Her monster smut collection prepared her for a lot of things. His filthy mouth wasn't one of them... Getting left at the altar? Whatever. Holly's monster romances kept her plenty satisfied—each dirty page more fulfilling than her ex ever was. But when she spots a Krampus at an Austrian Christmas parade who looks like sin incarnate, fantasy and reality blur into something deliciously depraved. Those horns might be fake, but the way he describes exactly how he'll defile her? That's real enough to soak her through. The man behind the mask has a wicked way with words and an even wickeder imagination. In his secluded cabin, he keeps the costume on and the degradation coming—each growled command and filthy promise designed to make her toes curl and her resistance crumble. He'll tell her precisely how he's going to split her open, stretch her out, and ruin her for anyone else... then spend hours making good on every single threat. Some might call it perverted. Holly calls it the filthiest therapy session ever. Because while the horns and fur might be pretend, the ways he makes her beg, scream, and submit are devastatingly, deliciously real. An explicitly filthy romance where monster kink meets reality. Because sometimes the best way to get over being left at the altar is to let a silver-tongued devil in a costume absolutely wreck you...