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)
“Did Mrs. Roach say if a Santa suit will be supplied for the part I was volunteered for?” When Angel peers down at me with a crinkle between her blonde brows, I say, “An armored suit will never make it through customs in time, and I’m too cheap to buy a suit that will need dry cleaning after only one wear.”
A hint of a smile graces her lips. “She may have mentioned something about a suit. However, you may need to pack a pillow or two. Mr. Roach didn’t just fit the suit the last twelve years. He stretched it as well.”
I don’t need to ask why Mr. Roach isn’t filling the role this year. The grief in Angel’s eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“So underwear isn’t optional. Got it.”
Now I get the smile I’m seeking.
18
ANGEL
“I’m so sorry.” I gulp to soothe the fiery burn of lust scorching the back of my throat before spinning away from a mostly naked Christian. The image is as good, if not better, than the one I used last night to switch my nightmare to a dream. “I thought since I washed out the brown dye that we’d do the same with the red. I didn’t realize you would take care of that by yourself.”
Try as I may, I can’t stop the image of his fat cock slapping his thighs from popping into my head during the “that” part of my reply. He has so much length that even while in the process of deflating, I could still wave around his cock like a cheerleading baton at a pep rally.
When Christian chuckles in reply to my near heart attack response, I drop my hand from my eyes before peering over my shoulder like monster dicks are nothing to fawn over.
Good lord, that man has a dick to back up his arrogance.
Christian’s underwear is now entirely up his thighs instead of partway, and the impressive “junk” keeping my pulse in a frantic state all day is covered.
Though I shouldn’t, I can’t help but brag. “If the adult toy industry doesn’t work out for me, I might need to consider hairdressing. I match colors like…” Since I can’t find an appropriate analogy, and I shouldn’t admit I ogled his cock long enough to match his pubic hair to his recently dyed locks, I mumble my way to silence.
Christian will never let me off so easily. His wink makes me sticky, but I’m out of time for a shower. The fair starts in an hour, and I’m too immersed in my current improv to pretend it isn’t affecting me.
“Are you almost ready?”
Christian nods. “Just need to find a shirt.”
“You own a shirt?” The playfulness in my tone can’t be missed. Riling him is the most fun I’ve had in years, and I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t miss it. “I figured they disappeared with your morals when you accepted a big fat check from Mrs. Richler.” As quickly as my annoyance rose, my smarts surge past it. “Sorry. I’m super bitchy when I am hungry.”
He shrugs off my rudeness as if it is acceptable. It isn’t, but since I’m unsure if he deserves my remorse, I mimic his shrug before telling him I’ll wait for him in the living room.
Do you remember how everyone looked at you in awe when you sashayed into the living room in your prom dress? That’s how Christian will be gawked at all day today. I guarantee it. And it will have nothing to do with the red suit, beard, and wig he’ll be donning.
His jeans hug his ass and chunky thighs, his shirt hints at the cut lines and ridges it is concealing, and his hair has my fingers so envious that you’d swear they hadn’t raked through them numerous times over the past two hours.
Don’t get me started on the chiseled cut of his face. I want to move on with my grief at some stage within the next century, not have another reason to continue wallowing in it.
“Age before beauty,” I murmur when Christian opens the door for me before gesturing for me to exit first.
A snippet of guilt smacks into me when he accepts my offer without the slightest moment of hesitation.
Fool.
I slam the door shut so fast that the lip almost catches on the heel of his boots seconds before I secure the lock.
“Angel…”
The stern rumble of my name from that mouth does crazy things to my insides. It reminds me of how hot it sounded while being moaned by him and has me wishing I could forget I know about his plan to freight-train me out of the apartment I’ve always called home.
“Did you forget something?”
I fake stupidity. “I don’t think so. As you entered the living room, you placed your wallet in your pocket, and the concierge collected the clothes you didn’t take into the bathroom with you almost thirty minutes ago. Oh… also…” I let him stew for a minute. “I placed a twenty in your wallet for your sweatpants. It won’t get you the same brand, but come on, we both know you weren’t wearing them for the designer label.”