He chuckles darkly, deeply. The sound raises all the hairs on my body and makes my mouth water. My itchy nipples pebble, hardening more from his primal stare.
But he still doesn’t touch me.
“Ahh, min gal liten dronning,” -my crazy little queen- he says in his thick Norse brogue, which only stokes my insides and causes more cream to trickle from my slit. I moan from the uncomfortable sensation. He called me his mad little queen.
No sooner do I moan than he plucks me off his lap and sets me on the floor. The fact that my knees don’t buckle dumbfounds me. Especially when my husband begins to circle me, his massive form towering over mine. Naked, I feel smaller than ever in his presence. But I remain where I am with my hands still clasped behind me, my heavy, aching breasts pushed out like he wants.
“I’ve thought of nothing else but you since we arrived, min stjerne,” he says, voice low and gravelly, seducing every fraction of my skin and rousing my blood. “I listened to the fucking board droning on and on about their success and stocks and plans for the new year. But I imagined your smile…” He rubs his thumb upon my bottom lip in the barest of touches. My lips part, my breath weak and thready with desire. “The scent and light of your curls,” he goes on, taking a few strands and rubbing them between his fingers.
“Hmm…” he growls low and deep and folds his hands behind his back. It would seem relaxed, but his muscles are far too tense, the veins throbbing in his strong pillar of a neck to betray his tension. He tilts his head like my predator, and I…his willing prey.
“I imagined your soft, plump breasts,” he says behind me, making my toes curl while my breasts swell with desperatelonging. “Those exquisite mounds of creamy flesh like luscious, vanilla custard and your sweet, pink buds that grow like fat, red berries from my tongue. I fantasized about clamping them with the new clips I bought for this necessary holiday trip. They would have made such lovely music when I softly spanked them with the festive crop I designed.”
I can’t help it. I let out a little sob. “Ungh…Krampus!”
He chuckles darkly, then inhales, breathing in, feeding on my agony.
“And while goose may be an appropriate associated term for the season, min Twyla, I would never liken you to such a crude, slaughtered fowl. You are min stjerne, min kjaere, min kona, min dronning. Am I clear?” He punctuates the last word with a sharp pinch to my welted backside, and I yelp, jumping from the burning pain.
“Clear as a bell, Krampus!” I practically squeal, only to wince when my belly growls in obvious hunger.
“Flink. Now, I could tell you all the wondrous plans I had for us tonight, but your stomach requires sustenance.” He traces a solitary finger around my navel, which casts tingles along the skin. Then, he curls a finger. “Come. Follow me.”
He takes one step, assessing my obedience. But once I move to follow him, he wags a finger in chastisement. “Not like that, min lille dronning. You will get down on your hands and knees and crawl.”
Oh, holy holly berries!
Chapter 6
“You are going to make gingerbread cookies
KRAMPUS
Of course, I want her.
My cock is dripping in my gods-damned pouch. Damn near ready to break free. I imagine fucking her at the sturdy oak table in the kitchen, against the nearest window, bent over the armrest of the sofa with her face buried in the dusty cushions like the skitten jente she is.
But my patience is as necessary as her obedience. My cock is far too great for her without my magic. Not to mention how this is required if I wish to gain enough power to get us the fuck out of here. A perfect exchange she agreed to with her great and beautiful human heart.
Truthfully, I fantasize about fucking her where I’d originally planned tonight. It would have begun in the swimming pool at Krampus World—and not one drop of surface water visible, thanks to the hundreds of Christmas rose and poinsettia petals I’d purchased. I’d arranged a private booking, of course, and would have thoroughly savored the sight of her swimming nakedwith only the butt plug and clamps on her body while I sipped some bourbon and read monster smut to her.
I’d have tormented her in the hot tub, edged her in the steam room, and kindled her in the sauna. After a buildup with the thrill of mild exhibitionism—since I fully intended on placing a new Christmas collar around her lovely throat and having her follow me into the elevator in all her naked glory—, I would have brought her back to the penthouse.
Pampering her in the bath with Christmas roses filling the massive tub, which extends to the balcony, was on my list. Then, heated oil, along with a massage, a spanking to ignite her blood, and then a fucking on the bed. And then, the grand snow globe with the artificial snow swirling around us. Last but not least, the balcony, where all would hear her screaming my name.
But now, we’re stuck here. So, I intend to make the most of it.
After she blinks, her lips parting like a creature of prey caught in my trap, Twyla sinks to her knees and lowers herself onto her hands to crawl.
I may be a kinky bastard of a demon, but I am not a sadist.
I love to claim, to dominate, and to possess min dronning with everything in my godly being. Reinforcement so she understands she is mine—blood, flesh, heart, mind, and soul.—for all eternity. After the darkness of her past, a monster demanding, needing, and owning all of her is far less than what she deserves.
She nuzzles her cheek along the fur of above my hooves. So, I will reward her for her affection. One of the things I love most is her response when I reward her in these little ways. I slip my fingers along her jawline, feel her sigh, and lean closer until I cup her chin and lift her eyes to mine.
“So lovely, min søt stjerne.”My sweet star.“You are my dream, Twyla. No matter where we are, you will always be my dream come true.”
“Thank you, Krampus.” Ahh! Faen, those words! “I’m sorry I let you down.” Her eyes lower, her shame tainting the rawness of her naked vulnerability and desire.
