Page 93 of Christmas Kisses

I tilt my hips, connecting the most intimate parts of our body as if there’s no material between us. “Would that have been before or after you filled my underwear with itching powder?”

Her deliciously plump lips stop arrowing toward my mouth as she gulps harshly. She’s not devastated that I know about her ruse to have the residents of her building believing I have crabs. Learning that I’ve been commando for the last thirty-six hours is the cause of her dry throat.

As jealousy burns her alive, lust heats my veins. Only a woman disinterested in what I’m selling would act nonchalant to her neighbors being awarded possible dick imprints. “I need names and apartment numbers.”

I rock my hips upward, grinding myself against her naked pussy, before muttering, “Why?”

A thousand answers roll through my head. None are close to the one I get. After nudging her head to the box under her entryway table, Angel murmurs, “I’ve got ninety-three sex toys left to sell.” Another grind, another moan, and another droplet of pre-cum leaking from my cock. “And absolutely no intention to useany of themfor at least the next twelve months, so why not pass them on to someone in urgent need of a rechargeable companion.”

She bites my lips while swiveling her hips, making the gap of her teeny-tiny towel dangerous. I can now see how wet she is. Feel it. I can also smell it.

Her delicious scent has me desperate to taste her again, but I refuse to be impatient this time around. I will take my time with her even if it kills me.

As my hand cups Angel’s breast through the towel to roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, she talks over my kiss-swollen mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you have the first pick. There are a heap of strap-ons hidden between the biggeremasculatinginstruments.”

She giggles when I flip our exchange on its head so her back is flattened on the stiff plastic and I’m hovering above her. I wipe the humor from her face with a handful of grinds before switching it to lust by nibbling on the delicate skin of her neck.

Her response to my neck kisses sends hot sparks down my spine and hardens my cock to the point it is painful.

Even while burning up, Angel still fights for some control. “I’ll start slow. I promise.”

“Angel…” I drag my tongue up a vein pulsating in her neck, sending a wanton moan bouncing around her apartment.

“Yeah.”

Her one word is breathless, and it takes everything I have not to flop out my cock and drive home. The only reason I hold back is because she deserves more than a quick, hard fuck. She deserves to be devoured. Cherished. Wholly consumed.

So instead, I say, “Shut up and kiss me before I call the hotel and cancel my reservation indefinitely.”

Her reply is quick, and it exposes her desperation. “I’ve heard anal beads are a good starting point for a novice.”

EPILOGUE

CHRISTIAN

Almost a year later…

The crowd goes wild as the cast returns to the stage for a final bow. The musical is the one Angel signed on for before she pushed her dreams aside to make sure her neighbors and friends weren’t wrongly evicted. It just isn’t on a Broadway stage.

This one is better because the pews are filled with family and friends, and her apartment is only a short walk away.

It is also void of the elevators Angel will never ride so close to Christmas.

It’s taken a lot for Angel to remember she isn’t to blame for a faulty elevator, but she is getting there—slowly. Reminding her is as strenuous as her constant attempt to add a sex toy to our lovemaking at the start of our relationship.

It isn’t all bad. Women often say jealousy sex is the best sex. Angel disagrees. Proving the only apparatus she needs to get off is on my body sees her orgasming more often than the occasional times we’ve introduced a sex toy into our once-daily marathon fucking sessions.

I’m hard now just recalling how many times I made her lose her mind the morning my visa expired, so she had no choice but to drive me to the airport. The rebuild was over, and I had a nephew I’d never met in person, but it was still a struggle to leave.

So much so that I’ve returned months earlier than planned.

Isaac doesn’t solely own Angel’s building. He has a majority share in most of Ravenshoe’s residential and commercial properties. Partnering with him means my construction company will be busy for years to come, but that isn’t the motive behind me accepting his five-year contract.

I’m here for one reason and one reason only.

I am coming home for Christmas.

My saying has nothing to do with Angel’s apartment and everything to do with the name of its rightful owner.

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