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He fucks me slow at first, his hands holding my hips right where he wants them, every thrust so deep I can feel it in my stomach. The fire’s hot on my face. He’s hot at my back. His shadows wrap around my wrists and pin them down on the cushion so I can’t even push back against him. I can’t do anything but take it.
“Look up,” he orders.
I lift my head. Right above the fireplace, there’s a huge mirror in a dark gold frame, and in it, I can see everything: my face, wrecked and sweaty, my mouth hanging open, the gold dress shoved up around my waist, and him behind me, huge and dark, his eyes glowing, his shadows rolling off his shoulders like smoke.
“You put a mirror over the fireplace,” I gasp, “on purpose.”
“I put mirrors in every room on purpose.” He snaps his hips, hard, and I cry out. “I like watching you take me. Thirty-four rooms, Red. Thirty-four mirrors.”
“You’re a fucking pervert.”
“I’m Krampus.” He wraps my hair around his fist and pulls my head up so I have to keep looking. “Watch.”
I watch. I watch him fuck me in front of a fireplace in a library full of the exact books I used to read alone in my dorm room, dreaming about something like this. I watch my own face fall apart. I watch him lean down and set his teeth on my mark, right on the side of my throat, and I feel it all the way down.
“Come for me,” he growls against my skin. “Come on my cock in your new house.”
I do, screaming his name so loud I’m sure the chef heard it from wherever the hell the chef lives. He comes right behind me, his knot swelling, locking us together, and he roars into my neck while he fills me up.
We end up on the rug in front of the fire, tangled up, my back against his chest, still tied together. The gold dress is a lost cause. There’s sequins stuck to his chest, his face, his beard.
I start laughing, and I can’t stop.
“What?” he rumbles.
“You’ve got sequins in your beard.” I reach up and pick one off. “The big bad Krampus, covered in glitter.”
He goes still behind me.
“Glitter,” he repeats, very slowly.
Oh, shit.
“Okay, it’s not glitter,” I say fast. “They’re sequins. That’s a whole different thing. Completely different. Totally unrelated. Nik…”
His arm tightens around my waist. I feel his grin against the back of my neck.
“That’s one room, Red,” he murmurs. “Thirty-three to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
KISHA
The same bouncer who almost laughed at us on Krampusnacht opens the rope before we even get to it.
“Good evening, Miss Williams.” He bows his head. Actually bows it. “Ladies. The boss is expecting you.”
Kaylie squeezes my arm so hard it hurts. Jessie bites her lip to keep from screaming. Avery just looks down at her shoes, which are Louboutins, because apparently all four of us own fucking Louboutins now.
We walk past the line like we own the place. In a way, I guess I kind of do.
Three weeks ago, we were pregaming with Red Bull in my dorm room, trying to decide if we could pass for rich girls in costumes we put together from Target. Now look at us. I’m in the black velvet Nik picked out, the one with the slit up to my hip, and diamond studs I still haven’t let myself google the price of. Jessie’s in white silk. Kaylie’s in a gold mini that cost more than her mom’s car. Avery’s in emerald green with a necklace she won’t explain. Nobody’s asking any questions about anybody’s money tonight. That’s our new rule.
We’re shining, bitches.
The club is packed, same as always. The bass hits my chest the second we step inside, and the whole place glitters under those floating cages. People turn to look at us as we walk through the crowd, and for once, I don’t feel like I don’t belong. I feel like it’s mine.
I look up. The VIP balcony is dark, the way it always is, but I can feel them up there. There’s a big shape by the rail with shadows curling around him, and I know it’s not Nik, because Nik’s in his office making a call. There’s another one even bigger in the corner, so huge he makes the chairs look like toys. Something by the stairs keeps changing shape every time I look at it, like my eyes can’t decide what the hell they’re seeing.
