Page 84 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“Do you not know that a Krampus always carries a switch?” he asked as he ran a single, long claw down the cleft of my bottom. The touch was so light it was almost not there, but every muscle in my body clenched in response.
“For naughty little girls,” he whispered against my ear.
“I’m sure I’ve never heard of it,” I lied, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. I was already wet and wanting.
“Another lack of essential knowledge,” he growled, his claws now tracing the sensitive skin at the top of my thighs. “Undoubtedly time for a penalty. One I shall very much enjoy.” He tugged gently on my hair until I was looking at him over my shoulder. “As will you.”
I expected a sharp crack of pain. Instead he trailed the smooth bundle of twigs lightly over my skin, a whisper of a touch that made my whole body ache. It was a question, not a command. I lowered my head to my forearms, arching my back and pushing myself against him. It was all the invitation he needed.
The switch landed. It wasn’t a punishment. It was a slow, deliberate, stinging slap of sensation, a bright point of pleasure-pain that sent a jolt straight to my clit. He did it again, a little lower, on the other cheek, the light slap echoing in the quietroom. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. He brought the switch down again, a slow, steady, rhythm of stinging caresses that made me feel both cherished and claimed.
I could feel the heat blooming across my skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He stopped, running a cool claw over the heated skin. The sharp, shocking pleasure made me cry out.
“You like that,” he observed, a smug satisfaction in his tone.
“Is that a complaint?”
“Not in the least.” The switch landed again, this time with a bit more force. I bucked against him, my body moving instinctively. He was silent behind me, only the soft thwack of the switch and my ragged breathing breaking the silence. He was watching me, I could feel the intensity of his gaze as I writhed under the steady, rhythmic strikes.
He stopped, tossing the switch aside. I whimpered in protest. He leaned over me, his body blanketing mine. “Don’t worry,” he rumbled in my ear. “That was only the appetizer.”
He slid a single, long finger between my folds. “And you are already so wet for me.” The dark satisfaction in his voice made me shudder. “And so greedy,” he noted as my hips bucked, trying to get more of his fingers inside me.
“Please,” I whimpered, my hands twisting in the sheets. “Bastian, please.”
“Patience, little light,” he teased, slowly circling my clit. I could feel the ghost of a smile against my ear. “We have all night.”
He tormented me with a slow, steady rhythm. His fingers were inside me now, curling to find that spot that made my visiongo white. His thumb rubbed against my clit, a slow, steady counterpoint. I was so close, balanced on the knife’s edge of release.
“Not yet,” he commanded, and I sobbed in protest. He slid a third finger inside me, stretching me, filling me. He moved in a slow, deep rhythm that was both torture and bliss. “You will come when I allow it.”
“Bastian,” I begged, my hips bucking wildly, trying to get more friction, more pressure, more of him.
“So demanding,” he chided, but I could hear the heat in his voice. He was enjoying this as much as I was. Enjoying my desperation, my surrender. “What do you want?”
“You. I want you inside me. Now.”
He pulled his fingers away, and the loss was a cry on my lips. Then he was behind me again, the heavy, hot length of him pressing against my entrance. He pushed inside in a single, slow, relentless thrust that stole the breath from my lungs. I was so wet, so ready for him that there was only the exquisite, stretching pleasure of being completely, utterly filled.
He paused, letting me adjust to the impossible size of him. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
“Yes,” I gasped. “More.”
He began to move, hard, demanding strokes that drove me higher and higher. His hands clenched on my hips, sending a rush of warmth to the heated skin. He was pistoning into me now, a relentless, driving rhythm that was both claiming andcherishing. I was hovering on the very edge of climax, my whole body strung tight.
“Now, little light,” he purred, as his long, agile fingers found my clit, circling it with a precision that sent me flying. I came with a cry that was half-his name, half-scream, my body convulsing around him, pulling him deeper, and he roared as he followed me over.
We collapsed on the bed, a tangled, sweaty mess. I was limp and boneless, my mind a blissful, empty haze. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against my back. For a long while, we just lay there, the only sounds our ragged breathing and the soft tinkle of Jingle’s bell as he jumped onto the bed and curled up at the foot.
“So,” I murmured into the quiet dark. “Have I been sufficiently punished?”
He let out a low chuckle, a warm, deep sound that vibrated through me. “The tinsel is still crooked,” he said, but there was no criticism in his voice, only a deep, fond amusement. “More penalties may be due.”
In that case, I would be certain to make sure my tinsel was always crooked. I snuggled deeper into his embrace. “You’re staying. You’re really staying.” I still couldn’t quite believe it.
“I am not going anywhere,” he confirmed, his arm tightening around me. “This is my home now. Where you are.”
Tears pricked at my eyes again. Happy tears this time. “I love you,” I whispered. The words came out so easily, so naturally, as if they had been there all along, just waiting to be said.
