Page 58 of Kraved By Krampus

“Keep running, beautiful,” he calls out, his voice deep. “I’ll enjoy every moment of the hunt.”

The stone walls close in around me, and I realize with a jolt of adrenaline that I’ve run into a dead end. There’s no way out except the way I came. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of my chest. I can hear his heavy footsteps drawing nearer, a relentless pursuit.

I back away from the entrance, my eyes darting around the room for an escape route—anything to avoid the inevitable. But there’s nothing. Just a single metal table in the center of theroom, its surface gleaming ominously in the torchlight, and a small cabinet off to the side. Chains dangle ominously from its sides, and my mind races with what he might do with them.

The air shifts behind me, and I whirl around to find Krampus leaning casually against the doorframe, his massive form blocking the only exit. His eyes rake over me, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he takes in my fear and arousal.

“Nowhere left to run, little mate,” he growls.

“That’s not playing fair,” I protest, but my body betrays me, reacting to the dark promise in his voice with a flood of heat that pools between my thighs. I’m trapped, and there’s a part of me that’s thrilled by the danger, by the way he looks at me like he wants to devour me whole.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. But I’m not sure what I’m begging for—mercy or the sweet oblivion of his touch.

He steps into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. “Please what, little mate? Do you want me to stop, or do you want me to show you how good it can be when you surrender to the darkness?”

I can’t find the words to answer him, so I just stand there, trembling as he advances on me. His hand reaches out, and I flinch instinctively, but all he does is brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle despite the fierce hunger in his eyes.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his praise sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “So brave, even when you’re frightened. You have no idea how much that turns me on.”

I’m panting now, my body aching for something—anything—to fill the empty, throbbing need that’s building inside me. He can see it, too; the way his gaze lingers on the thin fabric clinging to my breasts, my hard nipples clearly visible through the sheer material.

“Do you trust me, Clara?” he asks, his tone soft but commanding.

I hesitate for a moment before nodding, my eyes locked on his.

His grin widens, and he reaches for one of the chains, giving it a testing tug. “Lean across the table,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I lean across the table, the cold metal pressing against my breasts. Krampus’s shadow falls over me, his presence both terrifying and thrilling. I can feel the heat of his body behind me, a contrast to the chill seeping through my gown.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and I arch into his praise, my skin prickling with goosebumps.

His hands are firm but gentle as he spreads my legs, securing them with the chains. There’s a metallic rattle as he fastens each one, the sound echoing in the stone chamber. My breath hitches as he moves to my arms, pulling them up in front of me and binding them to the table. I test the chains, feeling the cool, unyielding weight of them against my wrists.

I’m completely at his mercy now, helpless to do anything but surrender to his dark desires. And despite the fear that gnaws at the edges of my mind, there’s a part of me that revels in this loss of control.

Krampus trails a finger down my spine, and I shiver at his touch. “You’re mine now, little mate,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “And I’m going to take such good care of you.”

I gasp as his hand slips under my gown, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He’s in no rush, drawing out the anticipation until I’m practically panting with need. I can feel the dampness between my legs, proof of exactly how much my body craves his touch.

“Please,” I whimper. Do I want more teasing, or the sweet relief of his hand between my thighs? I don’t know anymore.

He chuckles, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through my veins. “Patience, my dear Clara.”

His fingers trace maddening patterns on my skin, inching closer to my core but never quite touching where I need him most. I squirm against the table, the chains clinking softly with my movements. It’s a delicious kind of torture, this game we’re playing.

Finally, his hand moves between my legs, cupping me possessively. “So wet for me,” he growls, his voice thick with approval. “Such a good girl, getting all slick and ready for my cock.”

I moan as he strokes me through the thin fabric of my underwear, the pleasure almost too much to bear. My hips buck, seeking more of his exquisite touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me in place. “Let go, little mate. I’ve got you.”

And with that, he slips a finger beneath the fabric, sliding easily through my slick folds. I cry out, my body bowing off the table as he circles my clit with precise, maddening strokes.

“You like that, don’t you?” he croons, his voice a dark melody in my ears. “You like being spread open and at my mercy, completely under my control.”

I can only moan in response, my mind too fogged with pleasure to form words. He continues his relentless assault on my senses, his fingers working me into a frenzy until I’m teetering on the brink of release.

But just when I think I can’t take anymore, he pulls back, denying me the orgasm that’s just out of reach. I whimper in protest, my body shaking with the effort of holding back.

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