Chapter 15

CYAN

On the ninth day of Christmas, big soft ginger cookies

Vale and I start early, showering together so he can show me how to get all of the ink off. It’s almost a shame to see it swirl down the drain, his rock opera lost to the (thankfully not frozen) pipes.

We claim our usual spot downstairs, sipping our coffee and working on our laptops (or his arm, the wall, a random paper snowflake that one of the kids made). The other men crash our party at lunchtime, joining us in the frosted sunroom with their own cups of coffee while I stare at several pages of words that have somehow flown right the hell out of me. I sat down to write and for once, I didn’t have any trouble coming up with the story.

My fingers flew across the keys as I wrote about Frost in the bus bathroom, Aspen in the kitchen, and … all the things I wanted to do with Crispin and Vale in the hot tub. And the next scene, the one that’s currently being fueled by my caffeine addiction, is a hot and heavy five-some.

“Didn’t you say that you’d bake for us?” Aspen asks, coming to stand next to the bistro table and folding his arms over his Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer apron. Huh. Okay. And I know that did not come from my father’s apron collection.

“You keep aprons on your tour bus?” I ask and Aspen flicks his tongue across his lower lip, letting his blue eyes slide to the side, like he’s embarrassed and unwilling to admit it. Vale smothers a laugh.

“We like Christmas,” Aspen admits, keeping his attention on me as I turn to find Crispin and Frost, also in aprons. The former is too big to fit well in his, like he borrowed a kid’s apron or something. The latter is weirdly suited to it, his cinnamon roll icing oozing out despite his attempts to keep it in. “Well, I like Christmas,” he amends with a long sigh. “Recreating childhood memories, remember?”

“Didn’t you also claim you could bake better cookies than your dad?” Frost challenges, gesturing with a beautiful blue snowflake sugar cookie. He takes a bite and lifts a brow, like he’s trying to bait me. “Prove that the ones I cleaned up on the floor the other night weren’t a total loss.”

I roll my eyes. It’s his fault I dropped those cookies in the first place, teasing me like that.

“If you don’t want to bake, come sit with us and watch. Frost ain’t half-bad in the kitchen.” Crispin offers me a knowing look, like he’s asking with his eyes how did things go with Vale last night? My focus shifts to the man in question, watching me like he’s wondering the same thing. I should tell him that I had a great time. The best.

Vale was so careful and tender with me in the shower this morning, whispering in my ear how good I felt, how much he wanted to do it again. I shiver and pretend not to notice the knowing glints in all their faces. Aspen is still standing by my chair, like he’s waiting for a response.

“You didn’t pick that apron design out just to make fun of my nose, did you?” I reach up and rub at my face, but it’s much less sore than it was a few days ago. Not broken, thankfully.

Aspen looks down at his apron and plucks the fabric as I close my laptop, carefully but purposefully. I do not want these guys to know that I’m already scheming for some group stuff. Who knows if they’re into that or not? I just became their girlfriend. I don’t want to push the envelope.

“Would I do something like that?” Aspen teases, lifting his head back up and pulling a rumpled piece of fabric from one of the large apron pockets at the same time. “Just because you pepper sprayed me in the face? Of course not.” He nods his chin at the lump of white and red that he’s holding. “If you don’t like this one, I saw that your dad has a whole bunch of aprons with glass beads and shit in a kitchen cabinet.”

Aspen tosses me a white apron, which turns out to be a very curvy and tacky looking Mrs. Claus in a bikini silhouette. I narrow my eyes at him and he smiles, this self-assured expression that makes my heart hurt and does weird things to my body. As long as I live, I don’t think I’ll ever forget hearing him singing and fucking me at the same time.

Oh holy snowball son of a bitch.

“Let’s bake,” Aspen says again, giving Vale another apron. It has an angel on it which suits him well. Frost is wearing Krampus, appropriate for his personality.

“I feel like I can’t leave this house without knowing whether Cyan can out-bake her dad. This is fucking good.” Frost shoves the rest of the cookie in his mouth, flicking his tongue out to catch a bit of stray icing, his eyes on mine. “I have my doubts about your skill level.”

“Are we talking about cookies or sex?” I growl at him, shoving up to my feet with the apron clutched in my hand. Wish I could use the apron strings to tie Frost up and punish him in the bedroom. He’d like it too much though. He doesn’t deserve that, not until he sees what magic I can concoct with my grandma’s recipes.

“Just the cookies. You proved yourself in the other department.” Frost saunters out of the room, licking his fingers in a way that’s purely performative. Did he just say that? For real? Aww, my spicy cinnamon roll. Fuck. Definitely can’t let them know that I’m having parasocial stalker thoughts for real now.

Aspen pulls Vale’s chair out for him, encouraging the obsessive writer to take a break from his work for the festivities. Aspen then steals the pen from Vale’s pocket and writes I want some sweet stuff on his friend’s arm. Lover’s arm? I don’t know how all of this works, but the anticipation is there.

I’m smiling as we leave the sunroom together.

Crispin walks beside me as we head for the kitchen, dressed in an apron covered in trailers with Christmas lights wrapped around them. Redneck Christmas is what it says. That’s … nice. But also kind of funny, especially paired with his expensive jeans, and the too-tight black henley that he’s wearing. He looks beyond polished, nothing like the apron whatsoever. Hell, my mother would be less embarrassed dragging him around DC with her than she would me.

“Why?” I ask, gesturing at the apron design. “I have to know where this came from.”

Crispin looks down with a sigh, shaking his head.

“This was in your brother’s room, I’ll have you know. Just couldn’t help myself.” He turns and opens the kitchen door by backing into it, holding out a hand for me to pass. My body rubs across the front of him as I slip by, but that’s probably the point. We lock eyes for a brief few seconds there before he turns away with a smug smile on his handsome lips.

I’m relieved to see that the kitchen is blissfully empty of family members. Rockstars only today. There’s a fire in the decorative fireplace, making the room feel cozy and warm instead of the igloo of punishment it usually is. See what I mean about kitchens? It’s not the room so much as the people that fill it.

“You sure you guys don’t want me to just bake for you? You want to help?” I’m happy about the offer, but I also … am not used to moments like this. I slip the apron over my head and Vale steps up behind me to tie it, tugging a little and making my breath catch as he presses a kiss to the side of my neck.

Frost locks eyes with me, the energy in his a match for the blizzard outside. Cold but wild. It puts me on edge at the same time it makes me want to tear my clothes off and go rut with him in the snow. No wonder we ended up doing it in the bathroom. Just looking at him, smelling him when he stands close to me, is enough to fire my body up like the green taper candles that Aspen is lighting.

“Obviously,” Frost grumbles, taking my wrist in his fingers and pulling me over to the kitchen island. He trails his fingers across my skin with purpose, making me shiver, causing my nipples to pebble beneath the glittery white cardigan that I found in my closet. One of Dad’s better picks. “Your asshole family cooks together all the time. You make this”—he gestures at his face—“this fucked-up expression when you walk in on them, almost like they’re cheating on you.”

My heart goes cold, even as Vale ties the apron strings tight around my waist, getting far too close to my back to be anything but a come-on. He’s warm, and he feels good, and he smells like coffee and sugar cookies and Sharpie.

“It’s not that they won’t let me join if I ask,” I start as I take a deep breath and glance over at Crispin, leaning against the wall of windows as he watches me with a quiet intensity that I can feel down to my bones. He really wants to know how it went last night, I can tell. “They just forget to invite me.”

I weave between the members of Inked Pages, making my way to a lower cabinet near the massive industrial stainless steel refrigerator. There are cookbooks lined up in here, shiny new ones with glossy two-page photographs. I ignore them all and snatch a tattered, hideous tome from the corner, covered in grease stains and flour, pages falling out and browning at the edges.

It’s my grandmother’s cookbook, all the recipes she collected over a lifetime. There’s an entire section on Christmas, too. When we moved, I asked to take it with us, but she said she’d like to leave it here, just in case my mother or siblings ever got the urge to use it.

I think she was hoping it’d serve as a reminder that the two of us still existed—not once did anyone come to visit us in San Francisco—but looking at it now, covered in a fine layer of dust, I realize that was a bit of a pipe dream. Family dysfunction is not as cute and funny as it looks on the small screen.

“Whatever you want to make,” I tell the boys as I toss the heavy book onto the kitchen island and flip through to the holiday section, the intro page decorated in glitter, metallic stickers, and green and red craft pom-poms. Aspen crowds close behind me to read it, reaching past me to turn the pages. Oh. “It’s in here.”

Frost moves to join us, wearing his oh-so-appropriate pseudo-horror Krampus apron with the faux blood spatter. If my dad walks in and sees all these hideous aprons, he’ll probably have a heart attack and die.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this so easily,” Frost begins, leaning his hip against the counter, eyes sparkling. I wonder if his eyes are like the trees outside, frosty and cold on the exterior … the majesty of their towering heights hidden underneath all that snow. Or maybe he’s just an asshole. Yeah, probably just a dickhead. “I was convinced you were going to tell us to fuck off, not agree to be our girlfriend.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask as I turn to face him, putting my hand on my hip, the one that’s covered in inked stars, tattoos etched into my flesh for each year I kept the bookstore open. Guess I won’t be adding anymore. “I’m flattered that you guys want to date me. It’s a dream come true. You could tell I was a fangirl from moment one.”

I turn back to the book and flip open to my grandma’s absolute favorite recipe: big soft ginger cookies.

Frost and Aspen are both behind me now, positioning themselves against my back. Frost presses a kiss to the side of my neck that makes me shiver. I encourage him to keep going by pushing my ass into his crotch.

“We were worried you’d say no because of that,” Aspen offers, watching me carefully, his eyes locked onto Frost’s hands as they slide around my waist. He doesn’t look at all jealous to see another man hold his girlfriend like this. He does, however, look horny and hungry and desperate. There’s a bulge in his pants and he keeps swallowing, like he’s trying to fight past a surge of desire. “You tried so hard to be polite that you were practicing self-sabotage. Good things are allowed to happen sometimes.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. He’s right. I almost did say no, but not because I didn’t want them to think I really was a stalker, but because of what my family said to me. I’m not listening to people who only put me down anymore. It makes no sense. If I can only keep one New Year’s resolution, it should be that.

“This the recipe we’re making?” Crispin asks, also stepping up to the counter. Vale is on the other side, all four of them standing close to me. A blanket of comfortable strangers. A blanket of comfortable boyfriends.

I nod and clear my throat.

“If you want the best of the best, then yes. Let’s do this.” I tap the page aggressively with a single finger, surrounded by beautiful boys—men—and hoping they love this recipe as much as I do. If they don’t, I’m not sure our new relationship will last. These cookies are special. “We need flour, ginger, baking soda”—I start, listing off ingredients—“cinnamon, cloves, salt, butter, orange juice, brown and white sugar, eggs, water, and molasses.”

“Oh, is that it?” Frost whispers in my ear, fingers in my belt loop. He gives it a little tug. “You have all that memorized? You didn’t look down at that book once.”

“I made these cookies with my grandma every year since she first moved in here with us. And after, too, when we moved to San Francisco together.” My throat hurts, like I could cry. But I don’t. I am not a crier. I refuse. “I could bake these blindfolded.”

“My uncle had a thousand recipes memorized—at least.” Crispin laughs, dragging the book over to him and spinning it around so he can read the directions. “He could make any damn thing, anything, from memory.” Crispin points a finger at the side of his head before looking up and capturing me all over again. I love that he’s sharing something personal like that with me. I know that he and his brothers were raised by their uncle.

I know everything that the fandom knows and then some, like what their come-faces look like. My cheeks heat. Vale grew up wealthy, but has been no-contact with his family for years. Frost was raised by his mom after his dad died. And Aspen … poor Aspen.

He needs the experience of baking proper cookies just like he needed the experience of tiny milk cartons and graham cracker gingerbread houses.

“I’m not that good. It’s just these particular cookies. I don’t actually need the recipe.” I pause, wondering if I should say this next part. It’s sort of personal. “I just wanted to see the book because I miss her.”

The room is silent for several minutes, like the guys respect my need for old memories and nostalgia. Aspen kneads my shoulder with strong fingers, working out a knot of tension I didn’t realize I had. Ahh. I exhale, shaking out my hands and feeling more relaxed than I have all week.

“That’s one more recipe than I’ve got memorized.” Crispin grins at me as he heads to the fridge, opening the door and then putting his elbows up on either side, studying the frenetic complexity of my dad’s organizational skills. It takes him a minute to find the butter, eggs, and juice.

I smile as I step away from Frost and Aspen, heading for the spice cabinet and pulling the rolling drawer out to peer down at the glass bottles. Vale manages to find the sugar and flour and puts the bags on the center island, watching me the entire time. Aspen is eating one of my dad’s cookies and looking around for a mixing bowl. He finds them faster than I can point them out.

“Did you tell them that you invited me onto the bus?” I ask, trying to prompt Vale into talking. He watches me as I put the spices on the counter and dig out some cookie sheets.

“No, but you just did,” he teases, an angel with his pale hair and cream cashmere sweater, black jeans and white snow boots. Vale is ethereal, a Christmas spirit dressed in a pop rocker’s body. “We’d have a lot of fun, the four of us on that bus. Have you ever been to the Heat the Frost concert? If the storm clears, you really should consider coming with us.”

My mind strays to the bunks on the tour bus, what a tight fit they’d be. What a tight fit I would be for the band. Heh.

“How about you start creaming that sugar and butter?” I say, wanting to tell him yes, that I’ll go. Selfishly hoping the blizzard doesn’t lift so we can stay trapped in this winter wonderland together a little longer. I’m afraid of what will happen when the snow globe breaks.

“Cream, huh?” Vale echoes innocently as he moves over to the microwave to soften the butter.

“The food, not the girl,” Aspen says with a cocky little smirk, slapping the counter and then using his other hand to slide the mixing bowls across the surface, all of the needed utensils resting inside. A silicone spatula. A whisk. Measuring cups and spoons. “Cream that, Vale.”

“With pleasure.” Vale takes a bowl to get to work, and I catch the faintest scribble of my handwriting on his arm. It says hope. He looks up at me, notices me staring, and then licks a bit of melted butter from the edge of his thumb. I bite my lip.

I dole out the rest of the instructions for the cookie making party. Frost is on dry ingredients. Crispin is putting parchment paper on the cookie sheets. Aspen is preheating the oven (and eating another of dad’s cookies). Without using a measuring spoon, I dump spices into Frost’s bowl by eyeballing them. More is better in my opinion. Who wants to eat bland cookies?

“Ah, we almost forgot the music.” I yank my phone from my pocket, ensuring that it’s connected to the kitchen speakers before I start any songs. If I blast my music into the wrong room, I’ll inevitably piss someone off—probably my mother. The Krampus apron is better-suited to her than it is to Frost.

If I were baking by myself—my usual routine—I’d put on Inked Pages. But it seems a little weird to play their own music with them in the room, so I settle on a downloaded playlist with some pop rock Christmas tunes. We start off with This Christmas (I’ll Burn It To The Ground) by Set it Off. Next up is There Will Be No Christmas by Crown the Empire.

“You have good taste in music,” Vale says, sticking a finger between his lips and sucking off some sugar, nice and slow. Clearly, he’s baiting me. It’s working, easily. Yep, he’s the playboy for sure. You’d think with as loud and rude as Frost is that he’d hold the position, but not even Aspen or Crispin knows how to flirt like this.

“Don’t I?” I tease, finding my stare locked with his. Both of us thinking about last night. My heart thumps. “I’m your biggest fan, after all.”

I instruct the boys through the steps of my grandma’s favorite recipe, enjoying the way they take direction from me. They don’t complain, don’t argue. It’s as if they actually care about learning from me, learning about me.

“Hey, Cyan?” Aspen asks after we finish making the dough and start to roll little brown balls across the sugar-covered counter to coat them. The room smells like cinnamon and cloves, butter and sugar. I can’t get enough of it. It feels so homey and cozy in here, baking with these four guys I just met. “Now that you’ve spent some time with Crispin and Vale, how are you feeling?”

I choke on a little nibble of dough that I probably shouldn’t have eaten considering there’s raw eggs in it.

“Erm. I’m not sore. I feel fine.” I can’t look at them when I say that. It’s not possible.

“Uhh.” Aspen has his teeth planted in the skin below his lower lip, trying not to laugh as he rolls a cookie ball in the sugar. “Not what I meant, but I appreciate the honesty. What I was asking is: do you still want to be our girlfriend after getting to know them? Because I know I’m sure as hell into you.” He pauses and looks up, and we end up standing there, just staring at each other. “Though I’d love to know what it’s like to feel my dick—”

“Yes,” I blurt, answering both questions at the same time. “Yes to being your girlfriend, still. And yes to … that.” It’s crazy that Aspen’s made me come more than once, and yet I have very limited experience with his cock.

“Oh, thank God.” He folds his arms on the sugary countertop and puts his forehead against him, his body deflating like the blow-up Santa Claus the neighbors used to put on their front lawn every year (until my dad secretly paid my brother Adam to go stab it with a kitchen knife).

Yeah, I suppose my dad does have a thing about knives. Adam got caught in the act and ended up having to mow the neighbor’s lawn for an entire year to pay it off. Dad never copped to being the true mastermind.

I’m not going to tell Aspen that story (he has enough issues with Dad, as it is), not when he’s lifting his head and looking up at me with an adorable little half-smile. Anticipate. We’re both there, I imagine.

“Now I’m worried you’ll say no after you have me inside of you,” he grumbles, and I laugh at that. It’s the same thought I had about Vale last night.

“Not going to happen,” I promise him. “You were good enough with your hands … and your knee … that your dick can only be a bonus.” I grin and drop a ball of dough onto the tray. Crispin has a knowing smile on his face, Vale is writing something on an extra sheet of parchment paper, and Frost is wearing this weirdly tender expression that he wipes off as soon as he notices me looking at him. “Thank you, by the way, for cleaning the melted rubber off my fireplace.”

“You’re very welcome,” Aspen says with a grin, standing back up and resuming his task.

“Where do you guys live when you’re off work? Everybody in the fandom thinks they know, but nobody does. You’re good at keeping secrets,” I say as we place cookies on the sheet and my hand bumps Frost’s, sending a shiver of pleasure through me. He smirks and knocks my foot with his own before hooking his ankle around me and dragging my legs open a few more inches. Ah. Mm. “Like the one about dating the same girl. Nobody has ever heard of that, I assure you.”

“Only because we haven’t had a proper girlfriend since we came up with this arrangement. Could never agree on one girl together,” Crispin admits. He’s standing at the end of the counter, the leader of this little group. Frost is on my left, Aspen across from me, and Vale on his right.

I put my cookie on the tray and scrape some more of the sticky dough from the bowl.

“You haven’t done this before …” I trail off, my hand still on the little dough ball as it sits half-covered in sugar. I’m their first shared girlfriend. Snowballs, that’s insane. They couldn’t agree on a girl before, but they agreed on me? “You’re going to tell people about me? Us?”

“Only if you want us to,” Aspen says eagerly, like he’s aiming for something with a gentle, subtle sort of approach.

“You should consider moving back to San Francisco with us,” Frost blurts and Aspen tosses a piece of dough at his face. “What? Why dance around the subject? She wanted to know where we lived. Lucky coincidence.”

“Got a taste of something you liked?” I tease which is supposed to be a joke, but just heats up the air between me and Frost instead. “I put my apartment up for sale, the place I shared with my grandma. I can’t go back.”

“Too painful?” Crispin asks as he pushes some hair off his forehead, smearing sugar across his skin. “That it?”

No money, I think, but I can’t say it. My parents are wealthy, but I’m not. I’m excited to get on the bus and go with these guys to the concert (if it happens), but I can’t move back to California.

“My stuff’s already here, all the boxes I sent …” It’s a lame excuse. Of course I want to go with them. Sounds romantic. But I can’t afford it, and I won’t tell them that. The chemistry I feel when they’re all around me is unbeatable, but I still don’t know them very well. What would they think if I started asking for money? Or a job? Or a place to move into?

No fucking way. I won’t ruin this by bringing any of that up.

I wipe my hands on my apron and grab two of the finished trays, transferring them to the upper of the two ovens built into the wall. Vale is right behind me with the other two, and I scoot aside to let him slip them into the bottom oven.

“Hey,” Donner says, moving into the kitchen and punching through the door so hard I’m surprised she didn’t break my nose when she made me bleed at the rest stop. “Boss lady needs to see Aspen and Frost.”

“We’ll clean this up,” Crispin says with a nod and the other boys exchange glances, rinsing their hands at the sink and slipping their aprons off as they leave the room with their badass bodyguard … who’s wearing a sweater with a big-eyed kitten in an elf outfit? ‘Kay.

“You guys don’t have to help me with this stuff,” I say as I gesture at the mess. “I’m sure getting stuck here really fucked with your plans. If you need to join Aspen and Frost, you can go.”

Vale steps up to me as I turn, standing in front of me, so close that I lean back, the edge of the counter digging into my ass.

“You’re used to being alone, aren’t you?” he asks me, reaching out and brushing some hair from my forehead. I am used to being alone, but do I have to say it? It’s that obvious. But as soon as he touches me, words flood my brain, like Vale is my muse or something.

Words like: He lifts me up and sets me on the flour and sugar mess of the countertop, sliding his hands up the sides of my thighs, dipping his fingers under the hem of my sweater. If he goes any further, he’ll find my naked breasts, cup them in his hands, put his mouth up to mine and taunt me with the promise of a kiss.

Should I write that down? Or am I just fantasizing about what I wish would happen?

“Does it matter?” I retort as Vale presses even closer, watching my body language to see if I like it. Oh my God. He can tell that I do.

“Why wouldn’t it matter? Do you like being alone?” He puts his hands on my shoulders, sneaking his fingers to the apron strings tied around my neck. I close my eyes as he unties them, switching to the ones on my waist.

The apron falls to the floor and I feel suddenly naked.

Vale is good at that.

“Can I fuck you again?” he asks. Not one to mince words, is he? His gold eyes look down into mine as I put my hands against the soft cashmere of his sweater. He captures my chin in ridiculously gentle hands. Firm though. Firm and gentle. Ahh. As soon as he does that, I feel myself go weak in the knees.

I lick my lips and Vale’s eyes follow the motion.

“What about Crispin?” I start, and hear his sultry laugh behind me.

“Don’t worry about me, honey. Unless you’re curious to find out a few of the benefits of dating four men at once?” He comes around the island and pauses next to us, wiping his hands on his apron and grinning. “We already know you can handle two at the same time.”

“Oh, God,” I groan as Vale turns my face back to him and kisses me.

His lips are more commanding today than they were last night, as if he got a taste of what I want and is trying to give it to me. When I asked him to back up, he did. Now, I want him to move forward.

My lips part and I let Vale in, his tongue sliding across my own with a sensual slowness that makes me groan and lean back against the counter. Keeping the heated contact between our mouths, he curls his hands under my thighs and lifts me up, setting me on the kitchen island and stepping between my legs.

I can feel the hard bulge in his jeans against the wet denim over my sex.

Vale slides his hands down the sides of my neck and holds them there, cupping me in his tattooed fingers as he works his tongue against mine, taking his time, his mouth tasting of butter and sugar. He’s holy and sinful at the same time, and I surrender willingly to the pressure of his lips, his tongue, the slow cruel way he rolls his hips against mine.

Oh, shit, it’s the most perfect form of torture—just enough to whet the appetite but not enough to feel full.

As Vale kisses me, Crispin steps behind him, putting his arms around the other man and unbuttoning my jeans. I wiggle to help them with the movement of dragging both my jeans and my panties down, my bare ass rubbing around in the sugar that stains the countertop.

I don’t give two wild fucks that one of my brothers or sisters, my cousins, my parents could walk in here and see us. Thankfully the kids are in the basement watching downloaded movies. They have their own kitchen down there, so they won’t come up here.

Crispin presses a kiss to Vale’s neck and he shudders, opening his amber eyes to look at me.

“Is that a yes, Cyan?” Vale asks, raising a brow, his colored hair draping over his forehead. I can’t speak with his warm hands on the thundering beat of my pulse, my lips wet from his kisses, so I just nod.

Vale smiles, dropping his left hand to fish a condom from his pocket (it’s another candy cane one). As he takes his other hand from my neck to undo his pants and push them down, Crispin scoots to his right and steps close to me.

Even with the strong scent of the baking cookies filling the kitchen, I can still smell Crispin’s apple and mulled cider scent when he leans in, puts his fingers under my chin and lifts my face. His kiss is different than Vale’s, comforting and safe but equally practiced. Wonderful. So wonderful. I groan and push into his mouth, sliding my tongue against his and curling my fingers in Vale’s sweater.

I’m so wrapped up in Crispin’s kiss that it takes me longer than it should to realize that Vale’s gripped my hips and pulled me against him, using one of his hands to guide the head of his cock to my opening.

“Hey you,” he coaxes, and I break away from Crispin for a moment, flicking my eyes to his. Vale smirks at me, the expression gentled by the warmth in his gaze. With a powerful roll of his hips, he slips inside of me with a rough groan. Oh. It’s so much less practiced than everything else he does, that sound. It warms me up from the inside out, heat spiraling from the friction between us.

Crispin moves behind Vale again and reaches out, grabbing my calves and lifting my legs, giving Vale better access. It’s a rush, to feel one set of hands on my hips, the other set hot against the backs of my knees.

“That’s perfect,” Vale murmurs against my mouth, kissing the corners of my lips and grabbing my ass in one hand. The other he lifts up, threading his fingers through my hair so he can get me right where he wants me. Slow, desperate rolls of his hips and pelvis. Foreign fingers slipping up my legs and clamping onto my thighs, tugging me open.

My eyes are caught on the juxtaposition of Vale’s pale hair and bright eyes against Crispin’s sun-warmed skin and brown irises. Beautiful. I look at the man inside of me and then switch my focus to the one who isn’t. Crispin maintains eye contact with me as he runs his tongue up the side of Vale’s neck. At the same time, he uses his right hand to pull the loose neckline of my sweater down, exposing my bare breasts.

It’s Christmas break. Who needs bras?

I’m so fucking grateful to be bare up top as Crispin’s big warm hands palm my tits, his thumbs teasing the tender pink peaks of my nipples into a frenzy. My back arches of its own accord, pressing my breasts into his hands, moans tumbling from my lips and against Vale’s hot, wet mouth as he kisses me again. His head is tilted, blocking my view of Crispin. But I can still feel him.

I can feel both of them.

Fire crackling, cookies baking, green candles in a gold candelabra. Sugar on my ass. Butter on Vale’s lips. Flour streaked across the end of Crispin’s black sleeve. Rolling hips. Discarded rolling pin. Heat and friction. Safety and comfort.

The pleasure gets to be too much and I surrender completely to the pair of them, letting Vale guide my tongue with his own. He tastes every part of me, like he can’t get enough, running his tongue along my teeth, licking my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. Crispin adjusts himself and reaches between us to find my clit, riling me up and getting me to buck my hips in fervent reply.

Vale snags one of the beautifully iced gold bell cookies from a nearby plate and shoves it into my mouth to stifle my scream. I bite down on it, sweetness exploding across my tongue.

I can feel my pussy pulsing, fluttering, squeezing Vale tight between my thighs. He keeps moving, fighting the powerful clamp on his cock, making me whimper and moan and writhe. My body lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every single nerve ending alive and wanting. More, more, I want more.

Vale works my body with these deep, powerful undulations, focusing his attention on my cunt and stealing the remaining cookie from between my teeth with his own. He eats it, chewing lazily but fucking purposefully. Crispin takes care of the rest, using my own natural lube to rub my clit in sensual, lazy circles. I thrash against their attentions, but only because it feels too good. I love it.

I’m dead. I’m fucking dead. Crispin grazes his lips over my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth. I lose it completely, coming with a shout that’s just barely stifled by Vale forcing another sugar cookie on me.

My body takes Vale’s along for the ride, locking down so tight on him that he has no choice but to succumb to the pleasure, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders and thrusts, moving as long as he can before he collapses against me.

It’s Crispin that holds us both up … just as the timer for the cookies goes off.

“I’ll get those,” Vale says, sitting up slowly, eyes twinkling as he glances at Crispin and raises an eyebrow. He slides out of me, and I groan because shit, that felt good, and I’m not sure that I’m done yet. He steps aside, resting his hand on the counter as I take the broken cookie from between my lips. I eat the half that I just bit off and see from the rest of it that this one’s an angel. Although maybe I was hasty in calling Vale one.

He certainly doesn’t fuck like an angel.

I look up, finding Crispin right where we left him. I hold the cookie up and he steps forward, accepting my invitation. He takes it gently from my fingers with his mouth, chewing and swallowing and licking the icing from his lips. Stepping closer to me and licking the icing from mine.

We both look down as I undo his jeans and help him push the material over his hips. He takes his cock in his hand between us, using the wetness he stole from my body to stroke himself. Jerking off with his dick inches away from me.

“We could move to another room?” Crispin suggests. Shamelessly, he groans and drags his teeth against the corner of his bottom lip, an uncontrollable response to the pleasure of his own hand. I want to feel him inside of me, so I wiggle my ass against the sugary surface to scoot a little closer.

“Another room?” I pant out as Crispin slides his hands under my ass. But he doesn’t enter me, not yet.

“Well, yes, ma’am,” he growls, putting his mouth against my ear and nuzzling the side of my throat. “We could get more creative in private, don’t you think?”

I throw my arms around his neck then slant my lips to his. We’ve just barely gotten started when I hear the sound of the kitchen door swinging open.

Fuck. Yep. Privacy would’ve been a good choice.

“Hello, boys,” Crispin says, turning his head and then pulling me off the counter and into his arms. Again. I am not complaining. He can carry me every day if he wants. “Would one of you mind fixin’ us up so we look decent? I’d like to take this little lady upstairs to her bedroom. ”

The way Crispin says the word bedroom … ugh, it should be illegal.

“What the hell …” Frost begins, wetting his lips, his eyes taking in the curve of my ass before Aspen moves over and tosses his apron over my naked lower half. His hands drop down and I take a guess that he’s putting Crispin’s junk back in his pants.

“Thank you kindly,” is apparently Crispin’s response to his lead singer handling his dick. I roll my lips to hide a smile.

“Cookies are on the counter and the oven’s off,” Vale says, coming up to stand beside us, his mouth turning up in a smile. Aspen and Frost exchange a look.

“We walked out right before sex in sugar?” Aspen whispers, and Frost curls his lip in annoyance.

“I’m going to fire Kristy,” he grumbles in response, referring to the band’s manager.

My hand lashes out, snagging Frost’s wrist, my eyes finding Aspen’s. His pupils are dilated, and I know we’re both thinking it. I need him inside of me. It’s urgent.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, inviting them all, one special glance for each of the four men. “ Now. ”

The sound of Holly Cole’s ‘zat You Santa Claus follows us out of the room and up the stairs.

Luckily, we don’t run into any of my family on the way up. If we had … I have no idea how I would’ve explained my ass and thighs covered in sugar. Or what I plan to do with four rockstars in my bedroom.