Page 8 of Krampus Kruk
“If only.”
I squeeze her thigh as the gravel crunches beneath my tires, my cabin coming into view through the pines. These thighs—I can’t wait to see them bare, wrapped around me instead of wrapped in denim. I release her leg to press the gate button. Metal groans as it slides open, the sound cutting through the silence. I glance at her, heat rising in my chest at how quickly my night has turned.
Gorgeous. Witty. Full of fight. She wants to let go. To not think. To submit. I haven’t been able to play like that in a long time.
“This is a lot of security for a place in the middle of nowhere,” she says, her gaze flicking to the cameras along the fence.
“I need it.”
She arches a brow, curiosity sparking.
Maybe she wouldn’t give a shit about what I used to do, but she should. She’s too trusting of a stranger—not that I would do anything she doesn’t want to do.
What if she’s never played like this before? What if she’s looking for something else?
No way.Not this one.I fight back a smirk; she reminds me too much of others who lived for the edge. That’s why she’s in my car instead of tangled in the cheap sheets above the bar. She’s different. I haven’t been this drawn to a woman in years. We need time.
“If you gave a shit about other people,” I say, my voice dropping, “you might be too scared to be with me right now.”
“I give a shit about people,” she fires back, almost too quickly.
“I don’t think you give a shit about anyone.” I glance at her as her earlier words echo in my head—two peas in a fucked-up pod. She’s right.
This girl … I have a thousand questions, but I don’t need answers. Answers ruin the fantasy.
I park and kill the engine. “Let’s go,” I say before opening my car door and getting out. She follows, and we step inside the cabin.
7
His home is gorgeous, far nicer than I’d imagined. The dark wooden beams stretch high above us like a cathedral, a giant chandelier made of antlers the focal point of the expansive living room. The open floor plan is filled with a huge sectional, leather chairs, and iron finishings. There isn’t a single decoration for Christmas.
He gestures toward a door. “Go pee.”
“You go pee.”
He grabs my chin, firm, towering above me. “In my house, you do as you’re told.”
Rawr.I burst out laughing, and his grip on my chin tightens. “I know this sassy bratty thing is a defense mechanism, but you’re not here to be defensive. You’re here to let go and not think.”
I refrain from saluting him, from giving him more brat, and instead nod, because nothing he said is incorrect. He points at the door again, and I stare into his blue eyes.
I’ve been with a couple guys like this, Doms, and always liked it—for the most part. One ended it with me because I didn’t worship his cock. But why would I worship his mediocre cock?What did he do to earn that? Not that I’m really into that. I could go the rest of my life never giving head and be completely content. Another was too rough and didn’t care about my boundaries. So, I stopped sleeping with him.
Turning from this guy with a nice car, face, and body, I scan the cabin before stepping toward the open door.
It’s definitely a man’s place.Nothing is feminine. The fact that this cabin is more like a log mansion shouldn’t put me at ease, but it does.
Washing my hands after I pee, I chuckle, already excited to call my roommate Taylor about this tomorrow.My one night with Santa.
Making my way farther into the home, I spot him sitting on the sectional, leaning back. His presence is commanding in a way that’s hard to ignore. He pats the cushion, but my eyes drift to a tray on the ottoman with familiar white lines as I approach.
A memory of being in a friend of a friend’s condo, partying my freshman year, flashes. The guy offered all of us coke. It was the first time I did it. He was an asshole who tried to get me to blow him for sharing his drugs and remains the only person I’ve ever punched in the face.
“Aren’t you a little old for that?” I ask, nervous.
“Yes, but you aren’t,” he says easily.
“I’m good,” I say with a straight face, masking my unease.
