Christmas Kisses

15. Christian

15

CHRISTIAN

A ngel’s grin for the next thirty minutes is shit-eating… until the slasher flick breaks for a commercial.

Damn Prime and they’re requirement for an additional monthly fee for no-ad movies.

The festive tune of Michael Bublé’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is a stark contrast to the murderous cries that were escaping the television’s speakers only moments ago, but it appears more detrimental to Angel’s sanity than a serial killer on a killing spree. The color drains from her cheeks as her nose screws up. She looks equally angry and devastated.

After checking the coffee table, her hands dig into her side of the sofa. She grunts and groans while searching for the remote before she shifts her watering eyes to me.

“Please turn it off,” she begs when her search for the remote in its prospective hiding places comes up empty-handed.

When she gasps in a sharp breath, announcing her panic is surging, I dig out the remote from under my thigh, where it slipped when she cozied up to my side, and then stab the off button repeatedly.

It takes several long seconds to switch off the commercial selling family-sized turkeys. The batteries in the remote are so old that I have to remove the back and roll them in their holder to will the television into submission.

It is too long for Angel.

She is on the cusp of a debilitating panic attack.

“It’s gone,” I murmur upon noticing the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “It’s off.”

I bounce my eyes between hers. Her cheeks are white, and her pupils are swamping her corneas, but she is still the bravest woman I’ve ever encountered.

A dick tease, but still brave.

“Take a big breath for me.”

She does so without further prompting.

“Good girl. Now another.”

Her chest rises, sticking out her ample breasts, before it deflates.

“There you go. You’ve got this.”

After another handful of praises I had no clue I liked handing out until now, I ask, “Are you okay?”

She wets her lips before slowly nodding.

“Are you sure? You’re still looking a little rattled.” When annoyance reduces the size of her pupils, I take the playful route instead of the serious. “Hey, I’m just checking that you’re stable. Only a psychotic woman could sit through a slasher flick and smile. You had me worried for a second.”

“It… wasn’t… the… movie.”

I know it wasn’t, but I’m slowly learning that Jimmy isn’t the only one skilled at reading silent prompts in our family.

Angel is tossing out a ton of them right now.

None are her choice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A bouncy lock slaps her cheek when she shakes her head.

“Are you sure? I’m a skilled listener?—”

She cuts off my interrogation by pressing her lips to mine as my deviant head was praying for her to do only thirty minutes ago.

Our kiss starts as a peck until Angel cranks up the volume.

She kisses me hard. Fast. She devours my mouth with perfect strokes of her tongue and teasing moans.

Heavenly.

Inferno.

The spices on the pastrami shouldn’t allow her mouth to be as delicious as it is. Her lips are scrumptious and salty, flavored by her sandwich and the wetness she’s endeavoring to make out isn’t clinging to her top lip.

The latter forces me to pull back.

It takes everything I have, and it isn’t done without a pained groan.

“Angel…”

She peers at me with pleading, lust-filled eyes. “Please.”

A beg that throaty and needy deserves to be listened to.

No! my brain shouts to my cock. You’re not a creep.

Horny, yes.

A creep, no.

I drag in several breaths, needing to press on the brakes. She’s vulnerable. Only an ass would play on her vulnerability.

It is a fight to continue acting chivalrous when I drift my eyes to Angel’s side of the couch. Even with her ass once again plonked on her half of our shared seat, I can see the effect our kiss had on her. Her shirt has ridden up to her waist, exposing the cutest printed cotton panties I’ve ever seen. They’re girlie and sweet with the inclusion of a bow at the top, and as damp as my lips when my tongue seeks any leftover residue of her kiss on my mouth.

A woman as sexy as Angel doesn’t need lacy panties to display her raunchiness. She could wear a potato sack and she’d still be beautiful.

When my eyes slowly lift to her face, my fight triples.

Our kiss shouldn’t have happened—not at all—but in less than a nanosecond, nothing but the wish to replace the sadness in her eyes with something far more potent than lust smacks into me.

I’ll even let her crush my family jewels if it is the only way to return the lively spark her eyes are now missing.

Fingers crossed my mouth will supply adequate resuscitation.

“The instant you want this to stop, say the word and I will stop.” I dig my hand into her hair as it has been begging to do all night and then bring her lips so close to mine that we share the same air. “Until then, I’m going to kiss you how I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on you.”

I wait for the excitement in her eyes to detonate before I reacquaint our lips so firmly that her back arches into a C. She trembles when I run my tongue over her lips before plunging it into her delicious mouth.

Within seconds, our embrace goes further than the one minutes ago. It includes a ton of purring and enough grinds to ensure I’ll have to check my sweatpants for a wet patch before I wear them again.

A goddess is under me and moaning—her skin as heavenly soft as the divine taste of her mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this or kissed anyone like this. It is a first for receiving and giving and has me on the verge of coming in my pants like a sophomore.

Needing more, I tug Angel down the sofa before deepening our kiss. I bite at her lips and duel our tongues while rocking my hips at a smooth, controlled pace, dampening her panties further.

“So. Good. Feels so good,” she moans into my mouth, grinding up.

I tighten my fist still tangled in a mass of curls, tugging the roots of her fantastic hair. Her head thrusts back, urging me to do it again as her pussy rubs along my stiffened shaft.

I grip her hair firmly, holding her in place, before doubling the speed of my rocks.

She’s pliable under my touch in seconds, and my veins thrum with lust.

When she pulls back to suck in a much-needed breath, I continue rolling my hips in rhythm to the frantic thrusts of her breasts, drawing out more moans. Her eyes are free of the encumbrances they faced only minutes ago, hardened with lust.

I’m going to hell. Straight to the fiery depths of despair for using her vulnerability against her. But fuck if I can stop this. I can feel the heat of her pussy as she rubs it along my cock and smell its no doubt delicious palette.

God himself couldn’t stop this now.

“Guide me,” I plead, needing direction to ensure I don’t take this too far.

I won’t gripe a single moan if she wants to stop this now. I’ll plop her back onto her side of the sofa, stalk to the shower, and then stroke one out in silence. She won’t face a single objection.

When I say that to Angel, her moans thicken. They come so hard and fast that I have no choice but to rope my arm around her back and pull her up until her sexy thighs cuddle my waist and her erect nipples stab my bare chest.

“Christian,” she whispers in my ear, pinching the last morsel of my control. “Please. I want you.”

I’m done.

Done.

So. Fucking. Done.

Her wet panties cling to the back of my hand when I dip it between us so I can yank my pants down my thighs. My cock springs free with a boing as the most erotic moan rolls up Angel’s chest.

She wraps her hand around my shaft, making it look extra thick and long since her hand is so dainty.

“Christ,” I grit out, struggling not to blow my load when she glides her thumb over the glistening slit, collecting a droplet of pre-cum from the tip.

Her hand feels divine, and I groan while imagining how good the rest of her will feel.

I want to drive home, to nail her to the plastic with needy, dramatic pumps. But I also want to take my time with her.

I’ve never felt more conflicted.

My hands shoot out to grip her waist when her tongue darts out to replenish her lips. She wets her mouth like her daydream mimics mine—that she is dying to circle her lips around my cock’s head.

God, I want her, but as quickly as the urge to claim her as mine arose the first time I laid eyes on her, she reminds me of why I should have said no when Jimmy suggested I take on this assignment instead of him. “Aww… look at how cute his little head is.”

Little?

Did she just call my cock’s head little?

It is angry and throbbing with want, the most swollen it’s ever been. It’s a replica of the dildos she’s been swinging around the past forty-eight hours in both girth and length.

“Do you need a nap, little guy?” She wiggles my dick, flopping it from thigh to thigh since it commenced deflating at her first “little” reference. “You’re looking a little tired.”

How many size references can a woman make during a sexual encounter before damages can be sought? I hope you say three because I’m already past my limit.

My eyes dart between Angel’s when she says, “Maybe he needs a little help.” Faster than I can click my fingers together, she slips off my lap and hightails it to the entryway. “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot of guys can’t get hard without their prostate being stimulated.” I shoot up from the couch when she asks, “Would you prefer a butt plug? Or shall we go straight for a full-size dildo? I’m fine with either.” Again, she drops her eyes to my crotch. “I’ll need something, though. It isn’t like that will get the job done.” My cock slips into negative territory when she nudges her head at it during the “that” part of her statement. It is three inches from looking like a turtle’s head.

Ouch.

With my ego too beaten to continue diverting all the blood in my body to my dick, I tuck away my deflated penis, gather up my phone, and then head for the bathroom to finish what she started in privacy.

Unwilling to let a man die in peace, Angel says, “Good idea. Getting rid of the smell may help it pop up and say hello.”