5. “You will get down on your hands and knees and crawl.”

Chapter 5

“You will get down on your hands and knees and crawl.”

TWYLA

H e doesn’t touch me.

I can feel his need through our bond and notice the flexing of his fingers, but the more desperate and desirous I grow, the more he feeds, which grows his power. If I want to hope for any Christmas magic tonight, including some special eggnog, my submission is vital. All of me grows warm at the thought of how it’s a gift.

Tonight, my submission is a gift. So, I’ll give him as much as I possibly can.

“Ja, min stjerne. Now, describe the feeling in your pretty cunny,” he directs me, a low growl in his throat as those eyes sink to the space between my legs.

My inner muscles spasm. My heart skips a beat as I lick my lips and confess, “I’m so wet, Krampus. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been. My pussy won’t stop clenching from how much it wants your cock inside it, filling all of me, stuffing me like your prized Christmas goose.”

He chuckles darkly, deeply. The sound raises all the hairs on my body and makes my mouth water. My itchy nipples pebble, hardening more from his primal stare.

But he still doesn’t touch me.

“Ahh, min gal liten dronning,” - my crazy little queen - he says in his thick Norse brogue, which only stokes my insides and causes more cream to trickle from my slit. I moan from the uncomfortable sensation. He called me his mad little queen.

No sooner do I moan than he plucks me off his lap and sets me on the floor. The fact that my knees don’t buckle dumbfounds me. Especially when my husband begins to circle me, his massive form towering over mine. Naked, I feel smaller than ever in his presence. But I remain where I am with my hands still clasped behind me, my heavy, aching breasts pushed out like he wants.

“I’ve thought of nothing else but you since we arrived, min stjerne,” he says, voice low and gravelly, seducing every fraction of my skin and rousing my blood. “I listened to the fucking board droning on and on about their success and stocks and plans for the new year. But I imagined your smile…” He rubs his thumb upon my bottom lip in the barest of touches. My lips part, my breath weak and thready with desire. “The scent and light of your curls,” he goes on, taking a few strands and rubbing them between his fingers.

“Hmm…” he growls low and deep and folds his hands behind his back. It would seem relaxed, but his muscles are far too tense, the veins throbbing in his strong pillar of a neck to betray his tension. He tilts his head like my predator, and I…his willing prey.

“I imagined your soft, plump breasts,” he says behind me, making my toes curl while my breasts swell with desperate longing. “Those exquisite mounds of creamy flesh like luscious, vanilla custard and your sweet, pink buds that grow like fat, red berries from my tongue. I fantasized about clamping them with the new clips I bought for this necessary holiday trip. They would have made such lovely music when I softly spanked them with the festive crop I designed.”

I can’t help it. I let out a little sob. “Ungh…Krampus!”

He chuckles darkly, then inhales, breathing in, feeding on my agony.

“And while goose may be an appropriate associated term for the season, min Twyla, I would never liken you to such a crude, slaughtered fowl. You are min stjerne, min kjaere, min kona, min dronning. Am I clear?” He punctuates the last word with a sharp pinch to my welted backside, and I yelp, jumping from the burning pain.

“Clear as a bell, Krampus!” I practically squeal, only to wince when my belly growls in obvious hunger.

“Flink. Now, I could tell you all the wondrous plans I had for us tonight, but your stomach requires sustenance.” He traces a solitary finger around my navel, which casts tingles along the skin. Then, he curls a finger. “Come. Follow me.”

He takes one step, assessing my obedience. But once I move to follow him, he wags a finger in chastisement. “Not like that, min lille dronning. You will get down on your hands and knees and crawl.”

Oh, holy holly berries!