“Awww, yeah, Angel,” he bellowed as orgasm ripped through him. His body went rigid at the first blast of pleasure. When he realized he held himself deep in Angeline’s mouth, he backed out of her throat and thrust shallowly as he came, his semen jetting onto her tongue. His orgasm was so powerful that, after the first initial shudders, he leaned heavily on the bar, panting as his cock continued to slide in and out of Angeline’s hot, hungry mouth, watching her elegant throat convulse again and again as she swallowed all that he had to give her.
Her sweetness and generosity overwhelmed him.
He withdrew his cock and bent to take her mouth with his own, ravaging it with frothing need before he slowed to make love to it with a profound tenderness he’d never before known.
He’d c
ome down here to prove a point to her, but Alex wondered, as he savored their combined flavor and Angeline moaned softly into his mouth, if he hadn’t been the one who had ended up learning a lesson.
Chapter Ten
Alex stepped into the open space of the living room a while later, feeling refreshed from his shower and, all in all, pretty damn good after making love with Angeline earlier.
He’d demanded that they spend the rest of the evening in bed—what the hell else would they do after she’d given herself to him so wholly?—but he soon discovered Angeline was no pushover. She might submit sweetly enough when it came to sex, but if he thought he was going to dominate her outside of the bedroom, he had another think coming.
“We’re not going to spend all of Christmas Eve in bed having sex,” she exclaimed after he’d uncuffed her from the weight bench and informed her of his intentions. “I’m making us roasted chicken for dinner, and you have to bring in the Christmas tree. I’m going to go shower, so you bring it in, okay?”
She didn’t bother to wait for his acknowledgement before she bent to pick up her clothes and headed for the stairs.
“Angel,” he called out gruffly as he watched the beguiling sway of her sweet ass.
She paused and peered over her shoulder cautiously.
“Okay…but we will spend part of Christmas Eve in bed having sex.”
She started to scowl before a beguiling smile curved her sex-swollen lips. The sight was nearly enough to make him forego what he’d just said and haul her upstairs to bed.
He thought something similar after he entered the living room and she turned from where she’d been standing before his opened entertainment center, her hand still on the knob of his stereo. She’d taken a shower earlier and her dark hair was still clipped on top of her head, although some dark tendrils fell around her face. Her cheeks looked pink, but whether the flush of color was a remnant of her arousal or cooking in the kitchen, he couldn’t tell. Either way, she made a damn appealing sight.
“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” played softly in the background and the scent of fresh pine, roasted chicken, baked apples and—cookies?—wafted into his appreciative nostrils.
He inhaled deeply.
“Merry Christmas,” she said softly, taking one step toward him.
“Smells like Christmas.” He glanced over at the Scotch pine he’d placed in the stand while Angeline showered. It was only about six-and-a-half-feet tall, but he’d noticed its perfect shape and full branches many times because it bordered the edge of his yard and the forest at the back of his house. It’d been a bit of a trick locating it in the swirling snow, but he’d chosen the right one after all.
It looked like she’d already strung on the lights, although she hadn’t yet turned them on. He met her gaze again and smiled. “Looks like it too,” he added, thinking not just of the tree, but Angeline’s cheerful red sweater and luminous face.
She took another step toward him, the sudden hesitancy—or was it shyness?—of her manner entrancing him, just like everything else about her did.
“Dinner will be ready in forty minutes or so. Do you want to help me decorate the tree? At least the high branches?” she added with a smile.
“Sure. You go ahead and start. How about a glass of wine?”
“Oh, yes. I didn’t see any.”
“I keep it in a room downstairs. Be right back.”
He entered the living room a minute later carrying two glasses, a corkscrew and a bottle of a rich, peppery Malbec that he favored—okay, so he might miss the easy access to a good bottle of wine in Chicago as well as his barber. Thank goodness for the Internet.
Angeline finished hanging one of the white beaded snowflakes on the tree and turned to him.
“The white looks pretty against the dark green. Does your mother do crafts like your grandmother?” she asked as she reached for another snowflake ornament while a billion of its prototypes danced merrily outside the window.
“Nah,” he replied as he set down the wine glasses on the coffee table and uncorked the wine.
“What does she do?”