Page 9 of Krampus Kruk
You can’t trust drugs anymore, not that you ever really could. I’m not doing coke with a stranger tonight.
“Good,” he says, sounding pleased, standing and picking up the tray. He smirks, leaving the room and disappearing down the hall.
I quickly contemplate if I should take a seat or not. He took the drugs away. Green flag. He has drugs in his house … red flag. So, we’re still at yellow.I can work with yellow.Too amused with myself, I take a seat on the dark brown, deep-set sectional.Rubbing my hand over the fabric, I find it soft, plush—definitely not from Wayfair.
“Did I just pass some little test?” I ask when he returns.
He squeezes my knee before sitting down next to me. “I assumed wrong.”
“Do I really give off those vibes?”I hope I don’t give off “I do drugs” vibes.Maybe it’s my risk-taker behavior, the fact that I’m with this guy whose name I don’t know, in his house alone.
“Plenty of girls like free coke.”
I tilt my head. “You need free coke to make friends?”Cause that’s a turn off.
“No.”
It’s silent for a moment until I share. “That’s never been my thing.”
“For the best.” He smiles softly as his hand lands on my thigh, moving up my jeans. “What’s your thing then?”
“Fucking guys whose names I don’t know.”
He grumbles before patting his lap. “Tell me more about why you’re on the naughty list this year.”
“Okay,Santa,” I mock. “Why do you think I’m on the naughty list?”
“Your mouth.” He pats his lap again, more firmly this time. I guess I’m going to sit on Santa’s lap. As I shift to sit on his thigh, he widens his legs until mine rest between his. He plays with my hair before his hands run down my body. “We both know that mouth has you on the naughty list this year.”
“What can I say, Santa? I’m always running my mouth.” His smirk—it’s hot. I’m finding everything about this man’s being hot. I never thought I’d be fucking a sixty-something, but here we are.
“Tell me something really naughty you did this year,” he says, resting his hands on my hips. My mind immediately flashes towork, to how I got my boss fired. “Tell me,” he breathes, like he’s reading my mind. Then, his lips land on my neck.
“Am I confessing my sins here?” I laugh breathily, enjoying the way he’s teasing my neck.
“Yes. Then, I will decide how many spankings you’re getting.”
I giggle. “You’re assuming I want spankings.”
“Youneedthem.” His hand grips my chin again. “My handprint will be on your ass for at least a week, because we both know you’ve been a naughty girl.”
I’m playing with fire and loving it. This is such a fucked little fantasy we’re weaving. “Confession, since you’re a stranger I’m never seeing again?—”
“I thought I’m going to dinner tomorrow.”
“You wish.”
“No more of that,” he scolds. “Not unless you want something more severe than spankings.”
Like?But I’m not asking, not pushing. This is still a caution situation. For all I know, he could lock me up and throw away the key.Let’s hope not.
“What’s your confession?” he presses.
“My former boss was incompetent. What I do for a living is technical, so the non-technical people above him didn’t know he was an idiot.”
“What did you do?” he asks, intrigued, flirty. His hand dips under my sweater, caressing the skin above my jeans.
“I built a trap for him to fall into and metaphorically hang himself.”
