Page 67 of Never Kiss a Krampus
I stopped in front of him, so close I could see my reflection in his wide, serious eyes.
“Jenna told me something today,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “She said that you’re scared.”
He finally turned to face me fully. The defensiveness was still there, a hard shell around him, but there was something else too. A flicker of vulnerability in the depths of those ancient, amber eyes.
“Fear is irrelevant.”
“No, it’s not.” I reached up, not for his horns, not for the forbidden places, but for the solid warmth of his chest. My palm rested flat against him, over his heart, feeling the steady, reassuring beat. A beat that belonged to him, not to some abstract entity of winter. “It’s everything. You’re terrified that what you’re feeling, what we’re feeling, is going to destroy you.”
His breath hitched. A barely perceptible reaction, but I felt it under my hand.
“It will,” he said, the word a rough, ragged confession.
“Then maybe being unmade is worth it,” I said softly, and a full-body tremor ran through him. His hands came up to cover mine, holding it against his chest like it was something precious, something fragile.
“Do not say that.”
“It’s the truth. You came here to judge me, to save my shop, and instead you found a community worth fighting for. You found something more than just cold and punishment. You found light.” I lifted my other hand, tracing the line of his jaw, the rough texture of his stubble a stark contrast to the soft fur on his cheeks. “I’m not a distraction, Bastian. I’m a choice.”
“A choice I cannot make.”
“Because you’re scared of the consequences.”
“Because the consequences are absolute.”
I leaned in, closing the last few inches between us, until my forehead rested against his. Our breath mingled in the space between our lips, warm and real.
“Then we’ll find a loophole,” I whispered. “There’s always a loophole. A forgotten clause. A Christmas miracle.”
His response was a low, pained sound, half-groan, half-laugh. “You are relentless.”
“I’m hopeful,” I corrected. “And right now, I’m hopeful that you’re going to kiss me again. Properly this time. Not becauseof the binding or because we’re trapped in a blizzard or because you’re angry at some businessman. Just because.”
His amber eyes searched mine, and I saw the war being waged in their depths. The centuries of duty versus the days he’d spent with me. The cold, hard facts versus the messy, complicated reality of what we’d become.
“Noelle,” he breathed, and my name on his lips was a surrender.
CHAPTER 21
He lowered his head, and I met him halfway.
The kiss was nothing like the frantic, desperate clash we’d shared against the counter. This was slow. Deliberate. A question and an answer all at once. His lips, surprisingly soft, brushed against mine with a reverence that made my chest ache. It was gentle and hesitant, and I could feel the sheer force of will it was taking him to keep it that way. To explore, to taste, without succumbing to the storm brewing between us.
His hands slid from my chest to my waist, pulling me flush against him. There was no space left for doubt, for pretense. Only the solid reality of his body against mine, the cool press of his chains, the hard evidence of his desire that he no longer tried to hide. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the subtle shift from human hair to the soft fur that began at the base of his skull.
A low growl rumbled through his chest, a vibration that I felt down to my toes. His kiss deepened, the careful restraintfinally fraying. His tongue swept against my bottom lip, a silent request that I granted instantly. He was not like anyone I had ever kissed. There was a wildness to him, an ancient power that hummed just beneath the surface. His tongue was long and agile, wrapping around mine in a way that was possessive and utterly intoxicating. He tasted of winter forests and ancient snow, of dark chocolate and something else, something uniquely him.
I melted against him, giving myself over to the sensation, to the heady knowledge that this was happening. That he was choosing this. Choosing me.
His claws, so carefully controlled, scraped lightly against the fabric of my sweater, a tingling counterpoint to the warmth blooming under my skin. One of my hands drifted down from his neck, tracing the powerful line of his shoulder, the broad expanse of his chest. I was exploring him, memorizing the landscape of him, the solid muscle beneath the soft fur.
“This is madness, little light,” he murmured against my mouth, but he didn’t pull away.
“The best kind,” I gasped as his lips moved to my jaw, my throat, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me arch against him with a desperate little moan.
His teeth scraped my skin—not hard enough to break, just enough to make my entire body clench with need. His grip on my hips tightened, pulling me even closer, and I instinctively wrapped one of my legs around his thigh, trying to get closer, to eliminate the last few inches between us.
With a low groan, he hoisted me up, his hands supporting my bottom as I wrapped my other leg around his waist. My shortskirt bunched up around my hips, but I was too far gone to care. I was fused to him, my core pressed against the hard ridge of his arousal. The sheer size of him, the power coiled in his body, was intoxicating. I’d never felt so small, so utterly surrounded and possessed.
