23. Twyla is the epitome of an angel

Chapter 23

Twyla is the epitome of an angel

KRAMPUS

S he is still sleeping as I bathe her.

I chuckle, tilting my head onto the top of hers while washing her clean of cum, sugar crystals, and oil. If I desired, I could simply snap my fingers and restore her body to normal. After our intense lovemaking. I have more power than ever.

But I cherish these moments. In her subconscious, she does, too. I’ve never felt her more at peace. Never more fatigued, more than our honeymoon.

I love this position—her back to my lower chest and cheek resting on my arm while her plump breasts rise halfway out of the bubbles and rose petals. Her nipples are still beaded and swollen from my clips, my tongue, my teeth. I should have mercy on them, but I’ve never been a merciful creature. And she loves my marks.

Rubbing my lips along her sodden curls, I cup the creamy mound of flesh and idly rub my thumb along the sweet, turgid bud. She sighs happily in her sleep, stirring a little from my action, but she doesn’t wake. I chuckle softly, remembering the first time I toyed with her when she was unconscious, how I unwrapped her, and celebrated how well she responded. She gave me her release even in her sleep.

I shift us through the little gate that leads onto the pool balcony, admiring the shape of her figure with the blustery wind rippling along it while I keep her blood warm enough.

Now and then, snowflakes fall upon her long, delicate lashes. Or one or two settle upon her nipples, pebbling them to erect buds. Anytime she shows signs of shivering, I stoke her blood, gratified when she snuggles up against me to sigh again. I could stay here with her wrapped in my arms for days.

After lingering here until the twilight falls, where I may admire the sight of her skin and golden curls gilded by the waning sunset, I wait until the silvery beams of the moon bathe min kjaere in their glow. Despite the hints of snow in the air, one lone star winks from beyond the milky expanse of clouds. I smile to myself and gaze down at my Twyla, my Lady of the Winter Star, imagining that twinkling light is giving her a Christmas kiss.

Finally, I carry her out of the bath and lay her on a towel with her damp curls spread around her like a halo while her skin glistens with a subtle layer of rose oil. Here, in the dark solitude of the quiet bedroom, with the firelight in the crackling hearth across the room and the rosy candlelight glimmering upon her skin—on this silent night of Solstice—Twyla is the epitome of an angel.

An irresistible one.

Time to make my sleeping star glow again.

I spread her plump, rounded thighs. Rub my crown along her folds, those tender little lips, smirking when her slit responds with her wet arousal. Fucking love how she shivers, her eyes still soft and closed. I notch myself to her center. And shove home. Fuck, every time—every time, she is heavenly. Tight, celestial hot, those inner muscles reflexively squeezing my cock. She loves somnophilia.

After moaning in her sleep, she sighs. I keep my hands on either side of her, smiling down at her sleeping form until she relaxes back into the sheets. Too exhausted to wake. And perhaps, my magic helps a little. But I will always gift my dronning her pleasure.

“So beautiful, min engel,” I coo and cup her breast, curling my thumb around her nipple while I fuck her deep and slow, but hard. With the size of my cock, it could never be anything but hard.

Her hips lift in her sleep. I feel her wet heat sealing around me, squelching from the slap of my body to hers.

“Hmm, that’s my sweet kjaere. Dripping all over me. Such a slutty girl, even in your sleep.” I cock my head to one side and deepen my thrusts, flexing my muscles and pivoting my hips. She whimpers, evidence of her pleasure from my action. “Yes, your body knows who it belongs to, doesn’t it, min Twyla?”

I pump in and out, loving how she gushes, wetting my cock more and more. I lean down and suckle her stiff, little nipples, and nibble softly, not hurting her.

As I feel my release impending, I lower my head to open her mouth beneath mine—soft, silken lips, her taste so sweet. I feed upon that tender mouth, feeling her body shudder as I pump deeper into her. And with my right hand, I lower my fingers to her distended clit, that plump nodule with all its glorious nerve endings.

She raises her hips while I work her nub back and forth. A tremor ripples through her, so I know she’s close. Finally, I extend my tongue to lick those pretty nipples like hard little rubies and split the wet organ to lick her clit, twirling it all around.

Her back arches.

“Good girl, min Twyla. Take my cock, take your pleasure, come, min dronning, min kona.”

I drive my cock into her, deeply, slowly. A violent wave of tremors shakes her, and I groan as she clamps all around my hardness. Like a damn vice. A soaked one. Soaked from our fluids.

This time, when I pull out, I wipe our cum away with the towel but leave the remnants on her thighs. Kissing her brow, I fold min Twyla into the warm blankets and watch her sleep…for hours.

When she finally stirs from her sleep and rises from the bed, I’ve finished a bit of business and am now standing near the hearth, poking at the logs with one hand while my other arm drapes along the mantle, where I hold a small glass of heated bourbon. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth when I notice her climbing out of the bed with the sheets still wrapped around her delicate body.

“What a sight that is,” she murmurs affectionately while scurrying toward me, those curls catching the firelight and bouncing like golden treasure.