Chapter 18 #2
“I am aware. You broadcast your innocence quite effectively.” He moved then, pushing off from the wall and walking towards me with deliberate steps. “But now you do know. And we must address it.”
“Address what?”
“Your tendency to touch without thinking.” He kept coming, steady and inevitable. “Your hands wander. They explore. They make contact with parts of me that should not be casually touched.”
I backed up instinctively. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Will you?” He matched my retreat step for step. “You grabbed my tail in a doorway. Brushed my horn while reaching for a box. Your instinct is to touch, to connect physically. It is in your nature.”
“So what, you want me to just never touch you?”
“I want you to understand the consequences when you do.”
My back hit the shelving unit. Again. I was developing a pattern of ending up against shelves whenever he decided to make a point.
He stopped a foot away, close but not crowding. Yet. “Your hands need discipline.”
“My hands need what?”
“Discipline. Instruction. A clear understanding of boundaries and repercussions.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
“You touch dangerous things without fear. My tail, which is sensitive. My horns, which are…” He paused.
“Significantly more sensitive. What else will you grab without thinking? My neck? My—”
“I get it,” I interrupted, my voice coming out breathless. “I’m… handsy.”
“You are affectionate and tactile. Admirable qualities. But problematic when directed at a being whose anatomy you do not fully understand.”
“Then educate me. Tell me what’s off-limits.”
“Showing is more effective than telling.”
Before I could process that, he moved. Not fast, but purposeful. One of his chains wrapped around my wrists, gentle but firm, and lifted them above my head, pinning them against the shelf behind me.
“Bastian—”
“Lesson three,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble. “My horns are not for casual contact. They are sensitive in ways that…” He leaned in slightly, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, but not touching me anywhere. “Affect me. Do you understand?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Use your words, Noelle.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” His hand came up, fingers barely ghosting along my jaw. Not holding, just hovering. “When you touched the base of my horn, here…” He indicated the spot on his own horn. “It sent sensation through my entire body. Made me want to—” He cut himself off. “It is not something to be done lightly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize for actions taken in ignorance.” His thumb brushed my chin, the touch feather-light. “But now you know. And you will be more careful.”
“I will.”
“Will you?” He leaned in further, until his face was mere inches from mine. I could feel his breath against my skin. Could see the way his pupils had dilated again, the glow of his eyes intensifying. “Or will you find excuses to touch them again, now that you know what it does to me?”
“I won’t—”
“Swear it.”
“I swear I won’t touch your horns without permission.”
“Or my tail.”
“Or your tail.”
“Good girl.”
The words went through me like lightning. I felt my breath catch, my heart stutter. His expression shifted, nostrils flaring slightly, and I realized he could probably sense my reaction through the bond. Could feel exactly what those two simple words had done to me.
“You like that,” he observed, his voice pitched low and intimate. “Being praised. Being told you are good.”
“That’s not—”
“Do not lie to me when I can feel the truth.” His hand slid from my jaw to my neck, fingers resting lightly against my pulse. “I can sense your heart racing. Can feel the heat rising in your skin. Can taste your arousal in the air.”
Oh God.
“This is lesson four,” he continued, relentless.
“I am not human. My senses are not human. You cannot hide your reactions from me, no matter how much you might wish to.” His thumb pressed against my pulse point, feeling it flutter.
“Right now, I know exactly what you are feeling. The curiosity. The nervousness. The want.”
“Bastian…”
“Say my name again.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“I never claimed to be fair. I am a Krampus. I punish the naughty. This…” He leaned in, his mouth hovering next to my ear. “This is discipline. Education. Ensuring you understand the danger you court when you touch me without thought.”
His breath was hot against my skin. His body was so close there was barely an inch between us, but he still wasn’t touching me except where his fingers rested against my throat. The restraint was deliberate, calculated, and absolutely devastating.
“Do you feel the danger?” he murmured. “Pinned against these shelves, held in place by a creature who could hurt you if he wished?”
“No,” I whispered. Because I didn’t. I felt safe. Incredibly turned on, but safe.
“You should.” His hand skimmed down over my chest, not quite touching, but close enough to turn my nipples to aching little peaks, before returning to my pulse.
“You should fear me at least a little. You should understand that I am stronger, faster, more powerful than you in every way.” The chains tightened fractionally on my wrists.
“You should recognize that when you touch me, you are playing with fire.”
“But you won’t hurt me.”
“No.” The word was certain. “I will not. But I will ensure you understand exactly what you are doing when you touch me. I will make you feel the consequences of your casual affection.”
“This feels like a consequence.”
“This is a warning, little light.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes burning. “The next time you touch my horns, I will not stop at warnings. I will show you precisely what your touch does to me. And I will ensure you cannot walk away unaffected.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It is a promise.”
We stared at each other, the air between us crackling with tension.
His chains still held my wrists above my head.
His fingers still pressed against my pulse.
His body still hovered close without quite touching.
The restraint was costing him—I could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw, the way his tail had gone absolutely still behind him.
“What if…” I started, then stopped.
“What if what?”
“What if I wanted you to stop warning me and just… show me?”
His eyes glowed red again, swallowing the amber. His fingers flexed against my jaw. A low sound rumbled from his chest—almost a growl, almost a groan.
“Do not say such things unless you mean them.”
“I mean them.”
“Noelle.” My name came out ragged. “You do not understand—”
The bell over the front door chimed.
We both froze. The spell broke. Reality crashed back in the form of a customer’s cheerful “Hello? Anyone here?”
He closed his eyes briefly, his expression pained. Then he released my wrists and stepped back, putting careful distance between us.
“You have a customer,” he said, his voice strained.
“I have terrible timing,” I corrected, rubbing my wrists where his chains had been. No marks, just the ghost of his touch and the heat of what had almost happened.
“Go.”
“Bastian—”
“Go, Noelle. Before I forget my discipline entirely and show you exactly what happens when you court danger.”
The look in his eyes made my knees weak. But the customer was calling again, sounding impatient, and I needed to work, needed to be professional, needed to not combust from unfulfilled tension in my storage room.
I went. But I could feel his eyes on me the entire way.