“Would you like to dance for me tonight, min sukkerplomme?”My sugar plum.
“I’d do a chicken dance and Cha-Cha tonight if you wanted me to.”
Fuck me. I cup her chin, my grip harder than is necessary. Sinking into those amber pools, I shake my head and tell her, “Move your body however you like, min Twyla. You make me so gods-damned hard already. But I will taste your bliss and beauty as you dance for me. And your desire.”
Her hips thrust from the attention. Her nipples grow harder in response. Fuck, what a sight she is! I inhale her scent of vanilla and cinnamon, which perfectly complement the evergreens.
Before I lose my mind, I stab a finger at the center of the globe. “And don’t even think of letting that candy cane slip from your sweet little ass. Or that ass will be sorry.”
After sparking my magic to coat her in a fresh sheen of oil and loosen the ribbons to free her arms, I rush out, gripping my hammer of a fucking cock. Shifting over one of the deep leather armchairs, I conjure a glass of bourbon and prepare for the show. Legs parted wide—since I fully intend to give her a decent one, too.
At first, she presses her fingers to the crystal, beams at me, then moves her hand in a little fluttering wave with her pretty tits and those taut nipples brushing the glass. Driving me insane, my mad little queen. Straddling the line between an angel in the streets and a naughty little devil in the sheets. Taking my sweets and treats and real devil tricks however I choose. Not that she won’t brat out now and then.
My cock battles for release, and I give it some relief. Unleashing it from my pouch, I thrill in her eyes widening and that sweet tongue licking her full, pouty lips. A dark chuckle echoes in my mind when I remember what she told me on our honeymoon about my cock. The Beauty and the Beast, she’d called it.
My sweet girl who loves the monsters of the world. My sweet girl who dove into a whirlwind of crystal shards that cut her mortal flesh to ribbons. My beautiful girl who chose to bind herself to a monster…for all eternity…as an immortal human.
Twyla will never grow old, to be sure. She will regenerate. Fuck, my mother would hold min kjaere’s spirit until a new body regenerated for her. But she will always hold human blood, human instincts, and a human heart full of human emotions upon which my kind will feed forever. She will never grow tired of the demons. She will never grow bored. Thanks to her immortal but human soul, she will be in awe of our kind for eternity. The eternal Lady of the Winter Star.
And while she may not be acting like a lady as she lowers her pretty fingers to her folds and shows me how wet she is,gesturing to my cock, Twyla will always be my lady, my queen, my sweetheart. My Bride of Yuletide.
Chapter 18
Twyla is the very definition of Solstice joy
KRAMPUS
While stroking my cock, slicking it with the pre-cum drops she loves to taste, I snap my fingers to trigger the mechanism that powers the snow globe.
Thanks to a little feature I had installed, I can hear her enthusiastic gasps when the twinkle lights flare to life, and the snow globe glass glimmers all around her, casting a rosy, warm glow along her skin—so well-oiled, she could pass for a shiny star. My shiny star. She’ll shine soon enough.
But first…I smile and trigger the music to play for her. One of her favorite Christmas songs. Her eyes turn to mine, glistening beyond the glass, tears forming.
“Where Are You, Christmas?” Right here, min Twyla. You are my Christmas…forever.
Now and then, my heart burns for min lille stjerne. The girl who grew up in cult darkness when there should have been light for Christmas. The light she always longed for. The glowing starshe kept inside her heart. The girl who would have made the top of Santa’s naughty list. The girl who spent her life searching for the Christmas spirit…and finally found it in the realm of monsters and demons.
When she begins to sway that little body, moving those round hips and ample, lavish thighs to the tune, my pulse burns my veins with heat and hunger. I hear the faint jingle of the clamps above the music from her pert tits softly jiggling as she dances. I grip my cock, channeling my magic into it so I don’t lose control before it’s time to bury myself in my Queen’s well-drenched heat.
Halfway through the song, she pauses to admire the icicles gilding the evergreens. And then, the ornaments at the base. I snort, convinced she’s only doing so to give me an uninhibited and blessed view of her bountiful bottom with the candy cane rod her round cheeks still clench.
I won’t last much longer, faen!
I trigger the snowfall.
She gasps, her eyes lighting up.
At first, it’s a soft snowfall. Smithereens of sugar crystals purling from the ceiling to fall upon her golden curls and glistening skin. Twyla rises with an expression befitting an angel. Wonder and awe. As Hel is my witness, I will never stop coming up with ways to light up those amber eyes with that sense of childlike wonder.
And if anyone ever snuffs out that light, for any reason, will meet the wrath of the pagan god of punishment and the son of the Goddess of Death.
Fuck, never a good thing when my thoughts stray to violence. My cock is too hard, my blood boiling worse than a Christmas kettle left on the stove too long. I need inside her. Soon.
Zoning in on the splendor in her green eyes and the emotions flooding through me from our bond, I force myself to breathedeeper, steadier, controlling myself. Sure, I am a monster, but it doesn’t mean I’ll fuck my sweet girl’s ass like a raging beast. Not at first, at least, I smirk, knowing she will beg me to fuck her hard and savage before the night is out. I’m not the only one who desires more intense emotions.
By the end of the first song, the sugar crystals swirl in soft flurries to frost Twyla’s skin while she twirls and spins with her arms outstretched. Fingers curling like Christmas ribbon. Save me, Hel! She sticks out her graceful tongue to catch the crystals. More fall upon her long, feathery eyelashes.
Stroking my cock a little longer, I play the last song and enjoy my frosted fruit coming to life. Twyla snaps her eyes to mine, then rolls them, shaking her head with a soft giggle. A comical but affectionate gesture of an inside joke we share—not one worthy of punishment.
