by Cassie James
After today, I have no idea what happens, and that means it’s unbelievably important to me that I make every second count.
I tug at the hem of my pajama shirt—one of the oversized numbers I’m so fond of. Edric’s eyelids droop heavily as he watches me.
“What are you playing at?” he croaks out, his accent coming out thicker than usual.
I point to the camera he’s still clutching in his hands. “Take my picture, Edric. No faces, though, okay?” Belatedly I add, “And I hold on to the pictures afterward.” Better to be safe than sorry.
He doesn’t need anymore convincing. He starts to take snapshots of me as I undress for him in the best striptease I can muster. Some of the instant prints come out just plain ridiculous, but even I can admit that I look downright sexy in some.
And despite the early hour, being so exposed for Edric—vulnerable as he captures every inch of me, flaws and all—starts to fan the flames of lust within me.
“Your turn,” I tell him on a whim. Reaching for the camera and turning it on him as he freezes up, but then relaxes just enough to start putting on his own awkward striptease for me. It’s unbelievable how much I appreciate it.
Not because he’s any good, per se, but because he’s an attractive man making a fool out of himself just for the sake of pleasing me.
That’s a win for both of us in my book.
For me, because I like knowing he wants to impress me, and for him because I like it enough to want to reward him. I ditch the camera, tossing it on the bed and then ignoring it when it bounces off and rolls somewhere on the floor.
Ignoring the pictures scattered around our feet, I sway my hips as I make my way toward him while he’s stripping out of his fitted underwear, revealing his cock and impressive manscaping to me for the first time. I pause my approach just to stare at him for a moment, taking in how perfectly groomed he is.
I wonder if the guys give him a hard time about it?
None of the others have been manscaped the way Edric is, and I have to admit it adds a whole new layer of interest that has me licking my lips as I stare at him.
He lets out a groan and reaches for me, pulling me hard against his chest.
“Like what you see?”
“God, yes.” I can’t even try to deny it.
“Me too.”
He skates his hands down over my curves, but his eyes stay locked on mine. He’s clearly not just talking about my body—he’s talking about all of me. The whole package.
I shiver against him, which he mistakes for me being chilly despite the hefty dose of heat blowing out of the vents in my bedroom. He ushers me into the bed and under the covers, only laughing at me when I pout over no longer being able to take all of him in.
“I just want you to be comfortable, love.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah, me too.” I run the back of my hand up his leg from under the covers.
He narrows his eyes at me, in a playful way, not an angry one. “What are you doing?”
“Roll over and grab a condom out of that drawer, and I’ll show you.”
“I haven’t even touched you yet, Gemma. I want you to be ready for me first.”
Usually that would be a bit of a problem but…
“If you think I’m not soaking wet after putting myself on display for you like that and then having you return the favor—well, you’d be dead wrong.”
Edric wheezes a little at my blatant proclamation. Then, he’s silent for a long moment. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue to apologize for coming on too strong, but then he rolls towards me and captures my mouth with his, swallowing whatever half-assed apology I’d been preparing to give.
His lips are insanely soft, his mouth tender on mine as we kiss in my bed in the wee hours of the morning. For a long time, that’s all we do. Just kiss.
I’m not sure who starts it, but at some point hands start to wander. He runs his fingers over my nipples. I grab a handful of his tight ass. He runs his hand down my spine. I feel up all the lines of his abs. We touch each other everywhere but where we need it the most until both of us are panting hard.
Finally I pull away and grab a condom. I’m pretty sure Edric’s perfectly happy with the current pace, but I’m suddenly way too damn impatient to wait any longer. I rip the packet open with my teeth and reach for him.
He can’t conceal his groan as I roll the condom over his length.
He carefully slides over top of me in the bed, and I say a silent thank you to the universe that he’s got a normal sized cock and not a monster like Andre. I’m still feeling the effects of that three days later.
Edric takes his time stroking his hands over every inch of my body again before he wraps his fist around his hard cock and starts to ease inside of me.
I whimper as pleasure meets lingering pain. But while I thought it wouldn’t be good… the sensation actually makes my head spin. That pinch of overuse my body is feeling is actually a turn-on all on its own. I arch up against Edric, urging him onward, even though I can tell he’s trying to be careful with me.
He takes my lead, speeding up the motion of his hips as thrusts into me and then pulls back again before repeating the process all over. He fucks me with the kind of deliberateness that keeps me on just the very edge of my orgasm for a long, long time.
Behind the curtains, I can see the sunlight start to stream, and I find myself wishing I could freeze time and continue experiencing this pleasure forever.
I’ve been on the edge for so long that the mere thought of this not having to end is enough to make my toes start to clench. “I’m so close,” I mutter, needing Edric to just give me a little more something.
He stays balanced with one hand on the bed but moves the other to cup my breasts. First one and then the other. I moan, which seems to be a good indication that he’s heading in the right direction. I let my eyes flutter closed, waiting for him to feel me up real good.
Instead, I’m surprised when I suddenly feel a wet warmth against my nipple. My eyes snap open again to find Edric sucking my nipple into his mouth, tongue tracing around it and then flattening as he grazes his teeth over my sensitive flesh.
I shout his name as I cum, body quivering around him as he slows his strokes, his face pinched as he holds back so I can finish enjoying my orgasm before he takes his. I roll my hips to increase the intensity of my pleasure, meaning it all burns brighter but it also burns out faster.
I don’t mind hurrying a bit for him, not after the hurry he was in for me this morning.
As he shakes, so close he starts to chant my name under his breath—though I’m not sure he realizes it—I tighten my muscles around him so that my pussy squeezes his cock like a vice. I repeat that motion several times, relaxing each time in between as if it’s some sort of private game between me and Edric’s dick.
It does the trick. He pumps into me a few final times as he groans out and then mutters my name with reverence as he collapses against me. I can’t help but get a self-satisfied smirk as his weight rests on me while he catches his breath.
I run a hand through his soft, dark hair. It’s not often I’ve seen him without a healthy amount of product weighing it down, but this morning it seems he was in too much of a hurry to get to me to bother.
I like that. I like him. Him and all of his teammates.
Whatever happens next, there’s no longer any denying I know now what real love feels like. Love times twenty-five.
“Hey, Gem? Your door was open so I…”
Dad stops dead in his tracks at the exact same time Edric does—but the similarities stop there. While Dad is fully dressed in his jeans and goofy Christmas sweater, Edric is literally only in his boxer-briefs as he stares horrified at Dad from the opposite side of my kitchen counter.
Unfortunately, his eyes swing to me next, only to find me wearing nothing more than panties—thick, Christmas ones, at least—and a red jersey that Edric bought specifically to dress me in.
“Is that a
Manchester United jersey?” Dad asks, looking slightly more affronted by that then the fact that I’m half-dressed with a strange man in my kitchen. Well, not a totally strange man. Edric and Dad have met the same handful of times Dad’s met the other guys.
Edric reaches out and squeezes my hand as I stare, mouth gaping, at my Dad. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
As he makes himself scarce for the time being, Dad gets a sheepish look on his face and avoids looking me directly in the eye. “Sorry, Gem. I’ve gotten so used to not knocking that I…” Just walked on in, I silently finish for him. I can’t even be mad at him, though, because he’s right. He’s always just walked in and it’s never been a problem before.
I was never collecting my own harem of rugby players before, either.
Dad’s eyes dart between me and the hallway where Edric just disappeared—hopefully to get dressed before he faces my dad again.
“We should probably talk,” I stretch the words out until they’re barely recognizable.
Concern laces my dad’s features as he nods once and slides into a seat at the dining room table. I fidget for a moment longer before collapsing into the chair next to his. I suddenly feel world weary, knowing this is it. I have to tell my dad the truth and hope I don’t see a whole world of disappointment looking back at me when I’m done.
Dad tries to open his mouth to speak first, but I put my hand up and offer an apologetic smile.
“Let me go first, please. Otherwise I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold on to my nerve to tell you this.” His concern deepens along with the lines on his forehead. I’m definitely giving him a few new wrinkles today. “I’ve been dating the guys on the team.”
“Uh, I can see that.” He nods diplomatically, his expression betraying nothing yet.
“Not like I’m seeing them behind each other’s backs or anything. Dad, I’m dating the guys on the team. All of them. With their knowledge. In what I hope—and I think what they hope—is going to turn into an ongoing thing.”
He scratches his chin as the words sink in. I can tell he’s truly mulling them over, not rushing to give any rash response.
“Are you being safe?”
I nod.
“Are you being treated well?”
Another nod.
“I always did brag you’d be forging your own path someday. Guess I can’t stop being proud of you for that now, eh?” And that’s it, the only words he offers until he leans in conspiratorially to add, “I’m going to assume this means you’re not allowed to play favorites, but I just want you to know I refuse to be held by the same standard. I’m definitely going to favor whoever’s got the best season this year.”
“Dad,” I whine.
My cheeks heat. This is about the closest my dad’s going to get to giving his approval. Despite our close relationship and the years I went without a mother figure, talking about boys has never really been on the table. He’s always sort of done the bare minimum when it comes to the subject.
“All I’m saying is I don’t want twenty-something sons-in-law unless they bring home a cup win this year. And you can tell them I said that, too.”
I throw my head back with a long groan. It doesn’t matter how old I get, my dad will always have a special knack for saying things that manage to really embarrass the hell out of me.
“Come on back out, then,” Dad calls out loud enough that Edric has to be able to hear him. “You’ll have to remind me of your name again, though, kid. Right now all I can remember is how you got tackled by that tiny Spartans player last year during playoffs.”
Edric comes dragging his feet back into the kitchen and points a finger at dad. “That knob was sturdier than he looked, mate.”
And yeah, it’s really that easy. We fall into an easy Christmas breakfast with everyone getting along just fine aside from the bickering about that one playoff game versus the Spartans that I’m pretty sure Dad will never let Edric live down.
When I come back from taking the breakfast dishes to the sink, I pause in the doorway and just watch the two of them for a moment before they notice my return.
Dad looks every bit as comfortable as I feel. Not to mention he seems to get along with Edric just as easily as he managed to get along with Cyrus once he pranked him with his whole falling tree debacle.
If I thought for even a single second that Dad’s earlier acceptance was just to placate me, this would be the perfect proof otherwise.
It’s not about Dad telling me what I want to hear. It’s about him seeing something special in these guys—just like I do, and just like they see in me.
My dad’s approval, while not necessarily a deal breaker, is the final piece of the puzzle. This thing with the Storms, there’s no going back. Not anymore.
Forty-Three
Lee
I roll my eyes when my phone starts ringing. I don’t have to dig it out of my pocket to know it’s another one of the guys calling to make sure I’m not fucking this all up.
I grit my teeth as I throw my car in park in front of the small shop Declan and Wolfie finally decided on earlier this morning. It was Kellin who placed the order—with way more feedback than he wanted while he was trying to do so—and it’d been an all-out brawl to see who could pay. Turns out being Captain has its perks because Cyrus straight up called the shop and wooed the girl working into switching the order to his card from Jean-Luc’s when no one else was around to stop him.
And yet somehow I’m the schmuck running all over town picking all this shit up. My phone starts ringing again, and I pick it up with a growl. “The fuck do you want?”
“Leander Christian Banks!”
Aw hell.
“Sorry, Ma.” I grumble into the line as I climb from the car, taking care to not throw myself into oncoming traffic even though I know this conversation with my mom is going to make me want to. Badly. I’ve never skipped family Christmas before and answering my phone like a brute is definitely something she’s going to mark down on her Lee’s a Family Disgrace shitlist.
I’m never living either of those things down.
“Sorry, Ma,” she imitates with a scoff, and I roll my eyes as I duck out of the rain under the green and white striped awning at the floral shop. “You answer all your calls like that? I’m sure your Coach just loves that. It’s no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. You’re a Neanderthal. I know I raised you better than that.”
I come this close to telling her to shove off because I do have a girlfriend. But for what’s possibly the very first time in my life, I swallow the spiteful comment down and hum in the back of my throat instead.
The last thing I want is to try explain to my insane mother how I’m sharing my girlfriend with twenty-four other men. My stomach does a weird clenching-flippy number when the voice in the back of my mind reminds me that I can’t really call Gemma my girlfriend until after we all have the talk.
I glance at the display of red roses in the window and grit my teeth.
None of us are particularly at ease right now considering she ran off on some last-minute trip with her best friend. A trip that was apparently important enough to miss the first day back to practice and leave us all hanging a little longer than we expected.
I take a calming breath, and then I take another. Because right now my heart’s beating so damn hard in my chest I’m afraid it might burst through and kill me. And wouldn’t that just be perfect? Dead at twenty-six because I don’t know whether a girl likes me—and my teammates—back or not.
“Was there something you needed?” I ask my mom. I’m not really invested in why she’s called me, but I’ll take any distraction to keep me from thinking about all the what-ifs running through my head right now. “Or were you just calling to bust my balls?”
Mom huffs, and I barely hold my snicker in. I love my mom, I do, but she’s overbearing and totally overreactive. Me and my sister used to make bets growing up about who could get her going the fastest.
“Oh, I was just
calling to see if you were actually going to bother coming home before your sister goes back to school. You know she’s doing that foreign exchange thing this semester. God only know when you’ll see her again.”
“Spring break,” I answer easily as I push off the brick wall and head into the shop. Clearly this isn’t going to be as quick of a call as I’d like. “Me and Lizzie worked it out last week when I told her I wasn’t coming home. Which she totally understood, by the way.”
“You got almost a week off for Christmas!” Mom cries, and this time I do groan out loud.
Here we go again.
“Don’t you groan at me, young man. I’d like to know what was so important you couldn’t come ho—”
“Hey, Ma, I’m getting another call. I gotta go.” I hang up before she can actually reply, put my phone on silent, and shove it right back in my pocket without ever checking to see who buzzed in on my mom’s call.
Let them keep calling. I can actually fucking handle this, despite what they obviously think.
I sigh as I think about Mom’s last question. There’s an easy answer, and it’s Gemma. She’s the most important thing in my world, in all of our worlds, right now. And we’re all nervous as fuck that we don’t have a real read on her at the moment.
We meant to regroup after Christmas and propose a more… permanent extension to our arrangement. Things went so well, and now we want to make Gemma our girl for real. And for good. All of us are open to it—now we just need to hear her agree.
We spent two years waiting, but somehow the last few days have felt even longer. Like an entire goddamn entirety. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket but ignore it in favor of turning my attention to the vase of yellow roses sitting in the display case behind the counter.
They’re perfect, just like our girl.
I breeze right past where Oliver’s standing in the parking lot waiting for me. I appreciate that everyone wants to get this right, but I don’t need Team Mommy to helicopter over me while I get everything set up in Gemma’s office.
