Kaiser

You weren’t sure when Kaiser had started watching you like that—like the crowded room had melted away, like nothing and no one else mattered but you. His arm was slung over your shoulder, fingers lightly brushing your collarbone in a lazy pattern that almost made you forget where you were. The party was in full swing: home alone playing eggnog being drunken , people laughing a little too loud. But he had you tucked into his side like you were his anchor in a storm of Christmas songs his body warm and close, and his attention focused so completely on you that it was impossible to ignore.

“Every time you smile at someone else, I start thinking dangerous things,” he said, voice low and silky, spoken directly into your ear like a secret meant for you alone. You felt the faintest brush of his lips against your skin as he spoke, and he didn’t bother pulling away afterward—he lingered there, close enough for your senses to be wrapped in him: his cologne, his heat, the way he spoke your name like it was a spell. “I know you’re not trying to drive me crazy, but you do. Every damn time.”

He shifted slightly, turning so he could face you more fully, that signature smirk playing at the corner of his lips—the one that always made your heart stutter a beat. “You walked in here like you owned the place, like you knew exactly how insane you look tonight. And maybe you do know. Maybe that’s the worst part. , I’m sitting here trying to figure out how I’m supposed to keep my hands to myself.” He let out a short laugh, low and dangerous. “Spoiler: I can’t.”

His fingers dipped lower, settling at your waist, where they fit too perfectly, like they were meant to be there. “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing you like this. Being mine, standing next to me, looking like that.” His eyes dropped to your lips, then dragged slowly up to meet yours again, full of heat and certainty. “I know what people are thinking when they see us. And I love it. I love watching them realize they don’t to have you. That you already belong to someone who would burn down this entire building before he ever let you forget that.”

He tilted his head, studying you like he was memorizing every detail, then leaned in closer, barely an inch between your mouths now. “And you—just standing there, letting me look at you like this—do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His voice was softer now, but still laced with that unmistakable edge. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger and you don’t even have to try.”

He paused then, just long enough to build the tension, then kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, not quite giving you what you wanted—but enough to make you crave the rest. “Tell me to take you home,” he murmured against your skin. “Before I forget where we are and remind everyone here that you’re not just the most beautiful thing in this room—you’re mine. All mine for Christmas.”