The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  I grin—even though his eyes are closed so he can’t see it—and snuggle closer to kiss his shoulder. He moves his arm to wrap it around me.

  After a couple minutes, Wolfie brushes his free hand across the bed and flinches. “Shit, we should have put a fucking tarp down or something.”

  I can’t help my laughter as I lean up on my elbow to better examine the mess. “Next time, definitely.” And I’m hoping next time is sooner rather than later.

  Thirty-Two

  Gemma

  December 16

  “I’m sorry, what are we doing here?”

  Mateo pulls his Jeep Wrangler to a full stop before shooting me an unamused glance. “Going on our date.”

  Smartass.

  “Okay, but what are we doing at the coliseum?” I try again as he shoves his door open.

  He pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder with a smirk. I’m caught somewhere between annoyance and arousal, barely resisting the urge to squirm in my seat at the sudden warmth pooling between my legs.

  Down girl.

  “Going to a Seals’ game.”

  He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But all his answer does is add to my confusion because of all the guys on the team, Mateo might be the one who is least tolerant of hockey.

  I sit there, jaw hanging open and more than a little dumbfounded, as he snaps the driver’s side door shut. Why the hell is he bringing me to a Seals’ game, and what the fuck kind of sense does it make that he asked me to wear a dress?

  And let’s just be real here for a minute, if it weren’t for my own personal Christmas Elf (read: Cara), I wouldn’t even have a dress in the first place. Because there are only so many people you can call in a panic at four o’clock to frantically tell them you need a dress that isn’t the disaster you might have puked in last New Year’s Eve or the slutty red dress reserved only for the worst occasions.

  Also, who else could throw me in a dress and keep me comfortable and cute all at once? I smooth my fingers over the steely gray material of the t-shirt dress before my fingers catch on the edge of the oversized buffalo check flannel she’d thrown at me after she dug around in my closet.

  “It’ll look cute tied around your waist when it gets too hot. Listen, do you have any booties—I guess these Chucks will have to do. God, Gemma, we’ve got to get you to the store. No, don’t you dare put your hair in a ponytail! What the hell is Mateo going to grab onto when he fucks you?”

  Not my goddamn hair, I think darkly before rolling my eyes at the memory. Cara’s almost as invested in my relationships as I am, and she’s gotten very vocal about encouraging me to step outside of my comfort zone.

  But there’s a difference between knowing what you don’t like and being in your comfort zone—and what I don’t like is dealing with having my hair down in my face all the time.

  I jerk at the sound of my door popping open. Mateo ducks his head to stare down at me, and there’s a glint into his so brown they’re almost black eyes that I can’t quite read. I shift in my seat again.

  Out of all the guys on the team, Cyrus is the only one who can out alpha-hole Mateo, but it’s a close freaking race some days. The way he’s looking at me right now? Yeah, he’s definitely gonna be jockeying for first all night long.

  A flash of arousal burns me to the core, and I hate that the idea excites me as much as it does. I’m a little less disappointed in myself when he dips his head and captures my lips in a bruising, intense kiss.

  I’m just inching my hands toward the back of his neck to pull him closer when he pulls back. He clears his throat, and I can’t help my smirk when his voice still comes out gruff and growly. “C’mon, kickoff’s at 7:05.”

  “Puck drop,” I correct.

  The answering stare I get could make the biggest guy on the opposite side of the field quake. Me? Not so much.

  Okay, maybe I am quaking, but for a totally different reason. Cara did say I could pull off tying this flannel around my waist if it got too hot, right? Because right now it’s about a thousand degrees in the front of his Jeep.

  “Yeah, puck drop, whatever. Let’s go,” he says as he reaches over me to click my seat belt loose.

  “Mateo, it’s six-thirty.”

  I hate the way my voice comes out all whiny, but seriously. What gives? He tells me to wear a dress on our date, and then he brings me to a hockey game. I would much rather be in jeans and a thick sweater at the rink, not freezing my fanny off in something that I normally wouldn’t ever wear anyway.

  And now he’s being all pushy about getting to our seats before puck drop? When he doesn’t even like hockey?

  “We have plenty of time!” I insist, and I can’t help the shrill squeal that escapes through my lips when he reaches for my legs and swings them out of the car.

  His fingers curl around my biceps, and I have one moment of feeling totally weightless as he hefts me from the car. “We have to make a pit stop before we get to our seats,” he says, a laugh vibrating through his chest as I jab at his side playfully.

  The list of things that I didn’t know I liked seems to be growing by the minute with the Storms. Into being manhandled? Yeah, we can go ahead and jot that down in the naughty column of my Christmas list.

  Mateo hooks an arm around my shoulders and tucks me to his side. He reaches around me to slam the door closed, and he starts pulling me in the direction of the garage’s stairwell before he even hits the lock button on his keys.

  “You know we can leave the seats between plays, right?” I ask as he drags me along.

  I wrap my arm around his waist, hopelessly hanging onto him as we move quickly toward the stairwell. My foot slips down the first stair, and he pulls me tighter against him, supporting me as we fly down the rest of the stairs.

  I think I might care a little more about being yanked out of his car and rushed like this if he wasn’t looking down at me every few seconds with a dark hunger that leaves me shuddering in anticipation.

  Every part of me is warm. No, not just warm—every part of me is on fire, and I’m not sure if it’s from being pressed so closely to his side or from the arousal coursing through my veins like lava.

  If I didn’t have such a healthy fear of disappointing my dad by getting arrested for public indecency, I might try my hand at convincing Mateo to duck into a dark corner to fuck me until I can’t walk straight. But that fear does exist in me, and I know there’s no way I could ever be quiet with Mateo—not with the way my body responds to his every move.

  We would definitely draw too much attention.

  “There are these things called intermission in hockey,” I try again as we move closer and closer to the doors to the arena. I’ve given up on trying to understand why we’re in such a rush, but I need to think about anything other than dragging Mateo’s cock out of his pants and making him mine in public. “I bet we could probably go get beer then.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  He doesn’t turn to look at me as he says it, and I bristle. I dig the hand that’s been settled on his waist under his jacket and up the hem of his shirt to pinch the shit out of him, but all he does is laugh and swat my hand away.

  “You’re being an asshole,” I inform him matter-of-factly.

  He laughs again and shakes his head as his digs his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Being an asshole is my job, Gemma,” he says as he holds the phone up for the kid scanning tickets.

  “Your seats are—” the kid starts, but Mateo cuts him off.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Quit being rude,” I hiss, and he smirks down at me until I flush. Goddammit, when did I go back to being team mommy again?

  And again, he doesn’t answer. He drags me on. Past the ID wristband station. We breeze right on by the concession stands. We don’t even go near the Seals’ team store.

  When we finally stop, my eyebrows lift toward my hairline. “I’m sorry, did you have to pee?”

  Mateo swivels his head
from one side to the other, his gaze sweeping over the crowd quickly, like he’s on the lookout. The question of what he’s on the lookout for dies on my lips when he yanks me toward the door in the middle of the two bigger restrooms.

  Oh no.

  Oh, no no no no no no no.

  We’re not having sex in a family restroom at a Seals game.

  I dig my heels in, but it doesn’t offer much resistance against his bulky, intimidatingly larger frame. The light flickers to life as he slams the door closed and clicks the lock into place.

  I’ll be damned if my traitor of a vagina doesn’t ache with anticipation at the sudden thrill of doing something so naughty in a place that I normally wouldn’t.

  “Quick, give me your panties.”

  My mouth drops open in shock as disappointment swirls heavy and pungent in my gut. Not gonna lie, I didn’t take Mateo for the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type. And okay yeah, if you’re fucking in a public restroom, you probably shouldn’t want it to drag on for a long time and all, but…

  Wait. Fucking in a public restroom?

  Uh-uh. No way. That’s a level of gross I’m not stooping to.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Gemma,” he growls, but I shake my head as I cross my arms over my chest.

  I don’t care how hot he is and how much I want to wrap my lips around his nipple and tease that piercing that does weird things to my lady bits when I think about it. There’s absolutely no way in hell he’s convincing me that doing the deed here is a good idea, even if his eyes are all smoldering and hooded with lust and…

  “Don’t make me come over there and take them from you.”

  Oh, yup. There goes that traitorous vagina again.

  “I’m not fucking you in a bathroom, Mateo.” His eyebrows furrow, and the smallest hint of guilt rumbles in my stomach. “Sorry.”

  Mateo growls again and pushes his way across the room, covering the distance between us in only a few steps. I press my back against the tile wall and suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down hard.

  Anything to keep from blurting okay, yeah, I was lying and I’m definitely fucking you in this bathroom. Take me here, and take me hard.

  His hands slam onto the wall on either side of my head, and I shove my arms behind me, crossing them against the small of my back, terrified that I’ll give into him otherwise. The idea of yanking my panties to the side and letting him fuck me against the wall is so goddamn tantalizing that I have to clench my thighs tightly together to resist the urge to climb him like a goddamn tree.

  “Last chance to do it yourself, sweetheart,” he whispers as he leans in close, breath puffing across my lips in warm waves that leave me panting.

  I shake my head, too afraid to speak, and his eyes go somehow darker. My lips fall open on a soft moan when he drops an arm from the wall and reaches down to gently cup my cheek. The calluses on his fingers against the soft skin of my cheek draws another moan, and a devilish smirk curls over his lips.

  “Have it your way,” he whispers. And then his lips are on mine and he’s dragging my body against his, hips pressing against hips as his fingers dig into my waist almost painfully.

  There’s no question about who’s controlling this kiss. Mateo’s tongue delves past my lips with careful precision, exploring my mouth with a demanding type of insistence that makes my legs go weak.

  And holy Christmas cookies if I thought his growls and gruff tone were hot, it’s nothing compared to the way my whole body jerks as he runs his hand from my neck to my chest. Mateo palms my breast, squeezing and kneading it with a restrained sort of roughness that suggests he’s holding back. From what, I don’t know, because the second he trapped me against the wall was the second I knew I’d do whatever he wanted me to.

  I groan in protest when he lets his grasp on me fall away. “Mateo.” I wrench my lips away from his. “What are you—”

  Oh shit.

  His fingers splay across my stomach as he leans back in to capture my lips in another bruising kiss.

  Oh god.

  His presses his hand into my stomach, pushing me further against the cool tile of the wall. But I arch away again when he drags his hand down my body, kneading the heel of his palm against my aching core.

  Yes.

  My eyes roll toward the back of my head when his hand dips under the hem of the dress. And when he grabs the front of my panties in a tight grip and drags me against his body, I practically fall apart. His knuckles dig against me, and it’s in that painfully sweet kind of way that doesn’t really offer relief at all but just is.

  I’m falling apart. I can barely breathe I’m so wound up. I’m positive I’m going to die right here in this bathroom of overexposure to pleasure.

  I try to pull out of the kiss again, but Mateo angles his head and pushes against me harder until my head sinks against the wall. I feel the hand that he was bracing himself with before suddenly snake under my dress and grab another handful of my panties, and everything becomes crystal clear in the span of a few seconds. My panties dig into my hips painfully for the briefest flash of a second before a ripping sound echoes in the bathroom around us.

  And then just like that, Mateo’s pulling my ruined underwear from between my legs and stepping out of the circle of my hungry embrace. I stare at him through hooded eyes, brain so hazy with lust I can barely piece together the reason he’s somehow not pulling his cock out of his pants to fuck me right here, right now.

  That same devilish smirk is back, and somehow it’s sexier now that his lips are swollen from our heated kisses. I clench my thighs together, desperate enough for relief that I consider touching myself to hold me over until he sees fit to fill me himself.

  I glance in the direction of his pants, and even though his button-up shirt is untucked and hanging low, I’m positive that’s the imprint of his hard dick peeking just below the hem. My eyes shoot back toward his, and his answering gaze is liquid heat fire. I know he’s as turned on as I am.

  “What are you waiting for? Fuck me already.”

  “Puck drop’s at 7:05, sweetheart.” He says cheekily, and my mouth drops open. What the ever-loving fuck? “We don’t have the kind of time before then for all the things I’m planning to do to you tonight.”

  Can anyone else hear Merry Christmas Baby playing, or is it just me?

  He yanks a bulkier pair of panties from his jacket pocket and thrusts them at me as he slips my torn pair into his pants pocket. “Put those on.”

  Watching the game is agonizing. Not because the Seals’ aren’t doing well, of course. They’re completely smashing the Washington Warriors, just like they do every time their rivals come to town. In theory, I should be jumping up and screaming and high-fiving the rest of the rowdy crowd around me every time one of our guys gets a goal or gets into a scrap with another asshole Warrior.

  But I’m nervous. More nervous than I’ve ever been at a sporting event, even. Because Mateo’s sitting with his legs stretched in front of him as far as they’ll go and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. He hasn’t moved an inch the entire time we’ve been in our seats, and we’re already in the middle of the third period.

  Normally I might be worried that he’s having a shitty time watching a sport that he doesn’t care about, but that’s not the case here. He’s sitting there, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, quietly watching the game as I twist in my seat in nervous anticipation.

  The small, remote controlled vibrator in the front of the panties rubs against my clit every time I twist in my seat. As turned on as I was by his manhandling in the bathroom, you’d think that alone would’ve already gotten me off. But knowing that he has the remote in his pocket and hasn’t touched it once in the two hours we’ve been sitting here has me on the wrong edge.

  My eyes drift toward the ice when a murmur of excitement ripples through the crowd. Donahue’s on a breakaway toward the net, and the Warriors’ goalie has played a shit game all night. It’s a guaranteed sc
oring opportunity.

  I lean forward in my seat, breath catching in my throat as he winds back to shoot, but then my eyes snap all the way closed, missing whatever happens that makes the entire home crowd groan in unison. The vibration against my clit is immediately intense—too intense—like Mateo turned the vibration to the highest setting.

  I sink back, fingers gripping the arms of the stadium seat with aching intensity, and I twist until my legs are clamped tightly together. I bite my lip hard to keep from moaning and only barely manage to not throw my head back and let the pleasure take me over.

  I don’t need to open my eyes or turn my head to know that Mateo’s smirking as he changes the setting from the intense steady vibration to a slower, pulsing pace. The relief of the slower vibration lasts for half a minute at most—just long enough for me to release my lip before I bite clean through it—before he ups the ante again.

  My hand flies from the arm of my seat to wrap around his wrist as the vibrations change again, this time to something more middle ground. Truth be told, I have no idea which pocket the remote’s in, but I can’t just sit here and take this torture.

  “It’s a good game innit, honey?”

  My head whips in the direction of the older woman sitting on my right. And just as I open my mouth to respond to her, Mateo changes the speed of the vibration again to an intense, fast pulse. I squeak, face going beet red as her rheumy blue eyes go wide behind her glasses.

  I can feel Mateo shaking with laughter as I point at the ice like I have any idea of what’s happening there. I squeeze his wrist with all the strength I can muster as the old woman turns back toward the game excitedly. The vibe hits my clit just the right way as I twist back around to glare at him, but my eyes sink closed and my jaw clenches around another moan.

  There’s no way I’m getting out of this with my dignity intact.