by Amanda Rose
He teases my opening and then slowly, carefully enters me from behind.
The feeling of fullness, the unique sensation of the two men fighting for supremacy with their dicks, that pushes me to the edge orgasm, sending me literally screaming to the other side. My body tightens as Vale licks and sucks my right breast, Frost taking up my left. And then as soon as that climax passes, the men start to move again, a hand—I don't know whose—sneaking to my clit and rubbing it in gentle circles.
My next orgasm is so powerful that it tears climaxes from both Aspen and Crispin, forces them to spill their come into their condoms while Frost grabs the back of my neck, thrusts his tongue in my mouth and comes all over my breasts.
Vale … he's a good boy and finishes in his hand.
“You're a fucking prick,” I tell Frost as he pulls back and I sit there with four men surrounding me, two of them inside me, my heart beating like a wild bird's wings.
“Individually, yes,” Frost says with a smirk, gesturing at the other three men with a wave of his hand, “but as part of this deal? I think we present a pretty tantalizing offer, don't you?”
I have no idea how to respond to that because … he's right.
He is seriously fucking right.
But … he's still a prick.
The next morning, I wake up surrounded by all four members of the band, arms and legs entangled with my own. The fire is roaring in the fireplace, and the curtains are open, showing off the snowy blaze of storm outside. White Christmas lights cast out the shadows in the room, and my phone lies on the nightstand, an early alarm set to play a soothing jazz version of Blue Christmas by Nikki Parrott.
Sitting up as best I can with the pile of hot men around me, I grab the phone and relax back into the pillows, naked and happy and smelling like flour and sugar. I can't keep the smile off my face as I check the weather and see that the blizzard … is supposed to get even worse tonight.
Is it horrible that I don't want these guys to leave yet? That I almost wish they'd have to miss their Christmas concert so I could have them here with me? Even with my grandmother around, Christmas Eve has always been the loneliest night of the year for me.
I imagine that if Inked Pages were to stay, it wouldn't be so lonely after all.
“You're awake,” Frost grumbles next to me, sliding a tattooed arm over my belly and scooting closer. He's not such a terrible asshole when he's half-asleep, right? “I figured after all that dick you took last night that you'd be out until noon—at least.”
Hm.
Okay, so he's a frigging cocksucker.
The weird part of it all though is that I like him. Must be something wrong with me. I wonder if all the neglect I suffered from my parents and siblings is starting to set in, weakening me to assholes with perfect bodies and long cocks and smirking smiles.
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” I say, because I can't even think about Christmas day right now. How could I when I still have to get through that night without my grandma? My bookstore? My independence?
My fingers itch to write, and I know without a single doubt that as soon as I get a hold of a keyboard, I'll be writing a fictionalized version of what happened between me and these four men last night. Damn, I guess Inked Pages really is my new muse? Not that I've ever really had a muse before. Crap. I guess they're the first and only … but hopefully not the last?
“The blizzard is supposed to get worse,” I say as Crispin yawns and stretches his arms over his head, running his fingers through his hair and sitting up. He has to push Vale off his belly and toward me, but I don't mind. When the blonde blinks and comes to, it's with this wicked slash of a smile that gets my belly all twisted into knots. “What if you miss your concert?”
“I think we all accepted a few days ago that we might not make it to the concert,” Aspen says, his voice warm and low, his eyes heavy and half-lidded and possessive.Not sure how I feel about that …
Okay, fuck, I am sure how I feel—annoyed and excited. Aroused. Wanted. Ugh.
I grab a handful of the gold sheets and tug them up toward my face to hide my naked body. Just having these guys look at me is starting to warm up the sore spot between my thighs. And I am sore.But in a good way, a way that reminds me with each subtle movement of my body that I was worshipped last night.
“We have a repeat of the same concert on New Year's Eve except that one's being televised live and recorded for release on Blu-ray,” Aspen says, pushing that little streak of red and green hair from his forehead as he glances over at me, the gold ring in his sapphire eyes drawing my attention. It's like a little halo around his pupil, adding this depth to his gaze that's both comforting and uncomfortable at the same time. It's the right sort of discomfort though, the kind that challenges the onlooker to give him more.“As long as we don't miss that … the Saint Paul one isn't that important. Mostly, it's like a live rehearsal for the one at Madison Square Garden.”
I turn over, inadvertently putting my ass right up against Vale's crotch and my face inches from Frost's.
Oops.
Clearing my throat, I try to act nonchalant, like I do this sort of thing all the time, hang out naked in bed with four different men. Strangers. Rock stars. Hm.
“Well, I hope the storm clears at least a little bit,” I say, trying to distract the boys from the precarious position I've put myself in. I'm not sure that it works because I can feel Vale's hardness pressing against my cheeks. Fuck, I want him bare inside of me, but then we have to have that talk and who the hell wants to do that?
“Why's that?” Frost asks, sitting up, the sheets falling down to the tented bulge of his crotch. His abs are criminally gorgeous this close up, and without even realizing I'm doing it, I reach out and trace the lines of his tummy with a finger. His breath hisses out and he reaches down, grabbing my wrist hard.“You want to get rid of us?” he asks, green eyes flashing down at me.
“No, I want to go to mass,” I say and he raises his dark brows, letting go of me and crossing his arms, curling his fingers around his tattooed biceps.
“No offense, Cherry Pie,” Crispin says, drawing my attention back over to him. He's still lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, one knee propped up, a bit of sheet just barely covering his massive cock. “But you don't really seem like the religious type to me?”
“I'm not,” I say with a violent shake of my head, “but my grandmother was—a little. She liked to go to midnight mass every year, and I went with her. It's sort of a tradition …” I start to say in my family,but then that's not true. The only people that ever went to mass are grandma, grandpa (when he was still with us), and me. That's it. It's our tradition. “There's a local agnostic church here that's running their own version of midnight mass, and I'd like to go.” I pause and suck in a deep breath, focusing on the fire instead of any of the boys. I can't look at them, not with this rush of pain taking over my chest, icing my heart over like the blizzard's iced over all the windows. “I guess I'll be going alone this year,” I say, but not to guilt-trip these guys, just because this is the first time it's really occurred to me.
I'll be going to mass alone.
God knows none of my other family members will go with me …
“We'll go with you,” Vale says, sitting up on my other side. I feel so short all of a sudden, these four giant dudes surrounding me in my bed. But I like it, too. Shh, don't tell anyone. I wonder what grandma would think about this?She'd probably shake her head and tsk at me, but she wouldn't say a single disparaging word. She wasn't like that. No, she was basically the opposite of my mother.
“You want to go mass with me?” I ask and Vale's lazy cat-like smile stretches across his face.
“Not particularly interested in mass … but you, we're definitely interested in.”
“Don't say it if you don't mean it,” I tell him, because I've been let down enough in my life. I can make peace with going to church alone, but I can't handle getting my hopes up and then being dropped flat on my ass
again.
“Promise,” Vale whispers, leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
My eyes slide closed in ecstasy as Frost rests a hand on my belly and then drops it low, lower, finding his way to the wetness between my thighs. I open for him, feeling sated and happy in the warm glow of the fire, the cheerful twinkle of Christmas lights, and the arms of four men I've just met …
But that I like.
That I like very much.
After the members of Inked Pages … entertain me for most of the morning, I excuse myself to the sunroom to write and manage to get out several pages of deliciously naughty smut before I'm disturbed.
“Hey, sugar plum,” Crispin says, grabbing the chair next to me and spinning it around. He drops into it and folds his arms over the back, raising his brows at me. “You want to take a quick break and come join us in the dining room? Your family wants to have a game night.”
I sigh and close the lid of my laptop carefully, the wild winds outside howling against the window, making it seem like our house is the only livable place left in the entire world, that the entire outside is a dystopian nightmare. I figure, even if there were snow zombies or Krampus' evil minions out there, my mother would still find some way to get the hell out of here so she could go back to suing broke housewives for putting Michael Jackson music on YouTube videos of their babies dancing.
“Let me guess,” I say, turning to face Crispin and trying not to smile at his wavy blonde-brown hair, his magnanimous smile, and the twinkle in his brown eyes. I can still feel him moving inside of me the way he did last night, holding my hair as he drove his thick shaft into me from behind. “They invited you and then you decided to add me into the mix.”
“So you in or out?” he asks, avoiding my question.
That's okay: I already know the answer.
“Well, I've been in and out today,” he adds, leaning in close and kissing my ear. That small motion makes me shiver, crossing the arms of my red cable-knit sweater and biting my lower lip. I'm wearing black leggings, red boots, and a silver snowflake pin in my hair today. I'm sure my family will have some sort of commentary about my outfit, but games with the guys? That sounds fun.
“What are we playing?” I ask as Crispin pulls back and tosses me a huge grin, standing up and holding out a big, warm hand for me to take. His palm is dry and comforting, wrapped tightly around my own as he leads the way to the dining room and holds the door open for me.
Inside the, sixteen person table is completely full, save one seat.
My parents are there, my four siblings, my aunt and uncle, all four of my cousins, and the other three rocker boys from Inked Pages. Crispin takes the last seat and pulls me onto his lap. Good thing, that, because there isn't enough room for me in here anyway.
“We thought you might be busy clattering away at the keys,” my mother says, giving me her best business smile, a twist of lips with absolutely zero feeling behind it. She looks beautiful though, her brunette hair twisted up in a chignon, a sprig of real holly stuck through it. She's wearing the diamond and gold Christmas tree pendant again with matching earrings, Louboutin heels, and a red dress that accentuates all her curves.
My father looks just as polished, sitting next to her in a burgundy cashmere sweater, khakis, expensive loafers with embossed snowflakes tooled into the leather, and his gold glasses. The rest of my family is dressed similarly—uncle, aunt, and cousins included—but at least the Inked Pages guys are more casual, like me.
“Shall we get started?” my mother asks, sighing dramatically. “There're a few too many people in here for us to all play together …” She glances at the four band members … and then me, as if we've disrupted all her fun. My father seems stoic, but I know him too fucking well: he's totally feeling like a fanboy with the band in his dining room.
At least it's pretty in here. The long, wood table is polished to a shine, a white and gold runner down the center and several opulent displays made of live flowers and candles, their tiny orange flames a small mimicry of the large fireplace behind Frost, the wood crackling and popping. Crimson stockings hang in a row, and the black wood of the mantle is covered in glittery white reindeer, Santa Claus figurines dressed in red and green velvet, and a large glass sleigh filled with a mix of holiday nuts.
Christmas lights and real garland—never the fake stuff with my father—hangs in swags near the ceiling. All the chairs are covered with gold and white cushions, and the drapes have been changed out to match. In the corner, one of the largest trees in the house (there are fifteen total) towers above us, glittering with lights and ornaments, perfuming the air with the sweet scent of evergreen, its branches the same color as Frost's eyes.
“Let's split into groups, play to win and then the winners can play a final game to determine the champion,” my mother says, because nobody in this goddamn family can play a game just for fucking fun.She passes out four Scrabble boards and then rings a bell to get everyone's attention. “Double points for all holiday words,” she calls out as Aspen opens the game and gets it set up on the table. Looking at him now, from my position in Crispin's lap, it's hard to believe we fucked last night … and this morning.
It's still such a surreal experience, like a dream.
“Where's Donner and …” I pause because I have no idea what the driver's or manager's names are. “Magda,” I add, because I at least know their assistant's name, the one who supposedly clogged the toilet.
“Working on a plan to get us out of here,” Frost says with a snort, running his fingers through his dark hair. “Your mom does know Scrabble is a four player game,” he says, loudly enough that his voice echoes in the tall ceilinged room. “There are sixteen of us here.”
Frost pushes one of the tile stands over to me, but I shake my head.
“Crispin and I can be on a team,” I say and Frost narrows his eyes.
“Aspen and I can be on a team,” he retorts, standing up and literally plopping down in the lead singer's lap. Aspen sighs and rolls his eyes, but gestures for me to take the empty seat.
“Once he's made up his mind about something, you can just forget about trying to change it,” he tells me as I sit down and try my best to hold back a smile. It shouldn't mean shit that some guy gave me his Scrabble tiles and his seat, but … the way my life is, it means a whole hell of a lot.
“Like I've made up my mind about you, for example,” Frost smirks, ignoring the inquisitive looks of my family as he sets up his tiles and then draws one extra from the bag. “We got an A,” he says, tossing the bag to me. “We go first.”
I pick my tiles and then draw the extra, landing a blank square.
“Nope,” I say as I hold it up and Vale grins from my left. “I go first actually.”
I wait for both Crispin and Vale to do the same and then lay out a doozy of a word on my first go.
“WREATH,” I tell them, sitting back with a smug smile and crossing my arms over my chest. “First word and holiday themed. Do you guys want to throw in the towel already and call it quits?”
Crispin just tosses his head back and laughs while Vale and Aspen smile and Frost narrows his eyes.
“I don't like losing, Cyan,” he says, watching me for a long, quiet moment. I feel like the rest of the room is watching us, trying to figure out what the hell is going on between me and these four guys. Frankly, I don't give a fuck. They only seem to care about me when it's in reference to me fucking up … or having some crazy flirtatious vibes with an entire band.
I ignore Frost's comment and move the game along, outscoring the boys with little effort. Either they're not trying, or they're too distracted by the torrid heat between us to pay much attention to the game.
When I win though, I decide against the 'championship game' with my mother, sister, and cousin, and instead, invite the boys upstairs to have hot cocoa and watch A Christmas Story.
We sit on the bed together with a platter of the ginger cookies, brownies, and cake slices, a pile
of candy canes, and several bottles of champagne we fished from the fridge—after we drink our red and green hot cocoa first, of course.
For several hours, I manage to balance the conversation with the sharp sense of need in the air. But when it gets dark outside, and the winds pick up, when the champagne is gone, the bottles empty and lying on the floor … I find it impossible to resist.
The four men strip me down in the glow of firelight and white Christmas bulbs, and pleasure me in every way imaginable, until the sun rises and I force us all to take a break and get some sleep. It's Christmas Eve, after all, and I don't want to slog through it tired and sex addled … Okay, I don't want to slog through it tired—I'll take the sex addled part.
Lying there next to them all, I feel a fuck of a lot less lonely.
What do you think, Grandma? I ask, staring up at the ceiling and wishing this was one of those moments that could last forever. Do you think I should do it?
These guys … would it really be so bad getting to know them? Even if they did dump me down the line—or vice versa—isn't it at least worth the try?
Maybe I will take them up on their offer to date?
Even if it sounds too good to be true … this is Christmas … and anything is possible when you wish upon a Christmas star.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christmas Eve day starts off loud and noisy, as usual, with my younger cousins running around the house like demons and my nieces and nephews screaming and wailing while my brothers and sisters try to juggle them all.
The drapes in my room are closed when I pick up my computer, tuck it under my arm, and leave the sleeping pile of boys to write in the sunroom again. I figure if I can't own a bookstore, then maybe … just maybe … I can write a book.Because I know in my heart of hearts that to be happy in this world, I need to be involved with reading on a regular basis. I just have to be.
