Page 72 of Christmas Kisses

Did she just call my cock’s head little?

It is angry and throbbing with want, the most swollen it’s ever been. It’s a replica of the dildos she’s been swinging around the past forty-eight hours in both girth and length.

“Do you need a nap, little guy?” She wiggles my dick, flopping it from thigh to thigh since it commenced deflating at her first “little” reference. “You’re looking a little tired.”

How many size references can a woman make during a sexual encounter before damages can be sought? I hope you say three because I’m already past my limit.

My eyes dart between Angel’s when she says, “Maybe he needs a little help.” Faster than I can click my fingers together, she slips off my lap and hightails it to the entryway. “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot of guys can’t get hard without their prostate being stimulated.” I shoot up from the couch when she asks, “Would you prefer a butt plug? Or shall we go straight for a full-size dildo? I’m fine with either.” Again, she drops her eyes to my crotch. “I’ll need something, though. It isn’t likethatwill get the job done.” My cock slips into negative territory when she nudges her head at it during the “that” part of her statement. It is three inches from looking like a turtle’s head.

Ouch.

With my ego too beaten to continue diverting all the blood in my body to my dick, I tuck away my deflated penis, gather up my phone, and then head for the bathroom to finish what she started in privacy.

Unwilling to let a man die in peace, Angel says, “Good idea. Getting rid of the smell may help it pop up and say hello.”

16

ANGEL

Ihate 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.

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