The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  I give her a break for a minute, waiting to make sure she’s still comfortable. Before I start up again, her eyes flicker open to meet mine in the mirror.

  “I can take more,” she tells me.

  I have to hold back a laugh. She’s gotten bossy now that she’s settled in. And she still doesn’t know exactly what I have in store for her.

  I think she’ll be pleasantly surprised.

  She manages to take most of the string before she groans and tells me, “That’s probably enough.”

  “Perfect. You did so good,” I say softly as I lean over her to kiss the middle of her back.

  She lets out a soft grunt as my body melds to hers. I know she can feel how hard I am pressing against her. My dick is like an arrow propped on a bow and ready to piston itself right up inside of her, but I force myself to take a long breath so I don’t turn into an asshole and scare her off now.

  I step back and take extra care putting a condom on since everything is so covered in lube at the moment.

  She keeps watching me through the mirror the whole time, heat clear in her eyes letting me know she’s ready and willing as soon as I am.

  One more deep breath.

  With all the self-control I can muster, I step behind her and finally line my insistent cock up with the crease between her legs. I use my foot to nudge hers apart until she’s actually open to me, splayed out over my counter top like some kind of bizarre bathroom gift on display.

  Tonight, she’s all mine, and all I can think about is how I need her to enjoy this so she’ll keep coming back for more.

  She whimpers my name when I slide the tip of my dick inside of her. I give her time to adjust to being filled in both holes for the first time before I give her more than that. By the time she’s writhing beneath me, trying to force her pussy further down on my cock, I know she’s really ready and not just trying to give me what she thinks I want.

  Pleasure fills me as I finally start to fuck her the way I wanted. I don’t pound away at her like a neanderthal by any means—but I finally start to thrust into her with the kind of pressure that makes her hands skate over the countertop looking for something to grab onto as she makes a dozen different noises all telling me exactly what makes her feel good.

  It doesn’t take much for me to realize she likes when I lean over further, the friction of my body brushing the handle at the end of the anal beads strand so that it shifts every time I pump into her and brush up against her back at the same time.

  It’s that stimulation from both sides that seems to do her in. When her sounds start to get more high-pitched, I take note and time it out just right…

  The very second her orgasm starts I grab the end of the anal beads and slowly extract them as her moaning dissolves into full on screaming. Distantly, I think I heard one of my neighbors yell at us for the noise, but I can’t bring myself to care about that in the moment.

  Pulling the beads out mid-orgasm takes her to a whole different level of pleasure that she’s probably never even felt before. Her legs shake, giving out pretty damn quickly, her body convulses, and it takes a long time for her noises to dissolve into whimpers. When they eventually do, she puts a hand to her cheek and swipes away wetness.

  I made her cry, I realize with pride.

  There’s not a lot of reasons a man would ever feel good about making a woman cry, but making her orgasm so hard she bursts into tears because it’s so overwhelming? Yeah, that’s like nothing else I’ve ever fucking experienced.

  That feeling carries me through the rest of our fuck even as she lays spent, propped up only by the counter. I don’t have to go for long before I cum myself, that image of her orgasm burned into my brain from this moment forward.

  When I pull out of her, I’m nearly as unsteady as she seems to be. I put a hand on the counter to keep myself upright.

  The silence suddenly seems glaring.

  “So…?”

  She groans out, “This time, I’d like the shower to not turn me into an icicle please.” And then she smiles. She really fucking smiles.

  Thirty-Four

  Kellin

  December 18

  “What’s in store for the day?”

  I tear my eyes away from the road long enough to take in the easy way she’s smiling at me from the passenger side of my car. My heart does this weird flippy-twisting move because, yeah… Never in my life did I ever think I’d actually get her here, and now that she is, I’m nervous as hell that I’m gonna mess this up.

  Gemma deserves the best of the best, and I’ve wracked my brain over just what the hell that is. Our girl likes things simple—she doesn’t want or need to be showered with extravagance. The team consensus has pretty much been that she appreciates the thoughtful stuff more than anything else.

  “You’ll have to wait to see,” I tell her cheekily, and she laughs softly before turning her head toward the window to stare at the passing scenery.

  Truth be told, I knew I was really taking a risk in planning a picnic in the middle of December, but she loves to be outdoors. Plus there’s this sick park on the edge of town that I like to frequent. There’s a big, secluded pond out in the middle of the trees on the edge of the park, and relief wells through me when I see the blankets and cooler sitting exactly where I asked Declan to put them.

  I fucking owe you one, bud, I think to myself when I spot the picnic basket sitting next to the cooler as well. Gemma covers her mouth with her hand, eyes going wide at the sight of the picnic, and I’m pleased. More than pleased really. No one could ever accuse the Storms of not working with one another toward a common goal.

  Teamwork makes the dream work.

  I glance toward the clear blue sky, throwing up a silent thanks to whoever’s listening that the weather’s stayed clear just like my app said it would for the past ten days. I could’ve really screwed the pooch on this one if a random rainy front had moved through. I tear my thoughts away from the weather when Gemma turns to me, her dark brown eyes shining with an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “This is amazing, Kellin. I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

  “I’d do it a thousand times over,” I tell her as I lead her toward our picnic set up. I lay out the first blanket and shake out the second while she’s settling onto it. I cover her lap before unloading the basket and cooler.

  I sit next to her, pulling the Thermos of hot chocolate and two mugs from the basket after doing so. I offer her a cup, and my stomach clenches at the warm smile she offers me as she takes it. Silence falls over us as we eat, but it’s comfortable, and I’m content.

  This feels like the most natural thing in the world.

  When we do start talking, we chat mindlessly, filling the time with easy chatter and laughter until the leftover food is packed away and the hot chocolate is gone. We don’t stick around long after the hot chocolate’s gone. A chill is settling in the air around us, and she’s started to shiver.

  If there’s one thing we learned from Lee’s date, it’s that she doesn’t like to be cold. Granted, Cyrus assured us she could be both warmed and cheered up with the right motivation, but I’m content to drop a blanket around her shoulders and snuggle her under my arm as I heft all of our picnic shit back to the car.

  Her teeth are chattering by the time I open the door for her, so I jack up the heat and throw my jacket over her legs. She looks like she might protest, but smiles instead and turns the radio up just a little louder to better hear the Christmas station that I’ve had playing in the background.

  “You know, you might be the only person I know who likes Christmas as much as I do.”

  “What’s not to like?” I ask as I start the short drive back to my apartment. Of all the guys, I live the furthest away from everything. Not because I don’t want to be nearer to them or the complex, but just because I’ve been too lazy to make the move into the city proper. I’ll get there one day. I glance at Gemma. With the right motivation, of course.


  “I mean, it’s truly the most wonderful time of the year,” I add. She shakes her head at the cheesy joke, but I continue anyway, “The carolling, the lights, the food? Truthfully, though, mostly I love the thrill of hunting down the perfect gifts for everyone. You know I start shopping in like… July, right?”

  “I started in June.”

  “Yeah, because you’re a damned overachiever.” Gemma turns affronted eyes in my direction, and I offer her a warm smile and my hand. Our fingers lace together as I turn my eyes back on the road. “It’s one of the things I really like about you.”

  Gemma’s eyes go wide at the sight of the fireplace sitting against the wall in my living room. Living on the outskirts of town afforded me the opportunity to get a rad, remodeled apartment in a six unit building. They’re spacious. They have great amenities. And because the building’s older and sturdy, I hardly ever hear my neighbors.

  Plus, functioning fireplace.

  I make a show of lighting a fire and pulling up a wingback chair that once belonged to my grandfather for her to sit in. It’s warm and comfy, and I hate that she’s only going to get a few minutes in it. Truly, I’d let her curl up in the chair and fall asleep if I weren’t so desperate to feel her body on mine.

  I sink to my knees on the plush carpet in front of the fire, leaning back on my haunches and giving myself one long minute to stare at her. She’s curled up in the chair with her knees tucked under the oversized sweater she’s wearing. Her eyes are half closed, and she’s twirling the ending of her ponytail around her fingers. She looks like she might fall asleep any time.

  That won’t do at all.

  I clear my throat, and her eyes fly open. I can’t help the devilish smirk that spreads over my lips when I crook my finger at her, and she slides from the chair, folding her legs into a pretzel as she sits on the rug in front of me.

  I lean forward, knuckles digging into the carpet as I cover her lips with my own. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and unassuming, just like her. I can still taste the faintest hints of hot chocolate on her tongue, and something about that sends a shot of blood to my already straining dick.

  I lean into her further, pressing closer and closer until she’s falling backward and pulling me down with her. Still, I brace myself so all of my weight isn’t pressing down on her. There’s a blindfold burning a hole in my back pocket, and I’m itching to get it out. To show her just how good it can be to let go of control.

  But if there’s anything I know about her, it’s that she’s going to resist. And resistance isn’t at all what I want from her. Not when my dick’s hard and she’s writhing beneath me like she can’t wait for us to be joined in every single way.

  “Do you trust me?” I ask, lips brushing softly against her as she runs her fingers through my hair.

  Gemma captures my lips in another kiss—one that’s as slow and torturous as the rest. She moans into my mouth. I pull back from her, body aching and protesting against the action. I pull the blindfold from my pocket, and I don’t miss the way her eyes go wide.

  But to her credit, she props herself onto her elbows when I cock a questioning eyebrow in her direction. “It’s okay,” she says slowly, her breath leaving her body in breathy gasps. I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s barely hanging on right now. “I do trust you.”

  I tie the blindfold gently before slipping my fingers under the hem of her sweater. I let my knuckles trail over her skin as I drag it up, and I’m rewarded with a low moan when I brush them over her heaving breasts. I lay her back down, skimming my hands over her ribs and stomach, teasing her with a light touch as goosebumps erupt over her skin.

  I hook my fingers around the front clasp of her bra, thanking whoever’s looking out for me as her tits spill out into my eager hands. I knead them gently before lowering my body over hers, knees going between her legs as I lean in to capture one of her nipples between my teeth.

  Her back arches off the floor, pressing her breasts into my eager mouth and hands. I bite down, maybe a little rougher than necessary, but her sharp gasps encourage me to continue my rough ministrations. Eventually I pull back from her chest and trail kisses down her stomach before working my way back up with my tongue.

  “Kellin,” she gasps as her fingers thread through my hair. To my utter delight, she actually tries to push my head a little further down her body, to get me exactly where she wants me.

  “Patience, baby. I’ll get there soon enough.”

  I hook my thumbs in the waistband of her leggings, pulling them and her panties down with one swift motion. She practically melts into the rug when I drag her knees over my shoulders and lower my lips to her intoxicating slit. I thrust my tongue inside of her, relishing the way she moans my name as I slowly milk an orgasm out of her.

  I’m lost in the sensation of her coming apart on my tongue. Nothing in life has ever been quite as sweet as this moment right here. She tenses and spasms for a long moment before finally collapsing against the rug. To her credit, she tries to reach for my straining cock, but I bat her hand away as I struggle out of my clothes and into a condom.

  Her legs fall apart on their own accord as I crawl toward her, and I’m so fucking satisfied with myself. Knowing that she wants me like this? It’s heady and intoxicating. I know I’ll never get enough of it.

  My first thrust after I settle inside of her is slow, and my name rolls off her lips almost as slowly. I fall forward to capture her lips as I begin pumping in and out of her. She tilts her hips up to meet mine, and I go so fucking deep I think I might get lost in everything she is.

  This is amazing.

  I continue to thrust a slow, steady pace, reveling in the way her fingers are digging into my biceps until they’re not anymore. She hooks her fingers under the material of the blindfold and tears it off, eyes hooded but filled with heat.

  Our fingers entwine, and we never once break our gaze. Not even when her walls tighten and she milks me for everything I have. Just like everything else this day, it’s perfect.

  And I know it’s going to always be this way—perfect and easy. Because she’s Gemma, and she has my heart in her hands, and I don’t think anything could ever actually be hard if she’s involved. Well, nothing except my cock that is.

  Thirty-Five

  Dillon

  A night out at Midtown is more routine than anything at this point. Something feels different tonight, though, like the air around our tables is supercharged with electricity and the promise of something new.

  I glance in Gemma’s direction where she’s leaning over the table to whisper something to Kellin. From the relaxed way she smiles at him, I can tell that their date this afternoon must’ve gone well.

  I try and fail to not get caught up in looking at her ass in the ultra-tight jeans she’s wearing. She laughs at something he says, and my heart rockets around in my chest at the sound. She looks happier than she used to. Freer, too. It’s definitely a huge improvement to when she was dating that dickhead Colin.

  We’re in our usual corner near the back of the bar, but our cluster of tables seem closer together tonight. Like someone got here early and pushed them into a tighter arrangement, so no one would be too far away from Gemma. My gut tells me it was Milo and Oliver based on the way they hover around the fringes of the group, corralling anyone who wanders too far away and keeping the attention focused on our girl.

  Like they somehow think we’re not all laser fucking focused on her as it is. Every Storm that passes her touches her in some way—yanking on her ponytail, kissing her check, running a hand along her shoulders. Fuck, I was surprised a scrum didn’t break out with the way we all scrambled to snag a seat next to her. By some miraculous turn of events, Cyrus and I managed to snag those seats.

  I know if either of us gets up, though, we’ll lose our spot in a nanosecond. Cyrus has his arm thrown around the back of her chair, and my palm itches with the urge to drop my hand on her thigh and run my fingers toward the very center of her.

  M
y chair’s jammed in so close next to hers, I can actually feel it when she goes stone still next to me. I can feel my eyebrows furrow as I turn my attention toward her, but she’s not looking at me.

  She’s not looking at any of us.

  No, her attention’s on the bar where a group of loud, scantily clad girls are pointing in her direction and whispering pointedly. Gemma’s got confidence in spades, so I’m not positive those girls are actually the problem.

  Not until Jean-Luc drops a kiss on the top of her head as he passes and the clear leader in the girl-pack outright glares at Gemma. My stomach drops when she flushes red and tries to shrug Cyrus’ arm off of her chair and scoot away from me a few inches all at the same time.

  Cyrus only pulls her closer, eyes flashing in the direction of the bar before he leans in close to Gemma and starts whispering in her ear. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down hard as she goes beet red. I don’t know what the hell he said to her, but it sure seemed to tear her attention away from the bitches at the bar.

  She ducks her head to whisper something back to him. Something that makes his eyes go a little wide as they stare each other down intently. I take full advantage of her distraction to finally drop my hand on her thigh—dangerously close to the crux of her legs—and squeeze it tightly.

  Cyrus quirks an eyebrow over her head when she jerks around to stare at me, and I smirk at my captain. We’re both one-upped when Andre reaches over her, pressing his chest against her back, to place a tray of drinks on the table in front of her. When he leans back, she leans her head back to say something to him, and he kisses her right there for the whole world to see.

  When he pulls back, he’s smirking down at her in such a way that she goes immediately red again. At least this time it isn’t because of the crowd of women who’ve finally moved on to the other side of the bar.