The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  I’m telling Cyrus he has the power to hurt my heart… and that I’m giving myself over to him anyway.

  I hold my wrists out to him.

  He’s still for a long moment before he reaches out and hooks a cuff around one of my wrists. He surprises me, though, when he tugs me toward the bed instead of hooking the other arm. It takes me a minute to catch on.

  It doesn’t really hit me fully until his palm spreads wide across my lower back and guides me down onto the bed.

  I swallow hard as he pulls the handcuffs around the post at the corner of my bed frame. He holds a hand out, asking for my other hand but not demanding it. That’s reason enough for me to oblige him, I decide.

  I put my wrist in his hand and try not to fidget as he closes the other cuff around my wrist, pulling it probably a little tighter than necessary but not so tight that I do more than give a slight wince and gasp lightly.

  He gives the short chain a sharp tug to make sure it’s going to hold.

  I try to ignore the way the movement makes the cuffs pinch my wrists. It’s all part of the experience, Gemma, just hang on and enjoy the ride.

  The position of my arms means I have to lay awkwardly diagonal across the bed. Cyrus steps back and almost immediately I lose sight of him as his footsteps place him moving toward the other side of the bed.

  My range of motion isn’t good enough for me to turn my head far enough to see what he’s doing. I have to rely entirely on what I can hear.

  All I hear is rustling for a long moment—which doesn’t help much—before the bed dips and the weight of him joining me calms me enough that I lay my head down against the cool sheets.

  I’d already almost forgotten all about the heater not working.

  Cyrus’ fingers skate over my ass before finding their way to the sides of my pants. He wastes no time yanking the fuzzy pajamas down as I tense my body in an effort to stay as still as possible. The last thing I want to do is give everything away by wiggling for him before he’s barely even put his hands on me.

  “You have the greatest ass.” He puts a hand on each cheek, palming my flesh through the scrap of lacy panties that barely protects anything. “They should build fucking museums to honor this ass.”

  I snort out a laugh that falls short when I feel teeth nip my skin.

  I suck in a breath as Cyrus nibbles his way across the line where my thigh curves up to meet my ass. The area is so sensitive that there’s no more pretending I’m capable of being still. I writhe against my binding, desperately trying to get him to give me more.

  One of Cyrus’ legs brushes against mine and I finally realize what all the rustling sounds were. He’s naked.

  My ass arches up toward him, beckoning him closer.

  He still takes his time, running his hands slowly down the backs of my thighs before he puts his mouth on me and runs his lips along the same path. First one leg, then the other.

  The waiting is excruciating.

  Between the cold and his attention, I can feel my nipples painfully hard as they strain against the lacy bra that matches my panties.

  I had to go shopping to buy the set. I also bought several more just like it but in different colors. It turns out my lingerie drawer hadn’t been ready for twenty-five dates.

  The set I wore for Cyrus is blue—the same deep blue as the Strudford Storms team color.

  Cyrus’ fingers dig into my waist suddenly, just above the line of my panties. With no warning, he flips me over. I blink up at him in surprise as I bounce lightly on the mattress.

  He runs his hands over the tops of my thighs now that I’m facing up toward him. With one finger, he caresses over the front of my panties. Teasing me with a feather-light touch until I whimper. For a second, I forget about the restraints and try to reach for him.

  I huff in annoyance as my hands don’t make it far before locking back into place.

  He’s grinning as he settles his body half over mine to kiss me. I hate that he hasn’t quite made it between my legs. The cool air kisses my bare skin, taunting and teasing me about all the attention I’m not getting under my panties.

  I tug at my arms again, hard enough this time that I won’t be surprised if I’m a little bruised after this.

  Is it worth it?

  Yes.

  God, yes.

  “Is this okay?” Cyrus asks, lifting his chin to eye the way my wrists cross in the restraints.

  I can tell from the way his eyelids droop further down that he enjoys the sight. Of course, the way his cock pulses against my thigh is a pretty good indicator, too.

  “Yeah,” I croak out after two pathetic attempts to make my dry mouth produce words.

  “Damn, your sweater though.”

  He purses his lips as he considers the upper half of my body. He can’t exactly take my top off with my hands handcuffed to the bed.

  He shifts closer and grabs a fistful of the sweater, pulling it up to expose my bra. I can’t see because he’s holding my sweater in the way, but I’m pretty sure from the appreciative sound he makes that he’s getting a good look at the hard peaks of my nipples straining towards him.

  “Pull the sweater over my head. It’s okay.”

  “It’s going to be awkward.”

  “It’s okay,” I repeat.

  He looks at me skeptically but still does as I ask.

  Cyrus manages to work the fabric up over my head and arms well enough, and I push my chin forward so Cyrus can try tucking it behind my head at least. When I’m able to lean back again, the position of my sweater forces my head up like a pillow. My new vantage point means that I’ve got no choice but to look right at my body, poised and waiting for Cyrus’ attentions to return.

  Butterflies erupt in my stomach.

  I’m going to have to watch every single move he makes.

  “It’s good,” I whisper, the words so soft I’m not sure he even heard them until he shifts again on the bed.

  He hooks a single finger in the front of my panties, making my whole body twitch with anticipation. He’s not trying to touch me, though, only my clothes. He slides the panties down my legs with minimal contact.

  With one less barrier between us, Cyrus finally gives me what I really want and moves between my legs. It feels good to have the hard planes of his body against my much softer form.

  “I’m going to fuck you really slow. So slow it’s goddamn agonizing.”

  His words make me whimper.

  “And then we’re going to take a long bath together before I handcuff you to your dining room table and fuck you there, too. Just as slow and until you can never think of anything at that table except my cock ever again.”

  I’m already pretty sure that’s a given.

  Cyrus slips a condom on as I do my best to ignore the way my fingers itch to be the one to do it. I want so badly to touch him, but I have to remind myself there will be plenty of time for that later. The bath sounds like a really, really good place to go on an exploration of my own.

  My eyes widen as he fists his dick and settles against me, teasing just the top against my slit until I’m pretty sure all the blood in my body is rushing to my clit as it begs for a little extra attention.

  Cyrus reads me like an open book, pushing into me just enough so that he can free his hand to stroke my clit.

  I jolt so violently that he slips a couple more inches inside of me.

  He gives me a wicked grin as he pulls his hand back and presses forward, sliding the rest of the way inside of me with exactly the kind of excruciating slowness he promised.

  “I need more,” I try to beg as he barely moves his hips on a gentle rocking motion.

  “I think this is perfect.”

  He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I can tell from the pinch of his forehead that this is hard for him, too. He sticks to his guns, though. Even as I do everything in my power to thrust my body and force him to give it to me faster and harder, he never moves with anything other than a languid stead
iness that brings me to a slow boil.

  “Cyrus,” I whine.

  “Gemma,” he whispers my name back like he just wants to hear our names together.

  I would have thought there was no way in hell I could get off this way, with him being so careful not to give me the speed or pressure my body is begging for. Eventually, it becomes clear I am so wrong. Cyrus has clearly read my body better than I can.

  He starts to whisper filthy things to me—promises of all the other things he’ll do to me—and pleasure finally erupts through me from the inside out.

  It’s just one more in a long line of orgasms I’ve been blessed with since this arrangement started. And honestly? I think the orgasms are starting to melt my brain, because I can’t even imagine anymore what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with only one man.

  The Strudford Storms have already ruined me.

  Twenty

  Gemma

  December 07

  “I feel like such an asshole,” Lee mutters while he eyes me warily.

  I try to control my shivers and chattering teeth. But truth be told, I really am cold. And I’ve been cold since yesterday—ever since I first realized my furnace was on the fritz and it was too late for anyone to come out and fix it.

  I’m bundled up now with a massive cup of hot chocolate steaming under my nose, gloved fingers curling around the styrofoam in an attempt to seep as much heat from the scalding liquid as I can. Normally it wouldn’t be so bad since winters are typically pretty mild in Strudford. But there are a ton of things working against me tonight.

  Like the fact that the temperature is hovering close enough to freezing that the typical December rain is something closer to a slushy frozen mix. And that I haven’t been able to warm up ever since Cyrus rolled out of my bed this morning.

  Lee, in a surprisingly thoughtful moment, brought me to the outdoor skating rink on Market Square for our date.

  And yeah, normally I’d be super fucking into the adventure, but we’re hiding out under the awning of the sole coffee shop, huddled together and watching the few dudes who are stupid enough to actually be on the ice try to check each other into the flimsy walls.

  I suspect they’re either on the minor league hockey team, the Strudford Seals, or one of the several pick-up teams in the city.

  “Seriously, I’m sorry.” Lee wraps his around my shoulder and pulls me close against his side.

  He’s one of the shorter, stockier guys on the team, so I fit like a glove next to him. His size makes him the perfect half-back—he’s deceptively light on his feet and has phenomenal aim when it comes to his kicks.

  “It’s fine,” I try to reassure him as I pull my thoughts away from rugby before all I can think about it how delicious his powerful thighs look in his dark blue Storms’ uniform. “Besides, if these assholes on the ice keep it up, I might actually get to see some red ice tonight.”

  It may not be in an actual hockey rink, and they might not be actually fighting, but red ice is fucking thrilling. Knowing that two guys are impassioned about the game enough to draw blood during a fight on the ice? Yeah, count me the eff in.

  Lee scoffs, and I raise my cup to hide my smile. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line all the Storms decided they unilaterally hate hockey.

  And now they love nothing more than to give me shit about the fact that I don’t.

  It’s an unspoken rule that I don’t ever talk about the fact that my first few months with the Storms were spent with me moping about the fact that the Seals didn’t hire me first. And we never talk about the fact that like every good daddy’s girl, I’d decided that his favorite sport was my favorite sport too when I was five years old.

  Something about bad luck and offending the rugby gods or what-the-fuck-ever.

  “I don’t see what anyone likes about hockey. Mindless violence,” he grumbles. The irony that it’s a rugby player saying this isn’t lost on me, but all I do is grin into my cocoa again.

  I glance up at him from the corner of my eye, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. I get lost for a moment in just staring at him. Like every other Storm, he’s unfairly attractive. Right now, there’s a red tinge to his cheeks and the wind’s ruffling his short, blond hair.

  I’m struck speechless for a second because this is how he looks on the field most days, too, and there’s nothing I love more than the way my guys look on the field.

  “You want to tell my dad that?” I finally manage to ask, my voice only squeaking a little on my words.

  His full lips press into a tight line, and he furrows his brows as he glances back and forth between me and the rink. He doesn’t answer me, but I barely notice.

  Already, I catch myself getting lost in a daydream of having his lips all over my body.

  The fictional images in my head make me shudder.

  For the love… After a week, you would think I wouldn’t still be so horny and worked up for every date. Untrue. Each of my experiences is so unique to the guy I’m with that I’m perpetually curious and turned on.

  Plus, knowing there’s a tube of arousal balm waiting for us at his apartment just around the block from the square is doing some interesting stuff to all of my private bits.

  I turn into his hug, and Lee wraps his other arm around my waist, dragging me closer to the hard planes of his body. “I am sorry, Gemma. I saw the rink going up the other day and thought it would be perfect. You know, since you’re into that caveman hockey bullshit or whatever, and it was something sort of related that didn’t actually involve me willingly paying for tickets to see the Seals…”

  I glare up at him, and his light brown eyes sparkle with mirth. Fucking mirth.

  “Seriously, I’m gonna let you talk to Cara about your garbage sports opinions. You guys think I’m bad when I get worked up? Please.”

  Lee chuckles. “Are you seriously threatening me with your best friend? That skinny blonde girl?”

  Okay, Cara is mega-tall with curves more subtle than mine but that still leave no doubt she’s got both tits and ass. She’s not just some skinny blonde girl. But duh, he’s not going acknowledge how hot my best friend is when we’re here on our first date together.

  “Listen, she’s freaking fierce, okay? Don’t let the way she looks fool you—she’s as rough around the edges as any of us. You know she works with a hockey team, right?”

  I don’t bother telling him it’s a pee-wee league, watching instead as his eyes flick toward the loud as hell dudes on the skating rink. “I really should’ve checked the weather. Or just booked us private lessons somewhere. This is such a goddamn disaster.”

  I offer him a reassuring smile. One of my favorite things about Lee is the fact that he’s always quick to make a decision. It makes him an excellent player—he’s fucking phenomenal under pressure.

  But he does have a tendency to act first and only think things through later when it comes to his personal life. He’s got himself into a spot of trouble on more than one occasion thanks to that, too. I’ll never forget the time I had to bail him out of jail and then convince Marty not to can his ass for getting into a fight with some asshole at a bar.

  “Favor?” I ask him, and he pulls his wandering gaze away from the rink. He quirks an eyebrow, and I give him the best seductive smile I can manage with chattering teeth. “Give me a kiss and then take me home and warm me up?”

  “Gladly.”

  Lee dips his head, full lips covering mine in a kiss that’s sweeter than I imagined it would be. His lips taste like the coffee he drank while I used my hot chocolate mostly just to warm my stiff fingers.

  As he works his lips over mine, tracing his tongue along the seam of my lips until I part them for him, I can’t help but think that even though things didn’t go quite the way he’d planned, it’s still a pretty perfect date. Because at the end of the day, all I cared about was being here with him.

  “Are you sure I should use this on myself?”

  I
cross my arms over my naked chest and nod from my spot propped against the pillows at the top of his bed. Lee quirks an eyebrow at me before staring back down at the tube of arousal balm in his hands.

  He’d stopped short at the term feminine on the tube.

  Not because he’s some big macho douchebag, but because he wasn’t sure he should put something on his dick that wasn’t specially designed for that purpose. His brown eyes flick back up to meet mine, and I spread my legs.

  I run a hand down my body until I’m sliding my fingers into my slickness and start rubbing circles over my still tingling clit. Seriously, the balm is fucking fantastic, I don’t think I’d ever cum quite so fast in my life.

  He’d slathered me up and then worked me over good first with his fingers and then his tongue. Like a goddamn expert.

  I just know it’s going to be amazing for him if he’d just freaking try it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. And I promise I’ll lick it all off if something goes wrong.”

  Lee hesitates a beat longer before twisting the lid off the tube and squirting it over his thick, hard cock. I circle my clit faster at the sight of him taking his shaft in his hand and stroking the balm into his skin. I’m not sure who groans louder, but the sight of him working his shaft as his head falls back on his shoulders really does something for me.

  I pull my hands away from myself and press my legs together tightly as I lean forward to watch him. Never in my life did I think I’d get off from watching a dude touch himself, but watching Lee is making my core ache and burn in ways I didn’t even know were possible.

  I don’t want to miss a single second.

  “Holy shit,” he groans after a minute. “Gemma, grab a condom. I don’t think I’m going to last long and I’m sure as hell not passing up a chance to be inside of you.”