The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  “He’s a good dad.” I can hear the barely concealed pity in his voice.

  I drag my eyes to his. “I never cried over her again after that. Because if my dad was willing to go through all that trouble… the least she would have done if she cared about me was stay.”

  Silence surrounds us for a few moments as I gather the rest of my thoughts.

  My voice cracks slightly as I admit, “I think my dad worries I’ve always secretly been upset not to have a mother. But I know she didn’t stay because she didn’t deserve us—and that’s her fault, not ours.”

  “Jesus, Gem.” I don’t even bother correcting the heinous nickname as he drops down to lay beside me, his arms snaking around me as he pulls me in tight.

  I let out a tight laugh.

  “Sorry for the ugly trip down memory lane. Not exactly what you were expecting tonight, I’m sure.”

  “There’s nothing ugly about learning to be strong, Gemma. And that’s exactly what your dad helped you do, raising you alone.”

  It warms me to hear him praise my dad so openly. Dad is everything to me, so it’s nice to hear someone else acknowledge what a treasure the man is. I don’t know what I’ll do when it comes time to admit my arrangement to my fairly traditional old man. If he disapproves… Well, I don’t want to face that possibility yet.

  Or ever, if I can help it.

  Declan brushes my hair back from my face where the strands have pulled free from my messy bun. He looks like he’s waiting for me to spill my guts more, but that’s all I’ve got in me for one night.

  “Dec?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Whatever you were thinking of doing with that ice—don’t you think we ought to get to it before it all melts?”

  He chuckles, but his face looks torn. I can tell he’s worried I’m just masking my feelings with sex… And okay, I sort of am.

  Sometimes an orgasm or two is really all a girl needs to fix anything.

  Whatever he sees on my face must give him the green light, because he rolls away from me just long enough to pull the bag of ice closer. He unties the top and scoops out a single piece. My breath catches from anticipation.

  “Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

  I shut them and try to relax the tension in my body. It’s totally unnecessary since only a few seconds later my eyes fly open and my whole body clenches as I get the first touch of ice against my neck.

  My eyelashes flutter open to find Declan staring down at me.

  “Should I take my clothes off?” I croak out.

  He shakes his head and offers a mischievous grin. “I’m more than happy to work around them.”

  Just to prove his point, he pulls the ice from my neck and slips the half-melted cube under the hem of my shirt, skating up my midsection toward the underwire of my bra. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

  He runs the ice over the front of my bra, cold seeping through the material to make my nipples harden—the one he’s brushed over and the one he hasn’t. My hips jerk up as he works his fingers up over the top of my bra and slides the ice down so that it touches my nipple full-on. I take a deep, shuddering breath as he pulls away for a second only to repeat the whole process on the other side.

  The ice is, yes, cold. But there’s another sensation that builds, too—an unexpected warmth curls up inside of me as he continues to find sensitive parts of my body to tease.

  My collarbone.

  Behind my ear.

  The soles of my feet.

  It’s amazing how many unexpected places Declan manages to find to bring me pleasure, all the while ignoring the one place I’m begging for him.

  As he leans on his elbow beside me, water running down over my ribs as he melts an ice cube in a straight line down the center of my body. I wish he’d take my clothes off—even just my shirt, but when I suggest it, he playfully denies me.

  He’s enjoying this exactly the way it’s going.

  Even if it is a slow torture for me.

  He reaches for a new ice cube as the last one melts. There aren’t a whole lot of fully formed ones left. There’s not a giant puddle at the bottom of the plastic bag. I’m just glad to see it’s not leaking all over my poor living room carpet. This carpet’s been through enough this month, already.

  He shifts this time so that he’s laying on his side as close to me as humanly possible, his head propped on one hand as he settles a whole chunk of ice this time right over my belly button.

  A light giggle escapes me as the first bit of water drips into my belly button, tickling me inadvertently.

  Declan steals the laugh right off my lips as he moves the ice, pushing it down past the waistband of my pants and then my underwear.

  “Uh, I’m not sure I—”

  My protest dies as the ice skates over my clit. A whimper escapes me as I arch my back up, trying to hold on to that feeling even as Declan keeps pressing southward.

  I never realized cold could be such a turn on.

  Declan slides his hand between my legs, pressing them further apart so that he can gain unrestricted access to my pussy. Before I can come to terms with what he’s doing, he slips the ice inside of me and then uses his knee to nudge me to close my legs again.

  I puff out a breath of air as I take in the sensation of the ice melting inside of me. There’s something far more sexual about it than I was expecting. I rub my legs together to try to create a much needed friction and Dec chuckles as he catches the motion.

  He sits up so he can switch hands, using his warmer one to dive in to my panties and swirl his index finger around my throbbing clit. Going from the freezing ice to his warm hand is almost too much to bear. I feel my body start to pulse with an inevitable orgasm.

  “Gemma?”

  “Hmm?” Not sure how the hell he expects me to help carry a conversation right now.

  “I would never leave you.” He pauses for just a second before adding, “None of us would.”

  And then the whole world erupts into bright sparks of light like a light show meant only for me.

  Thirty-Eight

  Eli

  December 21

  “But it’s raining, Eli!” Gemma says as I try to coax her out of the car.

  I roll my eyes at her but grin anyway. Of course it’s raining. It’s December in the Pacific Northwest.

  We don’t get snow, and we definitely don’t get sun. We get damp, gray days that bleed into damp, darker gray nights. Why she’s out here acting like she’s never once been outside in December is completely beyond me.

  We both grew up here. Cold, rainy days are in our blood. So all that means right now is that she’s being stubborn to be stubborn.

  Don’t get me wrong, one of my favorite things about Gemma is that she knows what she wants, and she does what she can to get it. But it’s annoying as shit when I’m trying to make it through a date with her while fulfilling family obligations—and trying to keep everyone happy, too.

  It’s the Sunday before Christmas, and I’m fucking exhausted. We only have one day of practice left before our short Christmas break, but everything else is kicking into high gear. If I can just get through the Christmas parade, I can take Gemma to the winter farmer’s market on the square—because let’s face it, those grannies that show up sell the best food, and it isn’t Christmas without peppermint bark—and then I can drop her off for dinner with her dad or something while I take care of the shitshow of a family dinner I apparently can’t miss tonight.

  And then, after all of that I can finally go back to her place. You know, for the extracurriculars. I press my lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at her because I don’t want her to know how adorable I think it is that she’s being stubborn about the rain when she’s wrapped up in a thick Patagonia raincoat.

  “We’re going to miss the parade, Gemma,” I tell her as I duck my head inside the dry car to talk to her. The passenger side door is propped wide open and has been for the few minutes I’ve been trying to convince he
r to get her ass out of the car. She smiles up at me even though the rain’s dripping off of my raincoat onto her, and my heart’s all warm and fuzzy and all that other sentimental bullshit.

  “But gingerbread cookies!” I wish this was the first time she’s tried to use that argument on me this morning. It’s not, and I roll my eyes before she practically shouts the next part—same as she has all day. “And fruitcake!”

  “You’re disgusting.” I tease, dancing back a few steps as she tries to jab me in the stomach. I hook my fingers around the crook of her elbow and haul her out of the car before she can settle back against the seat again.

  She falls against my chest, laughing as our raincoats make a weird splooshing noise against each other. Gemma curves her fingers around my jaw as she peers up at me with mischief in her eyes.

  “Why are we even bothering with the parade when there’s roasted almonds and hot chocolate to be had?”

  “Do you remember the part of the morning where I specifically asked you if you wanted breakfast, and you said no because you’d already eaten with Declan?”

  She huffs but pushes up on her tiptoes to press her lips against mine in a painfully sweet kiss. “Yes,” she answers simply before kissing me again.

  It’s like she thinks distracting me will get her what she wants. Normally, it might. But there’s just too damn much going on today. I wrap an arm around her waist, dragging her close enough that I can feel each and every breath she takes pressing against my chest.

  “You didn’t tell me there would be Christmas treats this morning,” she grumbles against my lips, and I can’t stop my smile. She’s goddamn ridiculous, and I wouldn’t take her any other way. “I do reserve the right to change my mind now and then, you know.”

  “Gemma,” I start with a sigh as I pull back just enough to more clearly see her eyes. “My sister’s on the high school dance team, and they’re in the parade today. Pretty sure she and my mom will have my nuts if I miss this.”

  Gemma pulls away entirely, and I swear I can see the hearts in her eyes as she stares up at me. “I haven’t seen her since I first started with the Storms. Holy shit, she’s in high school now? She was so cute!”

  She’s a real pain in my ass. I was pissed when Mom came home and told me she was pregnant when I was twelve, and I’ve been pissed off ever since. She’s a brat, and I’ll never admit out loud that I actually have a soft spot of my own for her.

  “Angel, right?”

  More like Lucifer.

  Okay, it’s not that soft.

  “Anna,” I correct through gritted teeth because apparently the knowledge that my little spawn-of-Satan sister is the reason we’re here is enough to motivate Gemma to hurry toward Main Street where the parade is already well underway.

  “So yeah, I told Gena she couldn’t just go around talking shit for no reason. We’re all on the lacrosse team together, so she can’t be a bitch just to be a bitch, you know?” Anna babbles along happily, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

  The little twerp has somehow managed to ingratiate herself to Gemma and invite herself along on our date all in one go. I spare a glance in Gemma’s direction, and the icy annoyance toward my little sister starts to melt away when she smiles widely at me before turning her attention back to whatever inane teenage girl bullshit Anna’s spouting at her.

  I could’ve killed her when she invited herself to the Christmas market with us and texted Mom before I could tell her absolutely not. I took a little pleasure in at least insisting that I didn’t have time to take her home to change out of her dumb as shit elf costume. Thank fuck Gemma stayed quiet when Anna turned her baby blues up at her on that one.

  Not today, Satan-child.

  “And then Cicely tried to start running her fucking—”

  “Anna, are you enlisting in the Navy or something?” I ask as I glance in the rearview mirror. Anna folds her arms over her chest with a huff, and I try not to smile when I hear Gemma snicker. “Watch your mouth, dude.”

  Anna flips her long hair over her shoulder as she quirks an eyebrow in challenge. “That’s rich coming from you. I’m not the one who taught me to say son-of-a-bitch when I was three.”

  “Excuse you,” I say as I turn my attention back to the road. We’re getting closer to downtown and Strudford drivers can be real assholes when they want to be—so you know, all the fucking time. “It was sumumabitch, and you were four.”

  Anna scoffs as Gemma giggles, and I try to fight my smile down. I love Anna, I do. The kid stole my heart and has been the light of my life since the day she was born, but she’s a teenage girl, and I couldn’t even figure out how to talk to those when I was her age. We’re at a place right now where we just don’t really get each other. I’d do anything for her without question; you know, except invite her along on a date that I’m barely holding together as it is.

  “Asshole,” Anna mumbles, and this time I do smirk. Because even though her tone is all super serious pissed off sixteen-year-old, there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips and light shining in her eyes.

  Gemma offers me a hand as I pull my car into the closest parking garage to the square. “I love you too, jerk,” I tell her, and she scoffs again.

  I swear one of these days we’re going to learn to appreciate each other. Hopefully no one’s dead first.

  “Fuck you, too,” Anna grumbles, and I shake my head. I glance over my shoulder as I back the car into a parking space, and it’s only then that I can tell I’ve pushed her a little too far. The light in her eyes dims, and her smile goes absolutely fucking devious.

  “Hey, Gemma?”

  Fuck. I have no idea where this is going.

  “Anna,” I start, the warning clear in my tone.

  “What’s up, Anna?”

  No, Gemma, don’t humor her. It’s a fucking booby trap, for sure. It always is with her.

  “What are you doing for dinner?”

  “Anna!” I slam the car in park and jerk around to stare at her.

  Gemma squeezes my hand, but my heart still feels like it’s going to beat straight the fuck out of my chest. Gemma’s it for me—she has been for a long time now—but introducing her to my entire crazy ass family on our first date ever?

  Yeah, no fucking thanks.

  “I’m having dinner with my dad tonight.”

  Thank you, Baby Jesus.

  “Anything special?” Anna prompts, and I groan before shaking my head “no” at the little pain in my ass and indicating for her to get the fuck out of the car.

  “There’s a hockey game on TV.”

  To Anna’s credit, she scoffs just as loudly as I do. Intense hatred of hockey runs deep in our family. We’re rugby, lacrosse, and football all the way down to our core—all the way down to our dad’s days playing pro-football.

  “So probably just TV dinners,” she pauses as her eyes narrow. “Also, there’s nothing wrong with hockey, you assholes.”

  “Uh, yeah, okay,” Anna says, and I’ve never been more proud of the little shit in my life.

  Gemma scoffs and pulls her hand from mine. She pushes the door open with a heavy huff, and I turn around to glare at Anna for probably the thousandth fucking time this afternoon. Seriously, you ask your mom for a little brother one time when you’re five and you deal with repercussions for the rest of your fucking life.

  “You’re dead,” I mouth to her, and she has the fucking nerve to grin at my threat.

  Anna follows Gemma out of the car, and I throw my head against the headrest and groan when her words float back into the car. “Hey, Gemma, you should come to dinner at our house tonight. Mom would love to meet the girl Eli’s managed to trick into sleeping with him!”

  “I am so goddamn sorry.”

  Gemma looks up from where she’s pulling on a pair of my sister’s sweatpants. Even though there’s still a splatter of gravy on the front of her shirt, her face is split with a massive smile. She shrugs before carefully pulling the t-shirt off, too, and
I’m so miserable I barely even perk up at the sight of her silky bra and full tits before she pulls on an old Strudford High Rugby t-shirt I managed to dig out of my old dresser.

  “Listen, what’s a family dinner if there’s not a little disaster involved?”

  Disaster’s a nice way of putting it. I collapse onto the bed and hang my head in my hands. My drunk grandma accidentally spilling an entire gravy boat all over my girlfriend in the middle of dinner is something I’m never going to fucking recover from.

  The sounds of my family’s annual Christmas dinner float up through the floor, complete with my dad yelling something at Uncle Tim over how shit the Hawks are playing this year. I groan at the crashing sound that makes its way all the way up the stairs. Based on the way Mom’s shouting, that had to be Aunt Cheryl collapsing against the china cabinet.

  I’m never going to fucking forgive Anna for convincing Gemma to come to dinner.

  I jerk at the feeling of the bed dipping.

  I straighten as she settles behind me, and even though her knees dig into the small of my back, I’m too focused on the way her hot breath hits the back of my neck to even care. My stupid dick perks up, and I try to remind the traitorous little fucker that all of my grandparents are downstairs over-indulging in peppermint schnapps.

  All bets are off, though, the second she drops her hands to my shoulders. I tense for a quick second before she starts massaging them, but then I’m putty in her hands in an instant. My body sags as the tension drains from me.

  Except from my dick. That fucker’s at full mast, ready to salute when called upon.

  I groan as she digs her fingers roughly into my neck. Goddamn, she’s good with her hands. They trail along my shoulders before she wraps me in a hug from behind, her chest pressing against my back in a way that doesn’t do a damn thing for my throbbing dick.