Page 11 of Snowed In With the Krampus
Agitation prickles my nerve endings even more, and I find myself slamming the baking sheet into the oven and thudding the door closed.
Dismissing my little protest, Krampus dips one thick finger into the bowl and holds it out to me. “Care for a taste, min kjaere?” A dollop slides off his finger, dripping into the rest.
Well, I’m not going to say no, but I do take an extra moment or two to suck harder upon his finger and nip the tip. But my playfulness turns to a moan of appreciation because the frosting is so fucking flawless. Perfect texture and consistency with a hint of cinnamon and orange extract.
“You look so bedårende -adorable -when you’re all hot and bothered under the apron with flour smeared along your cheek, min engel,” he tells me while rubbing a thumb across my cheek.
I make a face. “I’d rather have eggnog smeared there.”
Krampus kisses me. My mouth bows beneath his, and I’m ready to melt against him, wondering if he’ll finally put me out of my misery. But his tongue doesn’t invade. No, it’s a sweet kiss, the kind that caresses my lips but takes no prisoners. A kiss of a monster’s love and not a kinky demon’s spicy searing kiss that can cook my blood as surely as his hand cooked my ass raw.
After the final round is out of the oven, Krampus hands me a piping bag so we can get started on decorating cookies.
Chapter 9
“Did you touch my cookies, min Twyla?”
TWYLA
Ugh, I’m terrible at it!
My spine bristles in contempt. After all my time sewing and stitching my own cosplay costumes, you’d think I’d be better at this. But my cookies look more like melted marshmallow men than gingerbread men. Not to mention how Krampus’s stars and bells are annoyingly perfect with every squiggly line in place.
Now and then, he glances over at one of my latest frosted follies, shakes his head with an airy chuckle, then continues with his. Sometimes, he’ll lean over to kiss my cheek and offer me one of his pretty ones.
I cursed under my breath and stomped my foot when he offered to teach me.
After he places his twelfth cookie with its glazed latticework on one of the prepared Christmas-themed plates, I snap.
Finally, I am sick of how perfect he is.
The moment he turns to get more frosting, I mischievously smear those perfect little buttons and perfect little squiggles onevery perfect little cookie on that plate. He flicks his head back to me, then immediately swings his gaze to the gingerbread men—probably after noting my smug but embarrassed expression since I had my hands in the cookie jar, so to speak.
I tense as he turns back to me. By now, I’ve overheated so much, and when he narrows his eyes and gives me that predatory smolder, I nearly combust.
“Did you touch my cookies, min Twyla?”
I make a squeamish face, though he knows it’s too theatrical. I take one step back and squeak, “No.”
A muscle bounces in his cheek. He gives me that stern, “naughty girl” look before smirking to one side.
I bolt.
It takes less than two seconds for him to snap out his tail, swing around my leg, and bring me down. Krampus cushions the blow with his arms…and gets his hands on me at the same time. I get no chance to speak before he claws the apron to shreds, baring all of me to his lascivious gaze.
“Oh, come on, it’s just how the cookie crumbled!” I whine, but any protests are weak with how my nipples harden to erect buds again.
A low, velvety growl escapes Krampus’s throat. The next thing I know, cuffs are around my wrists—connected to rope—and I’m spread-eagle before my husband, who chuckles down at me. The hardwood floor is cool against my inflamed backside, but it still chafes the flesh. Not to mention how it puts more pressure on the plug in my ass. Cold air rushes against my exposed pussy, but inside, it’s hotter than Christmas pudding.
“Since you ruined my cookies, skitten jente, I will make you my giant one.” He bobs his brows, and his muscles ripple with eagerness. “Now…”
He rises but continues his speech while moving to the counter to pick up the frosting bag. I would know thatmischievous demon smirk and the gleam in his eye anywhere. No one is better at coming up with tricks and treats like Krampus.
“You are going to be a good lille pike and stay very still while I decorate my cookie.” I widen my eyes as he wags the frosting bag at me. “And once I’m ready to eat my cookie, then you are free to move and moan and scream to your heart’s desire.”
“How do you know you won’t be the one screaming?” I giggle, but my chest hitches from the sight of my massive husband lowering himself to straddle me, his great shadow drowning me.
“Because, skitten jente, I am not the one tied up.”
