Christmas Kisses

16. Angel

16

ANGEL

I hate myself.

Truly, I do.

But the loathing would have worsened if I hadn’t remembered Christian is only available to distract me from my grief because he wants to exploit it for profit.

My body’s response to his tease is the exact reason I charge astronomical prices for backpackers to bunk with me during December.

One wrong jingle, and my self-worth plummets into the abyss.

I just wish I thought more of myself than to drag people into the pit with me.

Christian didn’t deserve the brunt of my anger.

His cock.

His kiss.

Him… damn.

My clit throbs just recalling how girthy and lengthy his cock is. It has perfect symmetry and smells clean and fresh. I was desperate to wrap my lips around the crown and lick up the droplet of pre-cum pooling at the end.

I was seconds from falling to my knees when my eyes landed on a Christmas tree flopped in the foyer of my apartment. Its pine scent should have triggered a ton of bad memories. It should have had my grinchy-self climbing out of the trench it fell into two days ago. But the longer I stared at it, the more fond memories trickled into my head.

I thought about how my dad always drove to a family lot forty miles from Ravenshoe to purchase our tree, and how he returned it to the farm every year to be replanted so we could keep the same tree year in and year out.

Our family tree will never die.

My parents weren’t so lucky.

With my eyes close to bursting, I dump the dildo and butt plug into the box before brushing my cheeks with the back of my hand. Although I’d give anything to crawl under the bedding and sleep away my heartache, I can’t. My bedroom is next to the bathroom, and I’m too lucid to forget Christian’s pledge to walk away and stroke one out in the shower if I wanted to stop the exploration of his hands and mouth.

Knowing he’d let me stop at any stage was addictive. My hunger fed off it, and it was a fight to remember his acting skills seem on par with mine.

I won’t make the same mistake twice—even with the worry that the feelings I am developing for Christian are no longer an act.

“Hey…”

As Ryan’s new partner hovers back, Ryan steps closer to me. His arms are at the ready, as if he may need to catch me.

His hunch is proven accurate when he mutters, “I’m so sorry.”

Tears burn my eyes as I shake my head. “No.”

“They were found an hour ago…”

I don’t hear anything else Ryan says.

All I can hear is the word that started his debilitating sentence.

They.

They.

They were found an hour ago.

As the world spins around me, I lose my footing and arrow toward the floor.

I’m not caught by Ryan’s broad arms. This man’s thighs are far chunkier, and he smells like my favorite body wash instead of Harlow’s bakery’s famous candy cane hot chocolate and gingerbread men.

As a howling sob tears from my throat, my savior shouts, “Angel. Wake up.”

With a gentle nudge, I startle awake, gasping and crying. I’m still in the same apartment where my world ended. Still in the same pajamas. Just the man comforting me is new.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” assures a groggy voice from above—a voice with an extremely endearing accent. “It was a nightmare.”

I cling to Christian as if he is my only lifeline, my entire body shaking. I haven’t had a nightmare in over two years, but tonight’s was the most vivid. It seemed as if Ryan was standing across from me as he was only hours ago. He had aged up in my dream, but I was the same age—barely grasping adulthood and not close to being ready to face it alone.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Christian says, calming me like he did earlier.

I don’t deserve his comfort after the way I sliced his confidence to shreds. I just can’t give it up. I’ll drown in my grief if I don’t accept his help. It is so thick this year that making him regret the day he walked into my life has been the only thing keeping my head above water this week.

After numerous soothing back rubs, Christian says, “Scoot over. I inherited the hips of an Italian woman reared to birth a dozen kids. We will never fit on the sofa together, and I ain’t leaving you, but if I don’t get some warmth soon, my nipples will be sharp enough to cut diamonds.”

Mindful his comment about being cold is only for my benefit, I say, “It’s okay?—”

“We have a truce. We agreed it would be for twenty-four hours. So shush and scoot.”

I fold like a narc being offered a get-out-of-jail-free card. The mattress dips two seconds after I shuffle to the far side of the bed. Then, just as fast, Christian’s bare torso heats my back. His nipples are stiff, but they’re not the firmness I pay the most attention to. Even soft, his cock is impressive.

As he adjusts my legs to a perfect spooning position, he says, “Before you say anything, this is a first for me too.”

My brows furrow as I try to make out my nerves are still floating precariously over a dangerous cliff. “Comforting someone after a nightmare?”

Christian stiffens for half a second. “That too.”

I smile, grateful its brightness can’t reflect on the wall my bed is squashed against since I painted it a dark and moody black the year my parents died. I’d hate for him to be awarded a point in our tit-for-tat game.

A curl evading the elastic meant to keep my hair at bay rustles in his breath when he asks, “Was the movie the cause of your nightmare?”

I wait a beat before shaking my head. I could lie, but it has caused me nothing but pain in the past, so I take the honesty route instead.

After a breath big enough to force my lungs to mimic it, Christian asks, “Was it me?”

My delay hurts him. It can’t be helped. Ryan looked identical to how he did while standing across from Christian, threatening to take him to Ravenshoe PD for a thorough interview, but since the blame for his reintroduction into my life at this time of the year belongs on my shoulders, I eventually shake my head.

Christian releases a breath I didn’t realize he was holding before offering me a support network I’m not sure I deserve. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“And if I want to sleep?”

He rubs his hand down my arm in a soothing manner before tickling my neck with his prickles. “Then we’ll sleep. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Except move.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Guilt swallows me whole in under a second.

How can I be so bitchy to someone going out of their way to comfort me?

“Christian, I’m?—”

“Sleep, Angel. Anything that needs to be said can wait until the morning.”

“But—”

“Sleep,” he demands again before shuffling in closer.

The heat of his body curled around mine is my undoing.

It usually takes hours for me to settle after a nightmare.

Days to forgive myself for purposely hurting someone.

Tonight, both are forgotten within minutes.