I gently gripped her chin and guided her attention back to me. “That’s not crazy. You’re allowed to fantasize about what you fucking want.”
“I don’t know…” she hedged. “You have no idea how twisted the books I read can get.”
She hadn’t the slightest idea that I read many of the same books I’d caught her entranced by at work. I knew exactly what kind of books she liked, what kind of deliciously depraved things she read about.
“I have an idea.” I smirked. “The one I got you is a dark monster romance where the rat king gets the girl. I almost got you a Krampus one instead.”
At that, she bounced on her heels in excitement. “I want to read that one too! I love Krampus. But not for the same reasons everyone else in this town likes him.”
With a giggle, her cheeks flamed and a new smell flooded the air—the candy-sweet smell of her arousal.
Clara liked the Krampus. No, she more than liked the Krampus. She was turned on by him.
That info went straight to my balls and I had to bite back a hungry growl. “If only Krampus was real. Then he could be the one to kidnap you to the mountains. He punishes the naughty, after all.”
The thick blonde lashes framing Clara’s eyes fluttered, and the traces of her arousal spiked. Her attention slid to the feasting pigs, and something I parsed as shame etched her face. A barn filled with squealing hogs wasn’t exactly a prime place for the dirty thoughts that were surely filling her pretty head. Especially considering what the pigs were eating.
I didn’t care. Not wanting the moment to be over, I gave her an encouraging smirk. “What if it was the Krampus who kidnapped you to the mountains? Threw you in a cage? Made you his special pet.? Not for long… just for Christmas.”
“I’d…” Her face was on fire with a delicious hue of shame and lust, making my mouth water. “This is embarrassing to admit, but… I’d like it. I mean, I wouldn’t want him to actually hurt me,” she gushed, a combination of nerves and excitement making the words spill out of her like a faucet.
It had to feel great, not having to watch what she said for constant fear that Hogan was lurking around the corner.
“In my books, the heroes aren’t usuallygoodguys, but they’d burn the world down for their girl. So yeah. I guess if theKrampus was real, and if he by some chance had that long tongue and a heart of gold? Then, yes. I’d let him stuff me in that sack of his and beat me with whatever stick he’s packing. There, happy?” She huffed. “Now that you’ve watched me murder a man and confess my most embarrassing fantasy, you have all the dirt you could possibly want on Leavenworth’s favorite florist.”
Oh, I had so much more than dirt on her. Or, at least I would soon.
“You should get some rest,” I urged, eager to change the subject before I ripped off her clothes and fucked her here in the hog shed. “I’ll finish the cleanup outside.”
When she seemed hesitant I added, “I’ll do a very thorough job, Clara. I’m not exactly looking to get an accessory to murder conviction for Christmas this year.”
She hesitated for another beat, then sighed. “Alright…”
I walked her to the front door of Hogan’s farm house and before going inside she turned toward me and her eyes darkened. “I would probably have gotten caught if it weren’t for you helping to cover everything up. Thank you. I’ll never forget this, Bastion.”
Then, she pushed onto her tip toes and pressed her lips to mine in a kiss I’d imagined a hundred times before. Her lips were soft and tasted of the medicated lip balm she used during the winter months to keep her lips from chapping.
When she pulled away, I fought the urge to tug her back into my arms and never let her go.
I shouldn’t have said the words that were burning the tip of my tongue. Maybe it was the mischievous nature of the Krampus, forcing them out. She had a way of drawing out the demon from where I kept him buried deep inside.
“Don’t thank me, Clara.” I licked my lips, lapping up lingering traces of her taste. “There will be a price for this.”
Chapter Eight
Clara
No matter how much sleep medicine I took, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned until the early morning when the light started to pour in through the den’s curtains. The tiny loveseat—at least three decades old that had belonged to Hogan’s grandma—wasn’t helping either. I couldn’t stand to sleep in the bedroom or the living room. The den was the only place that didn’t smell like my dead fiancé.
I flipped onto my side, trying to get comfortable even though I knew it was useless. The shallow sleep I did manage to catch, I dreamed of Hogan. But it wasn't just of the bad times. No, I dreamt of when we'd still been in love. When he'd been a completely different person. Back when we were still in school, naïve enough to think we'd always be together. Graduation. His proposal. Dreaming of our own business, saving together. Then it all turned sour.
Flashes of him choking the life out of me filled my mind, the cleaver coming down over his face, the sensation of his warm blood slipping down the handle and coating my shaking fingers. The hogs feasting on his ravaged corpse. Then the dreams shifted gears, and it was Bastion's face filling my unconscious thoughts.
I probably should have dated in school instead, but all the kids were afraid of him—including me. Not because he was cruel, but there was always a dark, mischievous energy clinging to him that seemed to warn others to stay away.
I wish I hadn't.
His winter-cold eyes followed me in my dreams. Passing by my storefront window, always watching me. But I wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.
