Page 57 of Never Kiss a Krampus

I thought about his reaction, the red glow, the rigid control. The way he’d called my hands dangerous.

“Your horns,” I said slowly, working it out. “They’re… an erogenous zone or something?”

“Or something,” he agreed, his voice dry.

Oh. That kind of sensitive. That kind of reaction.

My face went hot. “I really didn’t know.”

“I am aware. You broadcast your innocence quite effectively.” He moved then, pushing off from the wall and walking towards me with deliberate steps. “But now you do know. And we must address it.”

“Address what?”

“Your tendency to touch without thinking.” He kept coming, steady and inevitable. “Your hands wander. They explore. They make contact with parts of me that should not be casually touched.”

I backed up instinctively. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Will you?” He matched my retreat step for step. “You grabbed my tail in a doorway. Brushed my horn while reaching for a box. Your instinct is to touch, to connect physically. It is in your nature.”

“So what, you want me to just never touch you?”

“I want you to understand the consequences when you do.”

My back hit the shelving unit. Again. I was developing a pattern of ending up against shelves whenever he decided to make a point.

He stopped a foot away, close but not crowding. Yet. “Your hands need discipline.”

“My hands need what?”

“Discipline. Instruction. A clear understanding of boundaries and repercussions.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You touch dangerous things without fear. My tail, which is sensitive. My horns, which are…” He paused. “Significantly more sensitive. What else will you grab without thinking? My neck? My?—”

“I get it,” I interrupted, my voice coming out breathless. “I’m… handsy.”

“You are affectionate and tactile. Admirable qualities. But problematic when directed at a being whose anatomy you do not fully understand.”

“Then educate me. Tell me what’s off-limits.”

“Showing is more effective than telling.”

Before I could process that, he moved. Not fast, but purposeful. One of his chains wrapped around my wrists, gentle but firm, and lifted them above my head, pinning them against the shelf behind me.

“Bastian—”

“Lesson three,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble. “My horns are not for casual contact. They are sensitive in ways that…” He leaned in slightly, close enough that I couldfeel the heat radiating off him, but not touching me anywhere. “Affect me. Do you understand?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Use your words, Noelle.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” His hand came up, fingers barely ghosting along my jaw. Not holding, just hovering. “When you touched the base of my horn, here…” He indicated the spot on his own horn. “It sent sensation through my entire body. Made me want to—” He cut himself off. “It is not something to be done lightly.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize for actions taken in ignorance.” His thumb brushed my chin, the touch feather-light. “But now you know. And you will be more careful.”

“I will.”