Chapter 12 #2
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 burning star. 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.
He groaned—a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my entire body—and pulled me even closer, lifting me off the ground.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, my short pleated skirt bunching around my thighs.
My boots dangled in the air as he walked backward, my body pressed against his, my mouth still fused to his, until my back hit the wall beside the cash register.
The impact knocked the breath out of me, but I barely registered it. He was everywhere. His scent filling my lungs, his hands branding my skin, the hard evidence of his desire pressing against my core. I was lost, drowning in sensation, clinging to him as my only point of reality.
“This,” he murmured against my mouth, “is a very significant transgression.”
“I don’t care,” I gasped as his lips moved to my jaw, my throat, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me shudder. “I really, really don’t care.”
His teeth scraped my skin—not hard enough to break, just enough to make me arch against him with a desperate little moan. His claws traced patterns on my thigh, just under the hem of my skirt, a feather-light touch that was somehow more intimate than anything I’d ever experienced.
“I should stop,” he said, but his actions contradicted his words. He rocked against me, a slow, deliberate movement that sent pleasure spiraling through me.
“Definitely should stop,” I agreed, tilting my head back to give him better access.
The twinkling lights painted us in shifting colors. The cash register gleamed silently. My grandmother’s shop, the place that was supposed to be my sanctuary, my inheritance, my burden, had become the backdrop for this impossible, wonderful disaster.
He finally raised his head, both of us breathing hard. The air between us crackled, thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions.
“This,” he said, his voice a rough, ragged thing, “was not in the contract.”
“I don’t remember a no-kissing clause.”
“A significant oversight.”
His amber eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw something beyond the judgment and the ancient power. I saw a flicker of something almost… vulnerable. A crack in the armor. The thought was so staggering, so unexpected, that it nearly knocked me sideways.
“Is this part of my punishment?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He stilled. “Do you want it to be?”
The question hung between us, heavy with possibility.
Part of me—the sensible, business-degree-holding part—screamed no.
This was a complication I didn’t need. A distraction I couldn’t afford.
But the other part, the part that had felt alone and desperate and hopeless for so long, that part screamed yes.
Yes to the distraction. Yes to the heat.
Yes to feeling wanted, even if it was by a Christmas demon with a complicated contract.
“I don’t know,” I said, which was the most honest answer I could give. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
He lowered me slowly, my feet finding the floor again, but he didn’t let go.
His hands settled on my waist, the chains wrapped around his wrists cool against the thin fabric of my sweater.
My heart, which had been hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, slowed.
The frantic energy of the kiss had faded, replaced by something softer, more dangerous.
“I don’t understand what’s happening between us,” I said softly.
“Neither do I.”
He said it so simply, so honestly, that it was the most terrifying thing he’d said all day. If an ancient, all-knowing Krampus didn’t understand what was happening between us, what chance did I have?