His Taste Of Christmas (Forbidden Tastes #1)

5. Angel

Chapter five

Angel

“ A ngel, are you even listening to me?” Mace whines while we unpack everything we bought at Costco, but I’m not listening to her as I can’t get Mr Hayes out of my head. All I can picture are those unwavering eyes that trapped me.

“Angel O'Sullivan,” she shrieks loudly, prompting me to scrub my hand down my face. I can’t believe she spent six hundred pounds on decorations. Who does that? Of course, she went on about how my dad said this and my dad said that. He looks at Mace like another daughter, and I’m pretty sure he wishes she really was for Christmas. Both of them are equally obsessed with this time of year.

“Yes,” I mutter. But I wasn't, just like I wasn't during the entire trip back from the store.

“What did I say then?” she snaps. As I glance up at her, she stands with her hands full of baubles and a raised eyebrow.

“How much you love the colour scheme you have gone with this year?”

Without hesitation, her raised eyebrow returns to its original position. “Oh, okay, my mistake. You were actually listening.” Contently, she starts unpacking more decorations. I grin to myself while doing the same. I didn’t hear a word that came out of her mouth, but being best friends since you were six-years-old pays off. I know this girl like the back of my hand.

“Your mum mentioned that the men will arrive tomorrow to set up the decorations, but I’m popping out with my mum. Are you free tomorrow?”

I nod my head, “Yes. I have a free day, so I’ll be here. That’s fine.”

“Great, your mum said she could be here if not.” Tomorrow is the day she leaves for Ireland. I don't expect her to be here dealing with that. “I’ll text her later and let her know.” It could be seen as strange that Macey is the one who arranges things with my parents more frequently than I do, but it's completely normal for us. She has been in the family since I can remember, and when it comes to Christmas, I would rather voluntarily pull every single strand of hair from my scalp than be left to deal with it, so I don’t mind in the slightest that Mace does everything. We have a team of people who are hired to put up all the decorations, but Macey insists on decorating the tree in the pub.

Unfortunately, we already have one in our apartment, and it was set up on 1 st November. Despite the limited room, she opted for the biggest one she could manage. Nevertheless, I firmly stated that the pub's tree wouldn't be put up until ten days prior to Christmas. I was persistent in my foot stomping, and I eventually got my way.

Naturally, we had to set up some decorations. We’re running a pub. There have been customers who are genuinely thankful for our non-excessive setting. There are lots of them who believe the decorations shouldn't be set up too soon. I can't help but give Macey a smug smile whenever they agree with me.

Macey grabs the iPad and starts to review the pub’s email account. Our Christmas Day bookings will close tomorrow to allow us two weeks for the preparations.

“Do we have any more bookings?” I ask her. Our reservations were almost full, with only two tables remaining. This is our most successful year yet. Another reason my parents had to be skeptical about going away. Despite their concerns, Mace and I have shown we can manage a busy pub. Our team is highly experienced and ready to provide plenty of assistance.

Our chef is what I like to call top-notch. I’m biased, but Harry does the best pub grub in London. I constantly tell him that he can be my live-in chef when I become rich. Although he does cook me dinners before closing up most nights, so he's basically already doing it.

“I'm currently checking, but it doesn't seem like it,” she says, while continuing to read.

“Alright, I'm going to take a shower and then attempt to begin this short story.”

Macey's giggles echo as I reluctantly make my way to the door. “I'm looking forward to seeing your work,” she sing songs.

I close my bedroom door with a bit too much force before I collapse onto my bed, turn on my laptop, and go through the project again. There are no strict guidelines, but it must be related to Christmas.

I open up a Word document and fixate on the empty white screen, longing for an idea to surprise me, but I am left disappointed. I'm at a loss for where to start. What the hell am I going to do? While I know Mace would be willing to help me come up with something, I need to handle this on my own. Going for a walk down Southbank might provide some relief, or perhaps I should just go to one of the Christmas markets and face it head-on. The fact I am lucky enough to have Covent Garden, Leicester Square, and even Winter Wonderland on my doorstep is just another reminder of how criminal it is I don’t like Christmas. Honestly, London City is the ultimate festive destination, and I'm right in the heart of it.

It's unfortunate for me.

“Damn it, I can't do this,” I cry. I need to find inspiration, and that won't happen if I keep staring at a blank screen. What I really need right now is a hot and relaxing shower to rid myself of all my worries.

I strip down and walk into my en suite. I shamelessly used the line “it's my parents' pub” to justify why I deserve the only en suite bedroom in this flat. Mace was happy. She got the main bathroom to herself, which has a killer tub—one I use regularly.

As I turn on the shower and step inside, the room fills with steam. People often underestimate the calming effects of standing in a shower with a searing stream when feeling stressed. It completely removes any worries.

Standing in place, I let the water saturate my hair and cascade over me for a good five minutes. I'm loving the feeling of having a blank mind. Despite my efforts to focus on the calming effects of running water and its warmth on my muscles, the face of someone I can't shake off continues to intrude into my thoughts.

Goosebumps snake their way up my body, bringing back a familiar feeling. I tilt my head back, grateful for the strong water pressure. The forceful jets hit my nipples as I imagine his touch. The closer my hand gets to my centre, the faster my breathing becomes. Without wasting any time, I slip my fingers between my already wet folds. The swelling in my clit is making me crave his touch. It starts with one finger, then another one joins, both moving over the swollen bundle of nerves. I apply pressure and move my fingers in circular motions as the water beats against my body.

The ache starts in the pit of my stomach, a telltale sign that it won't be long before I'm falling over the edge. Increasing my speed, my body slumps against the cold tiled wall beside me, instantly cooling my overheated body, my breath catching.

I could watch you all day sucking on that candy cane, Angel. I picture Mr Hayes whispering in my ear as I pleasure myself for him. I imagine feeling his dick brushing against my arse cheeks, and the sudden thought of him bending me in half and burying himself in my tight hole flashes through my mind. I whimper. Ihaveaninsatiablehungerforhim,andseeinghimhasonlyintensifiedthatfeeling.

I crave him.

Your tight, sweet arse is equally as beautiful as your big, juicy lips. Will you wash me when I finish spilling myself into your tight hole and then suck me dry? Angel, will you show your submission by getting on your knees for your daddy?

“Fuck,” I mutter as I feel the orgasm coming in hard. It’s right there—

“Oh, my fucking God!” My bathroom door flies open as Macey shouts, “Angel, get out of that shower now.”

You have got to be kidding me. Mr Hayes disappears; every single thought and image evaporating from my head in a cloud of smoke. The orgasm that I was on the brink of disappears with a single snap. All because my best fucking friend chose now to burst into my bathroom, even though she can clearly hear the shower is on.

“Macey, what the fuck?” I seethe. Yes, Mace and I have that friendship where we sit on the toilet while another is in the bath. She’s like my sister. We have seen everything there is to see of each other. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish it wasn’t like that with us.

“Angel Aoife O’Sullivan. You will not want to miss this information for a second longer. Get out here now.” She hits the shower door forcefully. Fortunately, the mist on the glass obscures her vision entirely. I'm a little intrigued because she used my full name. She only uses that when she's really mad at me or has some mind-blowing gossip.

I turn off the shower, fully aware that I'll need to return, just so I can actually wash my hair and finally address the wetness between my legs, but I'm certain she won't leave until she reveals what's going on.

I step out of the shower; she is already standing there with a towel in her hand, and the smile on her face causes nerves to wash through me.

“Fuck, what’s happened?” Macey skips out of my bathroom while I hastily wrap the towel around me. I follow her into my bedroom and find her standing next to my bed, grinning just like Pennywise does before he feasts on children’s fear. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?” I question her, frowning.

“You won't believe it, but we just got a booking request for Christmas Day.” Her grin, already big and creepy, becomes even more unsettling. “Great, please don’t tell me this is why you are giving me IT vibes and dragged me out of the shower, Mace?” I lock eyes with her and shoot her a glare of pure frustration.

“It is,” she replies matter-of-factly. My head leans back, and my eyebrows brush against my hairline.

“Were you brought into existence solely to infuriate me?” I stand, raising my hands and letting them slap against my thighs in disbelief. “What the fuck is your pro—”

“The reservation was made in the name of Carter Hayes.”