Christmas Kisses

18. Angel

18

ANGEL

“ I ’m so sorry.” I gulp to soothe the fiery burn of lust scorching the back of my throat before spinning away from a mostly naked Christian. The image is as good, if not better, than the one I used last night to switch my nightmare to a dream. “I thought since I washed out the brown dye that we’d do the same with the red. I didn’t realize you would take care of that by yourself.”

Try as I may, I can’t stop the image of his fat cock slapping his thighs from popping into my head during the “that” part of my reply. He has so much length that even while in the process of deflating, I could still wave around his cock like a cheerleading baton at a pep rally.

When Christian chuckles in reply to my near heart attack response, I drop my hand from my eyes before peering over my shoulder like monster dicks are nothing to fawn over.

Good lord, that man has a dick to back up his arrogance.

Christian’s underwear is now entirely up his thighs instead of partway, and the impressive “junk” keeping my pulse in a frantic state all day is covered.

Though I shouldn’t, I can’t help but brag. “If the adult toy industry doesn’t work out for me, I might need to consider hairdressing. I match colors like…” Since I can’t find an appropriate analogy, and I shouldn’t admit I ogled his cock long enough to match his pubic hair to his recently dyed locks, I mumble my way to silence.

Christian will never let me off so easily. His wink makes me sticky, but I’m out of time for a shower. The fair starts in an hour, and I’m too immersed in my current improv to pretend it isn’t affecting me.

“Are you almost ready?”

Christian nods. “Just need to find a shirt.”

“You own a shirt?” The playfulness in my tone can’t be missed. Riling him is the most fun I’ve had in years, and I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t miss it. “I figured they disappeared with your morals when you accepted a big fat check from Mrs. Richler.” As quickly as my annoyance rose, my smarts surge past it. “Sorry. I’m super bitchy when I am hungry.”

He shrugs off my rudeness as if it is acceptable. It isn’t, but since I’m unsure if he deserves my remorse, I mimic his shrug before telling him I’ll wait for him in the living room.

Do you remember how everyone looked at you in awe when you sashayed into the living room in your prom dress? That’s how Christian will be gawked at all day today. I guarantee it. And it will have nothing to do with the red suit, beard, and wig he’ll be donning.

His jeans hug his ass and chunky thighs, his shirt hints at the cut lines and ridges it is concealing, and his hair has my fingers so envious that you’d swear they hadn’t raked through them numerous times over the past two hours.

Don’t get me started on the chiseled cut of his face. I want to move on with my grief at some stage within the next century, not have another reason to continue wallowing in it.

“Age before beauty,” I murmur when Christian opens the door for me before gesturing for me to exit first.

A snippet of guilt smacks into me when he accepts my offer without the slightest moment of hesitation.

Fool.

I slam the door shut so fast that the lip almost catches on the heel of his boots seconds before I secure the lock.

“Angel…”

The stern rumble of my name from that mouth does crazy things to my insides. It reminds me of how hot it sounded while being moaned by him and has me wishing I could forget I know about his plan to freight-train me out of the apartment I’ve always called home.

“Did you forget something?”

I fake stupidity. “I don’t think so. As you entered the living room, you placed your wallet in your pocket, and the concierge collected the clothes you didn’t take into the bathroom with you almost thirty minutes ago. Oh… also…” I let him stew for a minute. “I placed a twenty in your wallet for your sweatpants. It won’t get you the same brand, but come on, we both know you weren’t wearing them for the designer label.”

I can’t see him, but I feel his smile.

I’m glad he’s happy. I am far from it. I haven’t felt another person’s presence in my family home at this time of the year for over three years. Although annoyed at how he arrived, it was nice having something else to focus on than my grief and near homelessness.

“Angel—”

“Goodbye, Christian.” I move away from the door. “Have fun at the fair,” I add, hopeful he is a man of his word.

I wish I could display the same integrity. I don’t trust my motives at this time of the year, but it has been even worse this week.

It is a struggle to walk away, and it isn’t a battle I win.

I barely get two steps away when my wrist is grabbed, and I’m yanked out of my apartment.

What the?

I can only stare in bewilderment when Christian retaliates to my eviction in a way I never considered. After closing my hanging-open apartment door and tugging out the key I forgot he had, he stuffs it into his mouth and swallows it.

I vocalize my shock out loud this time. “What the!”

I dive for his mouth and pry it open, seeking the key.

It is nowhere to be found.

He ate it.

“Are you damn insane? Mrs. Richler won’t issue me another key, and the locksmith’s cutoff for new jobs was three hours ago!” I stomp down my foot. “You need to bring it back up.”

Christian’s throat works through a stiff swallow before he laughs. “It’s not coming back up.”

I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I’ve barely left my apartment in years. I learned my lesson the hard way when my attendance at my parents’ funeral saw me losing every irreplaceable possession I owned.

“Then how will we get back into my apartment?”

I use “we” on purpose, hopeful it will return him to my side of the fence. I didn’t want to oust him. I just didn’t trust myself to make it to the new year without jumping his bones. He’s the enemy. I’m not meant to look at him how I do. It just can’t be helped. His presence has reminded me that my heart didn’t die with my parents. It just had no reason to pump until now.

Christian’s smile slips as his stomach gurgles. “We wait for it to come down.” He leers like his butthole isn’t hours from being shredded by metal, before saying, “And I know the perfect place for us to do that.”

I shake my head like I’m possessed when the faint jingle of a charity Santa sounds above the frantic thump of my pulse. “Ho, ho, ho .”

“No. We can’t. I don’t do Christmas.” I get desperate when Christian tosses me onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I can’t leave my apartment. Mrs. Richler will evict me permanently if I do. Possessions are nine-tenths of the law, so I need to stay with the minuscule possessions I have left.”

“That law doesn’t apply to property,” Christian replies, dropping my heart until it’s tangled by my hair swishing in front of his fantastic ass. It’s almost at his feet when he slingshots it back to my chest. “And you don’t need to worry about Mrs. Richler. She was invited to interview for a position she will never get with a multibillion-dollar investment company. She won’t be back for hours, so it is the perfect time for you to reacquaint yourself with the people you’ve spent the last three years fighting for.”