Page 70 of Christmas Kisses

“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.

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