrus both turn at the sound.

  “What’s funny?” Cyrus asks, raising an eyebrow that makes me suddenly self-conscious that maybe he can read my mind. He looks like he has too good of an idea of what’s going through my mind right now.

  “Nothing,” I say sweetly, “Just wondering if I’m supposed to put the tree up all by myself or…”

  I thought the light teasing would have Dad jumping to attention, but I hadn’t counted on Cyrus’ reaction. He’s off the couch and by my side before I have a chance to finish blinking once.

  “You don’t need to be lifting that.” He frowns.

  I roll my eyes at him going all captain on me. “I help put the tree up every year.”

  “This year you’ve got me,” he points out, his voice holding onto that bossy tone that admittedly makes him such a good captain. Unfortunately, it has the added side-effect of making me desperately want to mess with him.

  I like him getting a little riled up sometimes.

  I turn my back to him to start to lift the tree into its base.

  “Gemma!” he snaps, “Give me that.”

  Dad clears his throat.

  I glance back guiltily, worried I’ve made Cyrus look bad by goading him in front of my dad. Dad raised me to be independent, not to be talked down to by a man. And even though I know that isn’t how Cyrus means it, my dad doesn’t necessarily know him well enough to recognize the same thing.

  “You heard the man, Gemma. He’s got this.” Dad winks at me with a good-natured grin.

  He and I both know something that Cyrus doesn’t. This plastic tree is the same one we’ve been using since I was a kid… and the base is tricky. If you don’t get it just right, the whole thing comes crashing down.

  We’ve had our fair share of incidents over the years.

  Neither of us makes a peep to warn him.

  Instead, we both watch with eyes bright with amusement as he tries to prop the thing up and it promptly falls toward him. He yelps as he jumps out of the way, muttering a curse under his breath at the offending tree.

  Dad and I both burst out laughing.

  He whirls on us, an accusatory finger pointing between the two of us as we take in big, gasping breaths of air in between nearly uncontrollable laughter.

  “You two set me up!”

  My dad takes a step forward and claps him on the back. “No, son. You took care of that all by yourself. This girl here,” he points to me, “I raised to be just as capable as any man. I appreciate you wanting to take care of her, but treat her right and you’ll get a partner, not a helpless damsel.”

  Cyrus’ eyes find me as my dad words settle around us.

  “Sir, I don’t think anyone would ever accuse your daughter of not holding her own.”

  It’s not the sexiest compliment I’ve ever gotten, but it makes me melt all the same. For Cyrus, this is the best kind of compliment I can get because it’s about respect. It’s his way of saying I’m his equal, regardless of how much it might be his instinct to try to take charge.

  “Good. Now, Gem, better help him with that tree. This old man isn’t driving tonight, which means I’ve got another cup of eggnog with my name on it.”

  When Dad vanishes into the kitchen, Cyrus reaches over the tree to pull me closer, the fallen tree the only thing keeping us from pressing close.

  “You could have warned me,” he jokes.

  “What fun would that have been?”

  He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, stealing my breath away with his gentle touch.

  “This is good, yeah? It feels natural, like we’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times.” I nod gently as his finger continues running a suggestive, slow line across my mouth.

  “It’s good,” I whisper, barely parting my lips to let the words out.

  “Next time it’ll be all of us.”

  My eyes go wide.

  “We’ll figure it out, Gemma. Your dad, he just wants you to be happy. And I think he’ll understand that’s all any of us want, too.”

  “I have a lot of questions.”

  “I know. But there will be time for that later. Tonight’s ours, let’s not waste it talking about what might be. Not when I can be in the moment appreciating what I’ve got right here, right now.”

  He lets his hand slip down, his finger tracing down my chin and then the curve of my neck. His finger dips dangerously close to the subtle v-neck of my sweater, his finger teasing the very edge of my cleavage.

  Cyrus leans his head close to mine to speak close to my ear where there’s no chance of Dad walking in and overhearing.

  “I might not have gotten the day I wanted with you, but I’ve got handcuffs in the car and plenty of ideas about what to do with them. How soon can we make an excuse to leave?”

  My heart is pounding so hard I’m worried it might leap right out of my chest and start doing a jazzercise routine in the middle of the living room floor.

  Without a word, I reach down and start tugging at the Christmas tree. When I glance up, Cyrus is staring down with equal parts amusement and confusion. I can tell he’s not quite sure what to make of my abrupt silence and sudden frenzied work ethic.

  “What are you waiting for? The sooner we get this tree decorated the sooner we can go back to my place.”

  I don’t need to tell him twice.

  Nineteen

  Gemma

  The bedroom door slams open before I’ve finished pulling my fuzzy pajama pants on. I quickly slip them over my ass and try to swallow down the embarrassment over being caught changing. It’s not like I didn’t know Cyrus woul
d end up seeing me in various stages of undress at some point tonight—I just didn’t expect it in this context.

  “What are you doing?” Cyrus asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

  “Putting on some warm clothes so I don’t freeze to death,” I grumble.

  He releases a throaty laugh.

  “The heat’s only been out for an hour at most. I think you’ve got a while before you freeze to death.”

  I jut my bottom lip out in an uncharacteristic pout. “It’s still cold.”

  “How about a distraction? Then you can forget all about the broken heater and the stingy repairmen.” Yeah, I had a pretty ugly rant about that when Cyrus called around and still couldn’t find anyone to come this late at night.

  He gets close enough to start pushing at the elastic waistband of the pants I’ve just gotten on.

  “Stealing my layers is not helping me forget about it.”

  “But don’t you want to know what happens once the pants come off?” The glint in his eyes promises that I definitely, absolutely, no-doubt want to know. I nod with much more enthusiasm than what’s necessary but Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind.

  Cyrus reaches into his back pocket and produces something shiny.

  The handcuffs.

  I swallow down a lump in my throat as I take a half step back. Cyrus looks a little too excited to slap those things on me. I’ve never been handcuffed. I’ve never trusted a man enough to let him incapacitate me.

  Cyrus is different. I know Cyrus would never hurt me.

  Still, the idea of giving someone complete control like this is nerve-wracking.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit quietly.

  “Why?”

  “I’m worried you’re going to wreck me.”

  Cyrus frowns. “I would never hurt you.”

  I can feel the familiar blush spreading over my cheeks and creeping across my neck. “That’s not what I mean.”

  The words settle heavily in the air. This is the closest I’ve gotten to admitting having real feelings. I have chemistry with the guys, sure, and they know I like them enough to have agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place. But this admission feels bigger.