Page 10 of Krampus Kruk
“You wanted his job?”
“I was already doing his job,” I say softly, and his hands squeeze my sides, a silent signal I take to keep talking, “without the title or pay. We were about to onboard a new account, and I wanted to get the credit for their success.”
“Ah. You want to be called a good girl even though what you did to get that praise wasverynaughty,” he says, pushing my hair over my shoulders.
I stick out my tongue then bite it. “It was too easy. He fell right into the honeytrap.”
“You’re into computers,” he groans, his tone signaling his distaste of the subject.
“Santa, people have to be into computers to have jobs these days.”
“Hopefully, you don’t work for Cryptoball.”
Cryptoball?That’s so fucking random. My roommate’s boyfriend works there. I mean, it’s one of the largest employers in Chicago, but still.
Mafia.There are whispers about the CEO of Cryptoball growing up in the Polish Mafia.
“Why?” I manage to ask, reeling about who this guy with the tatted hands might be.
“Because then, I’d have to take you back. Tell me you don’t work there.”
“I’ve interviewed there before, but I don’t work for that weird fucking cult of a company.”
Without warning, he pulls me in by the back of the neck and teasingly licks the sensitive skin above my collarbone. The pressure. The way his hand curls into my hair, keeping me close. I’m going to have hickeys, and that brings a smile to my face for some reason.
“Wait,” I breathe, still curious.
“No.” His other hand pulls me in by the hip as his tongue continues to explore my neck.
Fuck, Santa.This feels so good, but I pull back, my mind swirling.
“Now I’m more curious about why you can’t hook up with me if I work there.” I squint at him.
“Just a rule,” he says casually, and I cock my brow. “Tinsel, you don’t want to get to know me. Do you?”
“When you say things that pique my curiosity … I want to know.”
“Too much talking.” He shoves my shoulders, and I flop back on the couch cushion.
He’s right.We’re here to hook up, not get to know each other. He barely raises my sweater up before humming with what sounds like satisfaction. His fingers release the fabric and begin tracing my hip bones above my jeans.
“I wasn’t anticipating tattoos,” he says, and my smirk matches his. He isn’t the only tatted party here. I have a lot of tattoos, but I’ll let him discover them on his own. “What kind of flower is that?”
“Gladiolus.”
He leans down, sticking his tongue out to trace the stalk on my left hip. I twitch at the touch, turned on, his tongue following the curve of my hip. I’m just generally turned on by his tongue and hoping it explores other areas too.
“I like that you’re a mystery,” he says, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
I like that my reverse tramp stamp is doing its job, I think. I fucking love when guys lick and kiss my tattoos. His tongue delicately traces my other tattoo before his hand slides my sweater above my bra.
“I don’t like this tattoo,” he says, tracing the one on my rib cage. “Imperfect,” he scolds as he reads. “You’re a goddess. Who’s fucking perfect anyway?”
“Ro—”
He presses two fingers to my lips. “No sassy, little comeback. You’re a fucking goddess deserving of worship.”
“Not punishment?”
