"So ready," he murmured, sliding one thick finger inside me. "So perfect for me."
My hips bucked against his hand, seeking more. "Please—"
The word had barely left my lips before he was undoing his pants, freeing himself with an urgency that matched my own.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I did, meeting his gaze as he pushed into me in one powerful thrust that stretched me to the point of exquisite fullness. My mouth fell open in a silent cry, fingers scrambling for purchase and finding his horns again.
He snarled as I gripped them. The counter edge dug into my thighs as he established a relentless rhythm, each thrust pushing me back against bags of flour that continued to burst around us in white clouds.
"Mine," he growled against my neck, one hand tangling in my curls to tilt my head back, exposing my throat to his mouth. "Say it."
"No," I gasped, defiance flaring even as pleasure built inside me. I tightened my grip on his horns, using them as leverage to meet each powerful thrust. "You're mine."
His rhythm faltered for just a moment, surprise flashing across his features before his eyes darkened with something like wonder. Then he redoubled his efforts, one hand slipping between us to find the bundle of nerves that would send me over the edge.
"Both," he conceded, his thumb circling my clit with devastating precision. "We belong to each other."
The admission, coupled with the dual stimulation, was too much. I came hard, my body arching against his as waves of pleasure crashed through me. My inner walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing him deeper, claiming him just as surely as he claimed me. His name fell from my lips over and over.
He followed me over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips pressing flush against mine as he spilled inside me. His forehead dropped to rest against mine, our breath mingling in the scant space between us as we both struggled to regain control.
For several heartbeats, we stayed like that, connected, breathing the same air, covered in flour dust that settled on our skin like the strangest afterglow. His hand came up to cup my cheek again, thumb brushing away a smear of white powder.
"I do trust you," he murmured, the admission clearly difficult for a being accustomed to commanding rather than explaining. "But seeing you hurt—"
"I know," I interrupted, surprising myself with how much I meant it. His reaction hadn't been about doubting my capabilities. It had been about seeing someone he cared for in danger. The realization softened something in my chest, a knot of resentment unraveling.
I laid my head against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart beneath my ear. His arms wrapped around me, powerful and protective, but no longer feeling like a cage. We fit together, two puzzle pieces with edges worn smooth by time and arguments and understanding.
"What did I say about substances on my counters!" Silas's outraged voice shattered the moment, making both of us jump. "Get out here and clean this shit up! There better not be literal semen on my flour bags!"
I buried my face against Krampus's chest, laughter bubbling up inside me. His answering chuckle rumbled around us.
"Your demon baker has the worst timing," he murmured against my hair.
"Or the best," I countered, thinking of the conversation we needed to finish. The party tomorrow. The manager position. The future stretching before us, complicated and messy and full of possibility.
For now, though, I just leaned into his embrace, savoring the feeling of being exactly where I belonged.
Chapter nineteen
Simone
The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized, a woman in pink lace, with curls piled artfully atop her head and jewelry that winked with subtle enchantment. Me, but somehow more. As if the week of being seen by Krampus had pulled something hidden to the surface, something that had always been there, waiting. I smoothed my hands over the dress he'd bought me, feeling amazing and beautiful.
"If you're done making bedroom eyes at yourself, we've got streamers falling down by the counter." Silas's voice shatteredmy moment of vanity. He stood in the bathroom doorway, one hip cocked against the frame, hands covered in what looked like edible glitter. His eyeliner was even sharper than usual, a perfect wing.
"I'm not—" I started to protest, but his knowing smirk stopped me. "Fine. Streamers. On it."
The café buzzed with pre-party energy, transformed from our usual cozy space into something magical. I stepped out of the tiny bathroom into controlled chaos, my heels clicking against the wooden floor with a confidence I wasn't sure I'd earned yet but was damn well faking. Yesterday's ogre incident felt like a lifetime ago, the broken door replaced, the scattered mugs swept away, the terror of being thrown into the pastry case healed by Krampus's hands and his surprising apology afterward.
Today was new. Today was mine.
"Simone! Opinion needed!" Bramble zipped overhead, her tiny body nearly obscured by a length of garland that pulsed with blue-silver light. "Against the windows or across the ceiling beams?"
I tilted my head, considering. "Start at the central beam, then curve down toward each window. Let them drape a bit in the middle, like they're reaching for each other."
