Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
For the first time in a long time, I genuinely laugh. It turns Angel’s cheeks red in an instant, and my plans deviate for the umpteenth time today. “I’ll be sure to let my proctologist know who’s to blame for the loss of income.” When Angel looks lost, I say, “A proctologist is an ass doctor, right?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a hemorrhoid.”
“Neither have I.”
She gives me a look as if she doesn’t believe me before she slips off the stool and moseys into the living room with her half-eaten sandwich in hand.
I slap my sandwich together, minus any condiments, before joining her, not wanting to miss the opportunity for some one-on-one time. This conversation is the longest we’ve had.
We sit in silence on a two-seater couch for almost twenty minutes. It should be awkward. It isn’t. Angel seems like a woman comfortable in her own space, and I’m more than happy to use the time to take in all the beautiful details of her face.
Once I’ve counted the tiny freckles that adorn her nose twice, I say, “I—”
“Did you…” Angel starts at the same time.
I smile before soundlessly suggesting she go first. My admission that I’m an asshole can wait. It isn’t like she isn’t already aware of the fact.
“It’s nothing urgent.” She waves off her inquiry two seconds before her shoulders roll and her spine straightens. “I was going to ask if you’ve brushed your teeth anytime in the last week.” Her adorable nose screws up. “Your breath is a little rank.”
“Hey, pot. I’m kettle. Nice to meet you.”
I fake a gag when her mouth gapes open.
Her fresh breath fans my lips when she snaps her mouth shut before her fist gets friendly with my stomach. “My breath smells fine.” She folds her legs under her body, twisting her torso my way. “Yours, on the other hand, smells like you’ve consumed nothing but ass for a week.”
“Maybe I have?”
Angel chokes, coughs, and splatters. “You eat ass?”
I shrug, loving the heat creeping up her neck. It isn’t in lust. She is jealous as fuck. “I haven’t… but I’m not opposed to the idea. Though I probably wouldn’t have been interested last night.” There I go again with another corny wink. “No offense.”
She whacks me again, sending my laughter spilling around the living room. “The only time you’ll be close enough to my ass to sample it will be when you’re kissing it.”
“Kissing. Eating. Almost the same thing.” I gather up the remote and switch on the television, needing something to distract my hands when lust burns through her eyes. They want to be buried in her curls as badly as my tongue wants to be buried in her mouth. “I’m not opposed to that, either.”
“That?” Angel’s voice sounds gravelly, almost husky, like she, too, fought to stop her words and failed.
“Kissing your ass.” That sounds wrong even to me. “Not physically. I mean figuratively.” Come on, asshat. This isn’t your first rodeo. “I’m not explaining myself properly.” I twist to face her. “When I contacted Mrs. Richler, I didn’t—”
I’m interrupted by a likely source for this time of year. A Christmas jingle steals Angel’s focus from me so fast that I’m almost jealous of a black-and-white Christmas classic.
After snatching the remote out of my hand, Angel clicks past all the channels Jimmy assured me would have the most cold-hearted woman opening up to me within an hour.
She continues channel surfing until horror, gore, and blood fill the dated television screen.
A slasher movie isn’t an ideal conversation starter, but I’ve dealt with worse.
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur two seconds later, my stomach queasy.
The plot of this movie is extremely violent. I am fighting not to hide under a blanket that somehow made its way over my knees.
I learn the cause of the blanket’s creep when I force my eyes away from a graphic murder scene before it gives me nightmares. Angel is putting on a brave front, but she is as horrified by the pitch-black movie as I am. Her trembling knees are butted against my thigh, her breaths are hot on my cheek, and my cock is confident she is seconds from counting the pulse in my neck with her sexy lips.
Hallmark Movie Channel, my ass.
We’re almost at third base, and our movie hasn’t yet reached its first commercial break.
Another murder scene sees Angel creeping another inch closer. I can taste her breath now and feel the surge of her pulse with every frantic scream of the murder victim. She has all but crawled into my lap, and her closeness has me forgetting every pledge I made when I freed myself from Mrs. Richler’s trap.
I’m meant to be helping Angel sidestep the madness as well, not seeking ways to get my cock’s head wet.
Cut me some slack. Angel is a gorgeous woman. A man would have to be dead for at least six months not to want to nibble on all she has to offer.