The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  Victor mumbles an answer under his breath.

  “A little louder, maybe?” I joke.

  “Nipple clamps,” he answers this time just barely loud enough for me to hear him.

  I pick up one of the clamps and look at the set now with fresh eyes. Most men have no idea what to do with a woman’s nipples, which is a real shame considering mine are a particularly erogenous zone for me.

  I’m not sure why Victor looks so horrified. This is absolutely something that piques my interest, though I’d never thought much of it before.

  “Do you know how they work?”

  “Yeah.”

  I pick the whole thing up by the chain and hold it out until Victor takes the clamps from me. He’s still looking at me like he thinks I’m going to jump out of the truck and start sprinting away from him as fast as humanly possible.

  I pull my sweater off over my head. It’s not like there’s anyone out here to see me. I’ve never been more thankful for front open bras in my life as I start to unbuckle the front clasp.

  “Wait.” I hesitate for Victor but I really, really don’t want him to tell me to stop. I’m relieved when he says instead, “Let me.”

  I drop my hands as he reaches for me, tracing the line of my cleavage with only the faintest touch of his fingertips. My back arches slightly, forcing my chest out as if I’m offering myself up to him on a silver plater.

  He accepts the invitation, his fingers unclasping my bra so that my breasts spill out for him. If I thought he was staring hard before, it’s nothing like how he stares at me now. His eyes shift between my topless form and the hand where he’s still holding the clamps.

  “Clip me,” I plead. “I want you to.”

  Wordlessly, he picks up one of the clamps with one hand as he cups one of my breasts with the other. It takes everything in me not to whimper as he touches me.

  A small squeal leaves me when he clips the first one on.

  It doesn’t hurt, just pinches enough to spike some serious awareness through the rest of my body. I hold my breath as he clips the other. It’s every bit as erotic as I anticipated—the pressure is a lot like someone sinking their teeth into me in the best kind of way.

  “Now what?” I ask, wanting to hold on to this feeling for as long as I can.

  Victor reaches for the chain hanging between the two clamps and gives it a sharp tug. He smirks when I let out a sharp gasp that fades into a moan.

  “I’ve never seen someone so… reactive.” The way his voice softens reassures me that he doesn’t mean it as a bad thing. If anything, he looks like he’s enjoying seeing my reaction as much as I’m enjoying being clamped.

  “It feels really good, Vic.”

  He tugs the chain again—I’m more ready for it this time, so I close my eyes and bite back another moan. I swear he pulls that chain and it’s like he’s tugging on a line straight to the nerves in my pussy.

  “I want you to leave it on,” he tells me, his voice much more confident now that he knows I like this.

  “But my clothes—”

  “Are going to be rubbing up against these clamps, shifting them with every step you take while we’re out here. And I’ll be able to reach up that sweater of yours and do this anytime I want.” He jerks the chain again for emphasis and I nearly come up off the seat.

  Instead of waiting for me to do it, he starts to redress me. He’s rough, and I nearly complain, but then I realize what he’s doing. The rougher he is with me, the more the clamps shift. And the more they shift, the hotter I get.

  I’m not so sure I’m going to make it out of this date alive.

  Twenty-Six

  Victor

  “Don’t you have to pay for that somewhere or something?”

  I finish tying the tree off before I look at her. “What? No, of course not.” I’ve never paid for a tree and I don’t plan to start now.

  She shifts nervously from foot to foot but then freezes up—probably because she’s just reminded herself of the clamps latched onto those perfect, pink nipples of hers. The bulky sweater hides them completely from view, but the mental image is burned into my brain forever now.

  I start to grab the tree so we can haul it back to the truck but Gemma’s voice makes me stall out.

  “So you’re just going to steal it?” she asks with serious attitude, popping her hands on her hips and everything. Using a tone like that, there’s nothing I’d like more than to haul her over my lap and give her one hell of a spanking. But we’re probably best saving that for another day.

  “I’m not stealing it, I’m—”

  “Vicky!”

  Fuck.

  Mom bursts through the tree-line with Dad ambling behind her a good thirty seconds later, always more content to take his time. Dread settles in my stomach. I chose to forgo introducing Gemma to my son for fear of scaring her off, and now here she is, about to meet my parents.

  My obnoxiously friendly parents.

  Gemma’s eyes go wide as she looks from me to my parents. I start to laugh until she elbows me in the gut.

  “Victor, I’m wearing nipple clamps.”

  “No one can tell,” I reassure her, sparing her tits another quick glance as if I’m making sure—but really I just like the excuse to look at her tits.

  The way my mom clears her throat as she gets close, she definitely fucking caught me looking. Not that it seems to bother her too much since she’s still all smiles as she greets Gemma with a warm smile.

  I breathe a small sigh of relief that she doesn’t go in for a hug. I’m not so sure Gemma’s secret would be safe if she had to go chest-to-chest with my mom.

  Ugh.

  I don’t want to think about my mom touching my girlfriend.

  Shit. Is Gemma my girlfriend now? Am I allowed to call her that? What the hell do I say if my mom asks—and there’s a good chance she will?

  Sudden panic nearly sweeps me off my feet. My mom, always with the parental intuition, spares a knowing glance in my direction before giving Gemma her full attention again.

  “It’s nice to see someone out here in the fields besides us old folks. How do you know our Vicky?”

  “Don’t be dense, Sherry. She’s that pretty little thing that’s always hanging out along the sidelines at games.”

  The dismissive way Dad says it—as if Gemma’s nothing more than decor on the side of the field—raises my hackles. She’s not some trollop jersey-chaser waiting around for one of the players to notice her.

  No, she’s the kind of woman we’ve always noticed—and not because she’s had to try.

  To Dad, I snap, “She’s the team athletic trainer. She’s on the sidelines doing her job. She’s not there just to look pretty.”

  I look over at Gemma, who looks fairly well put together despite the nipple clamps and now the slight flush making its way up the back of her neck after Dad’s stupid comment.

  She’s a woman working in men’s sports. She’s used to being discounted and brushed over. But I’m sure as hell not going to let it happen here, not with my own family and right in front of her face.

  Dad backtracks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Any woman special enough for Vicky to bring out here must be much more than a pretty face.”

  “He was always too embarrassed to bring girls back here when he was younger. One time he convinced his high school girlfriend that he lived in a house closer to town, and she showed up there looking for him!” Mom chimes in.

  “That’s enough,” I mumble.

  The last time I’d introduced them to a woman it was Charlotte, who I’d ended up marrying. I hadn’t forgotten just how embarrassing a meet-the-parents could be, either, which was exactly why I hadn’t let them know we were coming.

  “So you all… own this place?” Gemma finally makes the connection.

  “Been in the family four generations now,” Dad tells her proudly. I’m sure he’s just relieved to have a safer topic to talk about after putting his foot in his mouth.
<
br />   Gemma smacks me in the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were stealing that tree!”

  My parents share a chuckle. In all the years our family has owned this place, I don’t think we’ve ever once had someone show up to steal a tree. The average person doesn’t even know the proper way to cut one down.

  “Vicky here works just enough during the year to earn himself a free tree or two,” Mom shares with a conspiratorial wink.

  She likes Gemma already, I can tell.

  Gemma meanwhile, glances over at me with amusement in her expression. I see her looking from the corner of my eye, and I realize why almost instantly.

  Thanks a lot, Mom.

  “Vicky,” Gemma whispers the name under her breath with a soft smile. I’m not even sure she realizes she’s done it, her brows furrowing when she sees me staring at her.

  She probably thinks I’m crazy. I can’t stop looking at her. But after so long spent trying not to get caught staring, it’s nice to feel like it’s finally open season for me to look my fill. If at the end of this, she can’t handle this arrangement the way we’d all hoped, I’m going to make sure I sure as hell didn’t have any regrets.

  My eyes drop down for what has to be the hundredth time today. I really should be watching my manners with my parents standing only a few feet in front of us—but damn if this woman next to me isn’t one hell of a temptation.

  “Vic, your mom asked you a question,” Gemma points out gently, her voice laced with a humor that my parents both seem to share based on the way they barely manage to stifle their laughter over her calling me out like that.

  “Sorry, Ma. What were you saying?”

  “I was asking if the two of you had time to stay for dinner? We’d love to get to know Gemma better, and you’re overdue for a home-cooked meal, I’m sure.”

  That sounds so damn tempting.

  I seriously doubt Gemma’s ready to be subjected to that, though. There’s no way my parents can sit through dinner with her without giving her the third-degree. And honestly? That seems like a little much for what is still technically a first date.

  Then again, I could maybe pull off sneaking off with her for some alone time in my old bedroom…

  Gemma clears her throat obnoxiously and grasps at my arm.

  “What?” I mutter.

  She stands on her toes to get close enough to my ear to whisper privately to me. “Take a raincheck, Vic. I can’t sit through dinner with your parents. Not right now.”

  I frown, thinking her feelings were more hurt by my dad than I realized, but then I look her in the eyes and realize I misunderstood her. It’s not that she doesn’t want to eat with my parents—it’s that she has other plans. And the heat in her eyes promises whatever plans she’s got will be a hell of a lot more fun than sitting around the dinner table here.

  “Maybe next time, Mom.”

  My voice sounds tight, but thankfully she doesn’t question it. After a few more painfully long minutes of chit-chat, they finally disappear back into the trees. We’re not actually that far from the house which is probably how they noticed someone had come up this way in the first place.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t know why they would.”

  “Do you think Luis would be mad at us for having sex in his truck?” Her tongue darts out and slides over her lips—reminding me of what she’s capable of with that mouth.

  “I guess we’re gonna find out.”

  What Luis doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  Twenty-Seven

  Mikey

  December 12

  It turns out bringing Gemma to a paintball course might not have been my best idea.

  I mean, sure, the idea was that we’d do something fun on our date that we’d be able to look back on with fond memories or whatever… but I wasn’t quite counting on how ready and willing Gemma was to load up and pull the trigger.

  What’s more, Gemma was adamant that we play against one another. So we loaded our hoppers with different colored paintballs and went our separate ways. I should probably be worried that she seems so keen to shoot me, but I know she’s not going to hold back. Gemma’s got a competitive streak a mile wide—it’s what makes her such a damn good part of the team—but I’ve got that same competitive streak, and I’m not planning on taking it easy on her either.

  I take a conservative position behind a wall of hay, stomach churning as anticipation takes me over. I should wait for her to make an appearance first, it’s the smart move. But I’m antsy to see her again, even if I do run the risk of being shot in the process. I peek around the wall and immediately hear a paintball whiz past me before it splatters against a tree a few feet on.

  I duck back behind the wall of hay and move toward the other end as I listen to her laughter. I crouch out from behind the half-stacked hay at the end and spot her immediately, face buried in her hands as she tries to stifle the sound of her laughter and fails spectacularly. I take aim, only feeling a little bad when the shot makes contact and she yelps.

  I’d savor my victory a little more if she didn’t immediately whip around and land a shot straight to my stomach.

  Sonofabitch!

  I’d forgotten how much this crap hurts. I duck behind the hay again, wincing at the slight pain in my stomach but still being really freaking proud of her. That was a killer shot.

  A silly smile breaks out over my face as I dip back out from behind the hay. She’s gone from sight, so I take a chance and stand. I call out to her, my voice carrying a taunt as well as a laugh. “C’mon, Gemma! It’s like you’re not even trying to hit me.”

  But then a shot connects with my neck, and I straight up groan in pain. Now that one hurt like a motherfucker. I’m still laughing my ass off, though, which only seems to encourage her more. I take another shot to the stomach and then one to the leg before I duck and cover, almost going ass over teakettle when I dive behind some crappy plywood wall.

  My smile stretches over my face and I know to anyone on the outside looking in, I must look like I’ve gone completely off my rocker. But I’ve finally got Gemma all to myself, and I plan to have a hell of a lot of fun with her.

  “Okay, so what are we doing next?”

  I cock an eyebrow at her as I take another huge bite of my cheeseburger. We stayed on the paintball course for a couple hours, refilling our hoppers when we ran out of ammo, and just absolutely obliterating the crap out of one another. We worked up a hell of an appetite running around the course.

  Not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure my heart grew wings and flew right out of my chest when she suggested we grab burgers and fries before heading out to do whatever else I had planned. I like that she eats real food, not this kale and air bullshit that some girls try to survive on.

  “Christmas shopping and Santa,” I reply seriously and she quirks an eyebrow in response.

  I shrug. I’m gonna find the big guy, sit on his lap, and thank him for answering all of my Christmas wishes for the past couple of years. I might let some kids get a picture with him, but I’m pretty dead set on seeing what other Christmas magic he can work for me. Because he’d managed to give me Gemma when I thought that was an impossibility.

  “You’re insane.”

  “Yeah, but that’s why you like me so much.”

  Of course, in retrospect, coming to the mall in the middle of December might not have been my best idea. The line for pictures with Santa is massive, and Gemma keeps shooting me this I told you so kind of smile as I bounce in place.

  “We really don’t have to do this.”

  “Gemma, when was the last time you had your picture with Santa?”

  “I mean, I was probably ten.”

  “Exactly, the time is now. Seize the day and all that horseshit.”

  “Mikey,” she says slowly as the mother in front of us turns away with a loud gasp. I should feel bad, but I’m finding it awfully hard to. She grasps my arm tightly, and a
shiver shoots down my spine. “We’re adults now.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be quite the thrill for Santa to have your beautiful ass on his lap.”

  “Oh my god, Mikey, no.”

  But she’s laughing, and we’re inching closer and closer to the front of the line. Mothers eye us warily—minus the pissy mom in front of us, she never turns back around—and kids definitely give us weird looks as I tell Gemma everything I’m going to ask for Christmas.

  She rolls her eyes somewhere around a monster truck I can spread world peace in but wraps an arm around my waist nonetheless. My heart splutters in my chest. In reality, all I want for Christmas is her. And now that I’ve got her? Well, all I want is to keep her.

  Gemma tries to turn us away from the front of the line as the mom and her sweet prince step away from Santa. I get one last glare from the woman when I give her a two-finger salute before rubbing my hands together in mock glee.

  “You’re not really going to go sit on that old man’s lap,” Gemma whispers as the extremely merry looking elf rolls his eyes before beckoning us forward.

  Honestly, I might not’ve had Gemma played it cool and not acted so damn horrified. But as it is, I pull her toward the jolly old man, smiling like crazy the whole way. “It will be the thrill of his lifetime,” I joke as I smile down at her.

  To his credit, the mall Santa is a hell of a good sport, laughing along with me when Gemma insists on sitting on the arm of his chair. I run my hand through my beard and narrow my eyes at the old man before deciding that maybe I should just sit on the other arm even though I’m pretty sure I could make it look like I’m sitting on his lap even though I’m not…

  I’m not sure if he’s annoyed or amused, but I don’t really give a shit because Gemma’s smiling, her eyes twinkling in a carefree way that I’ve seen a lot more of lately. I want to make her smile like this every day for the rest of my damn life.

  “And what do you want for Christmas this year, young man?”