Under the Mistletoe: A Reverse Harem Christmas Novel

by J.C. Valentine

  This time, his hands claim my thighs completely, and he steps fully into my personal space, splitting my thighs open to allow for his considerable width to invade, placing that telltale bulge I witnessed earlier directly against my now throbbing core, eager for so much more.

  As his fingers tease a path higher toward my hips, he makes himself clear. “Now…now I want…no, I’m going to kiss you.”

  Ah. So he doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. I get it, and I approve. I bite down on my bottom lip, wetting the plump flesh, a split second before he dives in and claims my mouth. I gasp when he makes contact, and my hands instantly come up to grasp his face, feeling the slight stubble abrading my palms as his jaw moves and his tongue enters my mouth to touch against mine.

  He tastes wonderful, a slight hint of mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his tongue. Warmth that quickly turns molten travels through me like wildfire, touching every nerve ending in my body. It’s electrifying and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

  No, scratch that. I’ve come across this one other time in my life, and that was the moment that Niles kissed me.

  What are the chances that a woman would experience such a thing once in her lifetime, let alone twice, and in such a short amount of time?

  I feel like I’ve won the lottery as I put everything into this kiss, bringing my legs up and locking my ankles around his firm buttocks, drawing him in so his hips and hard cock are tight against my core. His arms wrap around my back, hands sneaking under my shirt, making sure I’m not going anywhere either, and I smile against his lips because hot damn, we’re on the same page, and I’m ready for more.

  “You’re a little firecracker,” he accuses with ample approval as he reaches higher under my shirt, feeling my skin that’s definitely on fire, before snaking around to my front to cup my naked breast in one eager hand.

  As he kneads my tender flesh, I moan out loud, heedless of who might overhear us. It doesn’t seem a risk, since they’re all, apparently, on the same page. As I transfer my kisses to Dean’s neck, sucking and nipping at flesh that smells faintly of soap, I find myself welcoming the intrusion of Shane or Niles. Definitely Niles. Being tended to by two fine men would certainly be a way to chase away winter’s cold.

  Who needs a working furnace when we’re drumming up enough heat between us to power the whole damn block.

  Gooseflesh pebbles my skin as Dean’s touch turns more aggressive, pinching my nipple as his teeth bite down on my earlobe. And suddenly he stops.

  “Are you cold? Do you want to take this upstairs?”

  His concern for my well-being is sweet, but right now, the last thing I’m looking for is sweet.

  “I’m fine,” I growl, and reach between us to cup and squeeze his cock in my palm as proof. He grunts and rocks his hips into my hand in a bid for more. I give it to him, rubbing the cotton fabric that conceals the very thing I want most in the world at this moment.

  “You’re—”

  “On fire,” I finish for him. “I know. Now stop talking. You’re ruining the mood.”

  Dean chuckles under his breath and continues his ministrations, just as I commanded. I don’t know how much time passes, but we’re in the thick of it, nearing the edge of insanity and seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off and doing it right here on the kitchen counter, when I hear a throat clear.

  “Are we having fun?”

  I don’t know why, but my heart freezes in my chest, and every ounce of oxygen in my lungs vacates my body as Dean and I stop dead in our tracks, hands on boobs and cocks, as if we’re a couple of teenagers caught in the act by our parents, and lift our heads to see Niles standing in the doorway looking absolutely pissed.

  “I can explain,” Dean and I say in unison, and really we can. But depending on how Niles receives it, it may fall on deaf ears. I’m praying as I remove my hand from Dean’s quickly deflating bulge and his falls away from my breast that I didn’t read Niles wrong, both in body language and the spoken word. I thought he’d been pretty clear, but I’m doubting everything now.

  “Explain what?” Niles rebuts. “Because this all looks pretty self-explanatory to me.”

  “Dude,” Dean interjects, “she said you were down.”

  “Down? With this?” Niles waves a hand at us. “Certainly not. Why would I be down with any of this?”

  Okay, so I did, somehow, massively misread this entire situation. Inside, I panic, thinking back to the words exchanged between us and wondering how I could have possibly gotten it so damn wrong. I was sure…

  “I thought we had an agreement,” Niles continues. “Rules.”

  Now it’s Dean’s turn to get upset, and while he does that, I slide down off the counter and sidestep out of the way in case any items in the room that aren’t bolted down go flying. Or, as men tend to do when they’re flexing their muscles at one another, they decide to throw down with each other. The last thing I want to do is get caught between a fury of flying fists.

  “Rules? Ha! You broke those rules already, my friend.”

  “I did?” Niles challenges. “You did it first. Why should I feel sorry about it?”

  “Exactly. And why should I?”

  “Because I was just evening the playing field,” Niles argues.

  I’m totally lost. Trying to decode why men are fighting is nearly impossible, and I stopped trying to win that battle back in high school. I assume they’re talking about me, in some roundabout way, but if I bet money on it, I’m certain I’d be wrong.

  “What do you want me to say, I’m sorry?” Dean throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, I’m sorry.”

  Niles stands there, silently, his jaw working as he glares daggers at his roommate, and then he says, quite contrarily, “Say it like you mean it.”

  I almost belt out a laugh. Maybe because I can see the humor glinting in his green eyes, even in the dark, or because I sense the change in the atmosphere, the tension suddenly lifting from the room, but I don’t feel like there’s any danger anymore. In a flash, it seems the men have reached some kind of agreement, a new accord perhaps, but they’re certainly over whatever anger they’d felt a moment ago.

  “I’m sorry,” Dean repeats grudgingly. “I got in over my head.”

  Niles’ gaze drifts to me, where I’m standing behind and to the right of Dean’s shoulder, just within Dean’s view. “Yeah, that’s easy to do with this one.”

  My cheeks flush, feeling the compliment, or what I assume was intended as one, all the way down to my toes. It’s difficult not to feel cherished when he looks at me like that, which is crazy, since I’ve hardly known him long.

  “Well…” Dean turns sideways, opening his view to me while still maintaining his line of sight with Niles. He combs his fingers through his hair, sighs, and says, “Shane won’t be happy.”

  “Shane can get over it.”

  “What is Shane getting over?” The voice comes from behind Niles, and a moment later, the man in questions appears from around the corner. His blue eyes are heavy lidded as he struggles to shake off sleep, his dark hair tousled, as if he’s spent the last couple of hours tossing and turning. I wonder if he’s been as high strung as me, but then he’s the last one down here, probably responding to some noise or other.

  Or the call of food, like I had.

  Which reminds me, I haven’t eaten yet. Those few bites of rice weren’t enough to fill me up, but I have more pressing matters to worry about right now, and my preoccupation is enough to stave off the worst of the hunger a while longer.

  “Dean was trying to seal the deal with Elle,” Niles informs him, and the hint of a smile tells me he thinks he’s just thrown his roommate under the bus.

  Dean isn’t about to let that happen. “Nothing you haven’t already done.”

  “Wait, both of you have been dipping your hands in the cookie jar behind my back?”

  Shane sounds indignant, but no one is more indignant than me. “Wait a second here,�
� I interject. “I’m not some damn cookie jar.”

  “We’re not saying you are, honey,” Dean says, and my temper flares.

  “Honey?” I’m no one’s “honey.”

  Niles catches onto my shift in demeanor and puts his hands up, palms out, in an attempt to smooth tensions. “Let’s all just take a breath and count to ten.”

  “Cut the pussy shit,” Dean remarks, but there’s no heat behind it that I can discern.

  “Hey, don’t yell at him,” Shane snaps.

  “Did I raise my voice? No.” Dean is in a mood, and while I don’t know him from Adam, I feel a need to reach out and try to instill some calm.

  “Hey,” I say softly, touching his bicep, “I think Niles is right. We all need to take a step back and breathe right now.”

  Dean looks down over his shoulder at me and, after a brief pause, he nods. “Fine.” Then he pushes past Niles and Shane and rounds the counter to sit on the stools on the other side.

  I look around at each of the men, unsure of how we got to this place but hoping we can find some calm grounds once again. I don’t like the idea of them fighting, especially not over me. And since I’m the common denominator here…

  “I should probably go.”

  All three of them scowl.

  “Why?” Niles asks.

  “That’s not necessary,” says Shane.

  “Not on your damn life,” Dean states. “And I mean that literally. The roads are shit.”

  I spread my hands out before me. “It’s clear that my just being here has disrupted whatever balance you had going on. I don’t want to be the person who breaks up a years’ long friendship. I’m no Yoko.”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Dean dismisses.

  “Yeah, we’re three bachelors living under the same roof. This isn’t the first time we’ve butted heads.”

  “Normally,” Niles adds, “it’s worse than this.”

  “Worse?” I ask, concerned.

  Dean is nodding. “Sometimes, it comes to blows.”

  My eyes widen. They’ve hit each other? And they’re still friends? The one and only time I ever got into a fight with a girlfriend of mine was when I was eight. We exchanged words, she pushed me, and I fell backward onto the corner of an out-of-place dresser drawer lying on the floor. After busting my ass good, I got up, informed her we were no longer friends, and we never spoke again. This whole concept they’ve presented me with is completely foreign to me.

  “We’re already over it,” Shane informs me, and now there’s pleading in his eyes, as if he’s begging me to let it go too, as if he wants me to stay as much as I wanted to a few minutes ago.

  In that moment, I’m overwhelmed. Shaking my head, I tell them, “This is…I need a minute to wrap my head around all of this.” I move forward, toward Niles and Shane, and then past them.

  “Where are you going?” Niles is worried, and I can’t blame him. He doesn’t know me either, so it’s impossible to predict my reaction to everything.

  “Upstairs to my room. I need some time to think.”

  I don’t hear any protests, so I keep walking… all the way up to the guest bedroom where I close the door and climb back into bed.

  I feel the cold in the air again, and instantly I mourn the loss of what could have been. Damn, not even one night together and already there’s drama. Maybe I am in over my head.

  9

  The morning comes on too fast, and yet not fast enough. I’m not keen on leaving when it feels like there are things being left unsaid, yet I am eager to get back to the comforts of my own home. Dorothy had it right when she said there was no place like it. What I’m not eager to do is drive in what will undoubtably be a slushy mess. I hate driving in winter!

  Leaving the guest bed, which turned out to be a total dream, like lying on clouds, I trudge over to a decorative side chair covered in plain, key lime microfiber and scoop up my clothes that I left in a pile last night, carrying them to the door and across the hall toward the open bathroom.

  The house is quiet, and I assume the guys are sleeping. Good, because I’d rather not have my leaving be a “thing.” Good-byes are always awkward, and this morning, I’d like to avoid any more of that. Last night was quite enough for me.

  The bathroom is big enough to fit my entire apartment in it, and I feel a twinge of embarrassment come over me as I set my meager belongings on the counter and reach past the shower curtains to crank the water on. I stand in front of the giant mirror spanning half the wall as I undress, peeling off each of the guy’s articles of clothing lent to me, realizing for the first time as I do so that they’d used their clothes as a form of staking a claim. It’s so primal, I snort a laugh.

  Here I am, little ol’ me with nothing special to offer, standing in an extravagant bathroom in an equally extravagant house, with three gorgeous, well-to-do, up-and-coming men who all seem to harbor some deep and, now that I think about it, inexplicable interest in me. I look around the bathroom, noting all of the cool black and white marble and gleaming metal accent tiles, the lush towels, glass surfaces, brushed nickel finishes, and even the damn neutral taupe paint on the walls that make me feel so suddenly out of place that I just want to get the hell out of here.

  Here, I don’t fit. Here, I’m so completely out of my element I might as well be the maid rather than the coworker and potential love interest. Here, I’m lower than low, and that just isn’t okay with me.

  I guess what they say is true: everything is clearer in the light of day. I just hadn’t had to drink a bottle of Captain Morgan to realize it.

  I hurry through the shower, cranking it up hot enough to scald my skin, as if I can somehow hold onto that heat and use it like a shield when I venture out into the cold. But nothing could be colder than the chilly realization that you just don’t measure up, right?

  Once clean, I wrap myself in what appeared to be and turned out was a fluffy white towel that feels like butter against my skin and use the back of my hand to clear the fog from the mirror hanging over the vanity. With my long, wet locks hanging down around my face and shoulder, I imagine I look even more pathetic than I feel, like a stray dog left out in the rain, and I sneer at my reflection, wondering why the hell I had never been lucky enough to come into riches of my own or opportunities for greatness.

  Then I shake my head and remind myself that I’ve made plenty of choices along the way to place myself in this position. No one gets handouts, and I was perfectly fine with my mediocre life until an hour ago.

  I make a vow to stop pitying myself as I plug in the blow dryer I found in the sink cabinet, and bend over to dry my hair.

  I know from experience that it takes at least ten minutes to complete this process, and I press forward. I may want to leave ASAP, but even less fun than driving in snow is doing it with icicles for hair.

  I’m humming a soft tune, completely focused on the cloud of heat I’ve enveloped myself in, when I see a foreign set of feet enter my line of vision.

  “Oh!” My heart thuds wildly in my chest as I jackknife upright. “You scared me!” I accuse with a chuckle, seeing Niles standing there in front of me. I get the sense that he came in with a purpose, but whatever that was has been lost as his eyes aren’t looking at me.

  Well, they are, but not at my face. Lower.

  It’s then that I realize that, in my haste to right myself, I lost my towel, leaving me completely nude and exposed to him.

  “Oh!” I drop the hairdryer on the counter and lunge for the towel, now pooled at my feet, yanking it up and hastily covering my body with the scrunched material. It’s not much now, bunched up as it is, but I manage to cover the basics.

  Niles, being Niles, starts stuttering. “I-I’m s-s-s-sorry. Shit. I d-didn’t realize, Elle. I kn-knocked, but you didn’t answer. Shit. Shitshitshit. I’ll go.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, already backing up.

  He’s so damn cute. All the stuttering and wide eyes and shock and fear mixed with open desire melt my
insides, and my lady parts respond in a primal way.

  Rather than allow him to leave, my arm shoots out and my hand grasps his arm to stop him. He looks at me as if he’s sure I’m about to smack him, but instead, I release my grip on the towel and delight in watching his gorgeous eyes slip south once again, blazing with want and need.

  “Sorry?” My voice comes out husky, heavy with desire. “I’m not.” I watch a molten look overtake his eyes, and then I step into him at the same time he steps into me, and we converge at once with a heated kiss that, if I were wearing any, would have knocked my socks off. Instead, I feel a total-body flush work its way from the tips of my toes up to the top of my head, raising goose bumps across every inch of my exposed skin. Tingles run their way over my scalp and down my limbs, uniting between my legs with such strength that I moan out loud into Niles’ mouth.

  Words can’t adequately express just how much I want this man in this moment. The most I can manage is to say that it’s a moment I will never forget, one that inspires thoughts that dare to be given voice—a voice that I know instinctively he wants to hear and his friends would more than welcome.

  I want him.

  And his friends.

  I want what they want me to offer, and I know if I choose to make that leap of sexual readiness, they’ll welcome me with open arms and hard members.

  The very idea sends a flood of warmth straight to my lady parts, and I grind my hips against Niles’ in a bid for his eager touch. The message is well received and he doesn’t disappoint. With his dexterous, long fingers, he finds my swollen nether lips and uses my silken heat to glide effortlessly between them, cleaving them apart and dancing briefly over my engorged clit before diving deep inside of me, eliciting a primal growl from deep within that I wasn’t aware I could make.

  I push onto my tiptoes and gouge my fingers through his hair, clamping down tight on the lush roots as I punish his mouth with hungry kisses that communicate to him just how badly I want him. Take me here, now, on every surface, and don’t stop until the sun goes down and rises again. The voice inside of me is filled with desperation, and I shower him with that too, ensuring that I will get what I want, how I want it.