Page 35 of Never Kiss a Krampus
My traitorous eyes immediately dropped to the tempting fullness of his lips before I yanked my gaze away.
“I was making sure you weren’t scaring customers!”
“Lying is very naughty,” he said softly, and the words slid over my skin like warm honey. “And your heart rate is accelerating. Again.”
“It’s been a long day. I’m tired. And you’ve been watching me too!”
“It is my function to observe.”
My throat was dry as dust. “And what are your conclusions?”
He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was a wall of impossible heat and muscle and dark fur that smelled of snow and spice and winter forests.
“My conclusion,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones, “is that this binding is more complicated than I anticipated.”
His amber eyes were swirling pools of molten gold. I wanted to look away, but I was trapped.
“Complicated how?”
“Complicated in that,” he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, and my whole body tensed, “despite your infuriating optimism and your questionable taste in festive sweaters…”
His knuckles brushed against my jaw, sending an eclectic jolt through me, pure and potent.
“…I find your proximity… distracting.”
My mind went blank. All the witty comebacks, all the denials, all the deflections—they all vanished. There was only the feeling of his skin against mine, the heat of him, the intense, focused way he was looking at me.
“Distracting,” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
“A significant flaw in the binding.” His thumb stroked along my jawline, and I shuddered. “I am meant to be observing your transgressions. Instead, I find myself observing other things.”
“What things?” I was proud of myself for forming a coherent question.
“The curve of your neck.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “The shape of your lips.”
His words were a slow, deliberate seduction. Each one a stroke against my senses. I was melting. I was on fire. I was going to do something incredibly, spectacularly stupid.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
Because I wanted him to. I wanted him to say more. I wanted him to do more than just talk. He leaned in, and I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot, caught in the gravity of him, the world narrowing to the space between our faces.
“This is unwise,” he murmured, so close I could feel the vibration of his words in my bones.
“I know.”
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a tentative kiss. His mouth crashed down on mine, and the world shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. There was nothing but the taste of him—dark and wild, like winter forests and ancient magic—and the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly consumed. It was not a human kiss. I was aware of the sharpness of his teeth and that long, impossibly agile tongue wrapping around mine as the kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more demanding.
One of his hands moved to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me in place. The other slid down my back, pulling me against him until there was no space left between us. I could feel the hard lines of his body through my sweater, the cool press of the chains, the soft, surprising texture of the fur on his chest. I wound my arms around his neck, my hands gripping the powerful muscles there, holding on for dear life.
He tasted of contradictions. Of fury and patience. Of judgment and desire. Of ancient, cold magic and the heat of a burningstar. He kissed me like he’d been waiting centuries for this exact moment.
My mind went blessedly, blissfully blank. There was no shop, no debt, no Grinchly, no binding contract. There was only this. Only him. Only the overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating feeling of being wanted so completely, so intensely, by someone so impossible.
