The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  “You’re so wet for me, baby.”

  Her reply is lost in a moan when I slide another finger inside of her, hooking them as I pull them back and forth. I continue to circle her hard nub with my tongue as I palm a handful of her ass in my other hand. Her grip on my shoulders tightens as I finger-fuck her, tongue lashing against her clit as her legs shake. Finally, she lets go, clenching around my fingers as she cums in waves.

  I continue to slide my fingers in and out of her, letting her ride out her pleasure until she’s leaning heavily against me. I climb to my feet slowly, trailing my fingers up her body as I do. Gemma sags against me, and I can’t help my laugh as I reach around her for the box of paints.

  “You ready?” I ask, and she nods slowly, eyes hazy like she’s still not quite over her orgasm. I smirk, more than a little proud of myself for making my level-headed athletic trainer completely lose herself to me. “You know I’d eat your pussy all day, every day, right?” I ask her on a whim, and she fucking whimpers in response.

  My dick throbs at the sound, and I know I have to get her covered in paint post haste. I pull a jar from the box, smirking at the shade of blue that meets my eyes when I hold it up to her. Strudford’s color—that’s one hell of a coincidence.

  “Maybe use this one on me?” I ask, and she groans. God, yeah, this is gonna be so much fun.

  I reach into the box again, this time pulling out two more jars of paint and a soft-bristled paint brush. I let the box fall back onto the bed before twisting the lid off the top of the first jar and then the second. They’re bright, vibrant, and metallic. Purple and gold. Jewel tones, perfect compliments for the navy I’d pulled out of the box first.

  I dip the brush into the paint, covering the bristles in the deep violet paint. Gemma’s breath catches in her throat at the first pass of the brush over her skin, and I know there’s a pretty solid chance that I might just lose my load in my pants if she keeps making noises like that as I paint her body with slow, deliberate strokes.

  She’s a dazzling display of purple and gold by the time I’m done, paint covers her stomach, her back, her thighs, her ass. I dip the brush one last time into the gold paint, relishing the way she groans as I run it across her pebbled nipples at a torturously slow pace.

  “You’re a goddamn masterpiece,” I admit to her as I take a step away from her to fully admire my work. Her body glistens in the low light of my bedroom, and I swear she’s a Monet come to life before my eyes.

  There’s a glint in her eyes as she pries the paint and brush from my hands. I suck a breath in between my teeth as she flourishes her hand toward me in a your turn motion. I strip out of my clothes in record time until I’m standing in front of her as naked and vulnerable as the day I was born.

  Her eyes fucking devour me, and it only makes my dick throb and ache more. I hiss when she steps forward, wrapping me in her hand and stroking my cock hard and fast. I don’t try to fight the moan that spills from my lips when she falls to her knees in front of me, taking my length into her mouth for a few glorious strokes of her tongue.

  She lets my dick fall from her mouth with an audible pop. My protest dies on my lips at the feeling of cold paint smearing over my ass. When the hell did she pick up the paint?

  My body aches with anticipation as she alternates between using her fingers and the paintbrush to cover first my ass, then my thighs, and finally my abs and chest with broad strokes of the navy paint. It’s easily the hottest, and messiest, thing I’ve ever had happen to me.

  Gemma stands back, twisting the lid back on the jar of paint as she admires her handiwork. There’s no way I look nearly as good as she does, but her slow perusal of my body still stokes the fire burning through my veins. I take a slow step forward, dropping my hand to her face to run a gentle caress over her cheek before I kiss her slowly.

  “Let’s make a mess,” I mutter against her lips, and she rewards me with a soft, breathy sort of moan.

  I step away from her long enough to roll a condom over my straining cock, anticipation making my abs twitch as I turn back to her. “I want that whole canvas covered,” I tell her as I reach for her.

  Gemma surprises me, though, when she drops her hands to my chest and shoves me back hard enough that I stumble back and fall half on, half off the bed. There’s an almost predatory gleam in her eye as she motions for me to scoot further up the bed, and I can only imagine the broad stroke my ass is leaving across the canvas as I drag myself to the center of the bed.

  She follows me onto the bed, eyes hooded with lust as she climbs over my body, paint covered tits dragging over my chest as she leans down to kiss me slowly. My hands stick on the paint on her back in the moment she’s pressed against me, and all I can do is groan as I drag them toward her ass, smearing the paint even more.

  Gemma reaches between our bodies as she leans up, stroking my aching length between her wet folds before finally sinking down, completely impaling herself on me. Her hands fall on either side of my head, scrunching the canvas in a white-knuckled grip as she begins gyrating her hips over me slowly.

  It’s ecstasy.

  It’s agony.

  It’s every damn thing in between.

  My hands drop to her hips, smearing the gold paint I’d so carefully brushed there, and I help her speed up. I let my head fall back and eyes close as she rides me faster, harder, hips gyrating as she works herself closer and closer to the edge of bliss. When the gyrating motion gives way to her bouncing up and down on my cock, I damn near lose my mind.

  I feel her start to clench around me as she goes back to grinding hard against me, and I prop myself up on my elbows so I can watch her come undone. Her pussy somehow tightens even more around my cock, and she falls forward with breathy gasps.

  She’s in for a hell of a surprise if she actually thinks we’re done making art already.

  I flip her onto her back, never once letting myself slip out of her, before I piston my hips in a rough, punishing pace. I’m on the verge of cumming myself, but I want her there with me. I grit my teeth and pull out of her, helping her onto her stomach, gorgeous, full tits pressing against the canvas as I run my hands up and down her paint slicked back.

  I pull her hips back until her curvy ass is pressing against me. I sink into her slowly before resuming my punishing pace from before. I circle a hand around her to delve my fingers into her folds, circling her clit as I pound into her.

  I don’t stop until we’re both seeing stars as we lay, fingers locked, in a hot, panting mess.

  We stand above the bed a while later, staring down at the canvas. It’s a glorious mix of blue, purple, and gold, and we did a damn good job of covering the thing, too. I cannot wait to get it framed.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Gemma mutters quietly, and I arch an eyebrow in her direction. It’s amazing how fucking well she knows me. “I better never see this on your walls.”

  “Listen, you’re just going to have to deal with it,” I tell her with a smirk. “This baby is going to hang right above the bed, where I can lay here and picture just how much joy went into making it. Now, more importantly, how good do I look in blue?”

  “You look a bit too much like a Smurf for my liking.”

  Gemma shrieks when I lift her up, tickling the hell out of her ribs. I don’t stop tickling until she surrenders, laughing through an apology for calling me a Smurf when clearly I look a hell of a lot better than that. I reward her with a languid kiss before carrying her to the en suite bathroom.

  I’m pretty damn sure washing the paint off of her is going to be almost as fun as applying it.

  Twenty-Five

  Gemma

  December 11

  A flash of irritation runs through me as I hear the sound of a car horn again. I don’t know why I expected anything else. Victor might be hot and built like a brick house, but he’s also a rude asshole. I finish pulling on my boots, grab my keys, and lock the house up on my way out.

  He finally stops honking as I co
me into view, tugging my jacket tighter around me as I make my way down the front steps towards the truck.

  I do a bit of a double-take at what he’s driving since it’s not his usual SUV. The big blue truck is familiar, though. I’ve definitely seen it before.

  The first words out of my mouth are, “Is this Luis’ truck?” as I pull the passenger side door open and look at the seat that’s dauntingly high off the ground thanks to the ridiculous boosted tires.

  “Yeah,” Victor grunts out.

  Before I can say anything else, he jerks open the driver’s side door and steps out like the height is nothing. I hear his feet hit the pavement of my driveway with an audible thump. It takes only a split second for him to cross the distance from his side of the truck to mine.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he starts to reach for me.

  He’s not exactly the touchy-feely type, so it’s not like I expect him to greet me with a hug or a kiss or anything. Hell, he didn’t even bother coming to the front door.

  Turns out he isn’t planning to do either of those things. He wraps big hands around my waist and lifts me straight up, helping me into the truck with an ease that I definitely wouldn’t have had myself.

  Before I can thank him, he slams the door on me and goes back around to climb into his own seat again—the motion just as effortless as when he stepped down.

  It might be Luis’ truck, but even he never looks as comfortable getting in and out of it as Victor does now.

  Of all the guys on the team, Victor is actually probably the one I should like the least. He draws eyes everywhere he goes, he’s a good looking man with confidence and it shows, but his manners leave something to be desired.

  I broach the subject, “You didn’t have to keep honking like that.”

  “Gemma?” His voice sounds flat. He looks at me, his eyes sweeping over me in a slow perusal. “If I came up to your door, there was no way in hell we were making it back to this truck.”

  “You sound really sure of that.”

  “I haven’t had sex since my divorce. If I’d gotten anywhere near the door of your house, I was either coming in to give you a proper fucking, or posting up in your bathroom for one hell of a hand job.” He lifts his own hand and stares at it like the idea is personally affronting.

  I can’t help myself, a laugh slips out.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He gives me a sharp look.

  “I mean about the… sex thing. You were divorced before you joined the team, weren’t you?”

  “Almost a whole year before.” He bobs his head once.

  I nearly choke on my own spit. He’s not joking. His face is like the textbook definition of serious right now. That’s like three years he’s gone without sex. No wonder he’s looking at his hand like it’s the enemy. He’s probably sick of touching himself.

  Without thinking, my eyes drop down to the crotch of his pants. He instantly sees me looking and drops his hand to his lap. Not before I get a good look, though.

  He’s just hard enough that I could see the outline of his dick through his jeans.

  “Stop looking,” he spits out with a pained laugh.

  “But—”

  “No buts. Eyes on the road.”

  My mouth twists up. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

  He shoots me a quick glare before putting the truck in reverse and backing out onto the street.

  He does end up putting his eyes on the road and keeping them there once he starts driving. I watch him closely, looking for any signs that he’s getting distracted while driving, but I already know the answer. The guy’s got an iron will. It’s what makes him such a force to be reckoned with on the field, and it means he’s not getting distracted by me when I stare or scoot closer across the bench.

  I put a testing hand on his leg just above his knee.

  “Gemma,” he growls out in warning.

  “What?” I ask in the most innocent sounding voice I can muster—even as my hand creeps slightly higher up his leg.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “I like a little danger.”

  I never did before. I’ve always been the one playing it safe, but not anymore. Now all that matters to me are all the wild scenarios playing out in my imagination that I want to bring to life for this man right now.

  I know what it’s like to go too long without what you need.

  But his is a problem so easily solved.

  “I need your clothes out of the way,” I tell him. There’s no way for me to undress him while he’s sitting in the seat driving the way he is.

  “Don’t you want me to romance you a little?”

  “You can still romance me, just after.” I look around for a minute until I see an empty parking lot just ahead and point it out to him. “Pull over there.”

  He grumbles under his breath but steers the car off into the lot like I asked.

  He can protest and make annoyed sounds under his breath all he wants, he wants this just as much as I want to give it to him. I definitely see the proof of that as he puts the truck in park and then struggles to maneuver his pants off over his hard dick.

  When he does finally succeed, I study him with open curiosity. There’s a curve to him that makes it look like his cock is specifically straining toward me, the head pointing right my way as pre-cum drips from the tip of it.

  I reach out and run a finger over him, and then my hand, spreading the pre-cum over his length as I stroke him slowly just to get a feel for what he likes.

  “I can’t stay parked here,” he warns. “There’s a lot of traffic through here.”

  No sooner does he say the words that a car drives dangerously close to us, trying to cut over to the grocery store in the next lot.

  “Can you pull back onto the road?” When he frowns like I’m questioning his driving abilities altogether, I add, “Safely, I mean.”

  “Of course I can,” he says with all the confidence of a man who’s been there, done that.

  The confidence about it is such a turn-on that I can’t even work up a bit of jealousy wondering who else has been in this position with him.

  With a quick glance around to make sure no one’s paying too much attention, I lower my head to his lap, my lips stretching over the head of his cock as he oh-so-calmly hits the gas and pulls back out onto the road.

  “You know, I really didn’t mean for you to…”

  Victor’s voice trails off as he pulls the truck off onto a dirt road that looks like it leads to nowhere. I sit up straighter in my seat.

  “Where are we going?” I give him a suspicious side-eye. “You’re not planning to murder me out here, are you?”

  Maybe I should have been paying attention to where he was taking me instead of being face down in his lap for most of the drive. Ah, well. It was worth it just to see the look on his face when I sat up and had no choice but to swallow.

  “I thought it was about time you get a real damn Christmas tree.”

  “I have a Christmas tree.” I put the small one at my house up a couple days before we did Dad’s.

  Victor scoffs. “The guys talk, Gemma. We’ve all heard you and your dad both use plastic trees.”

  It’s baffling to hear him so worked up about it. I almost call him out on that but I get distracted instead as the truck finally breaks out of the overgrown foliage to reveal our destination.

  “Oh my god, are those Christmas trees?”

  “Obviously.”

  I don’t even have it in me to get mad about his tone—which is totally uncalled for after our little road-head adventure—because the view is incredible. The lines of trees carry on for as far as I can see. I don’t know anything about trees to even know what kind they are, but this place is like Christmas personified.

  “This is so cool,” I breathe out, glancing over at Victor just in time to see a flash of pride cross over his face.

  “Vince loves coming out here with me. I thought about bringing him w
ith us but I thought maybe it was too soon.” His ears start to go pink with the slightest hint of embarrassment.

  This man.

  “I’d love to meet your son. Whenever you’re ready for that.” I reach out and squeeze his hand to reassure him.

  His hand captures mine before I can let go, his warm grip practically swallowing my hand whole.

  “It’s probably better I didn’t bring him.” His gaze droops to my chest for a beat before he reluctantly drags his eyes back up to mine.

  I raise an eyebrow as I glance down at myself. I’ve got a pretty thick sweater on so it’s not like he should be seeing my nipples poking through my clothes. And I didn’t eat or drink anything, so surely I don’t have a stain worth staring at. Still, I check anyway.

  All clear.

  But when I look at Victor, he’s staring again.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him, amusement lacing my voice.

  He startles and looks away, his mouth opening and closing like a fish a few times before he finally slams his mouth closed. If he hadn’t already told me he’d been playing it celibate for a long while, this probably would have been a good hint all on its own.

  It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten what to do with a living, breathing woman.

  “Everything okay?” I do not want to be the first woman he’s with after his wife and then turn out to be a disappointment for him.

  “I want you to put these on!” he blurts out, pointing to the cupholder.

  I peer forward to try to see what he’s pointing at.

  At first, I think it’s some kind of weird necklace because of the silver chain bunched up. Then, I see what looks like two tiny sets of tweezers with black rubber caps on the ends—and then I’m all kinds of confused.

  “What is it?”