Page 85 of Christmas Kisses

Since her question appears rhetorical, I don’t answer her. Instead, I drape the tea towel over her thighs, sit on a stool, and then swirl ice cubes over the angry bumps on her stomach.

She was stung over ten times, so it takes several long minutes to administer first aid. I tend to the bigger bumps with ice while carefully blowing air on the less aggressive ones.

I don’t believe I was stung, so I am clueless as to the cause of the heat trekking through my veins until I spot the faintest press of Angel’s thighs.

In my endeavor to slacken her pain, I’ve wedged myself between her thighs, and since the lowest welt is a mere millimeter from the sexy hem of her panties, my mouth is mere inches from her pussy.

She didn’t wear cotton panties today. She went for a raunchy red pair that sends my head into a tailspin the instant I realize how scant they are. The tea towel has slipped, so I can see thelines of her pussy, glistening and begging to be touched, and smell how delicious she will taste.

There isn’t much pubic hair, hardly any, but the thin curl-less strip down the middle announces she is a natural blonde.

When I raise my eyes to her face, desperate to gauge if she wore this little number for me, I balk. From the neck down, she is Angel. From her collarbone up, she is a hairy green beast.

I try to remember that while continuing to administer first aid. I play Jim Carrey’s hip thrusts on repeat and recall him telling the Whovilles to pucker up while holding mistletoe over his hairy ass.

Nothing works.

The ice melts at a record-setting pace, leaving the soothing touches to my fingertips.

Angel’s nipples bud as her needy breaths tighten the front of my pants. She lets out a little cry when I drop my index finger to the bump just above the seam of her panties.

She’s no longer in pain.

She’s needy and wet and on the cusp of begging.

The fight is all over her face.

I try to ignore the tension pulling my balls in close to my body, but within seconds, it becomes too much for me to ignore.

“Ask me to touch you.”

“Christian…” She hesitates until my fingertip breaches the waistband of her barely there panties. “Touch me.There.Touch methere.”

“Here?” I ask while slowly trekking my index finger over her practically naked mound.

When a whoosh sounds through my ears, I look up again. Her face makeup is perspiring but still perfect, prompting me to say, “Can you remove the nose prosthetic? You need to smell what I’m smelling. See what I’m seeing.” Again, I run my hand down her wet panties, causing a shudder to roll down her spine.“Our noses forever feature, so I can only imagine how much of the view that one is hogging.”

When she removes her prosthetic nose, she still looks like the Grinch, so she tugs off her wig and fans out her pinned locks.

Now she’s the woman I stroked my cock to last night.

Not exactly, but close enough.

“Ask me again.”

There is no hesitation this time around. “Touch me.Please.”

Her head thrusts back when I replace my fingertips with my tongue. I slide it down her body and flick it over the no-longer-angry welts before circling it around her belly button.

Angel moans a long, wanton “Yesss” while bucking her hips, seeking firmer contact. “Now lower.”

A hearty moan vibrates through me when I press my nose to the seam of her panties and inhale deeply. She smells like heaven and sin. Terror and peace. She smells so fucking good that I can’t stop myself from going back for a second whiff.

She has the power to stop this, and the acting skills for me to believe she is as desperate for me to taste her as I am, but I continue savoring her like I won’t die if she does precisely that.

I tongue her clit through her panties, almost vaulting her off the island.

Her response is exactly what I’m seeking, so without hesitation, I slip her panties to the side and marvel at her nakedness for the first time.

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