Ragnarr- Heat in the Snow Page 4

She eases off, begins on the next finger.

  “Please, häxan.”

  There is desperation in my voice.

  —Please, what?

  —Don’t tease me like that. I’m ready to fuck you right here on the table between the coffee cups, on top of the cake if you keep this up.

  —Oh, how the tables have turned.

  —I never knew you had such a lust for revenge. Should I make out my will?

  —Whatever. Now you know how I feel, Mr. I-Got-You-A-Magical-Sex-Bra.

  —At least I take mercy sometimes.

  —Is that so? No one told me that.

  She runs her teeth lightly across the pad of my finger as she withdraws, giving me a naughty smile that I’d love to wipe right off her face if I had half a chance.

  “But I’m sensing you might need a—um, distraction—right now. So now’s as good a chance as any.”

  The waitress drops off the latte, and Emelie nods her thanks. Her cheeks are pink again.

  “A distraction?” I say after the waitress has gone.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to think of sports stats, cold showers, and Barney Gumble in lingerie.

  Emelie nods with the satisfaction of the cat who ate a cow’s-worth of cream, reaching for her purse. She pulls out a shiny gold-wrapped gift box about the size of a cell phone.

  “For the dragon who already has everything.”

  Her smile is devious as she brandishes the box, proud of herself to no end.

  And in this show of adorable smugness, I’m grateful that our mental bond doesn’t let us share everything… because it would take much of this kind of spice out of our lives together.

  For one thing, it would ruin my own Christmas surprises for Emelie entirely—all three of them.

  So despite my current state, I’m intrigued. And I accept the gift from her.

  “It hardly weighs anything,” I say in mock disappointment. “I suppose that means I’m not getting a new phone.”

  “You have a new phone practically every month. Why would I get you one? This is way better, I promise. Go on, open it. I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me.

  “None of that unless you’re willing to put it to use.”

  “I will if you’ll ever open the damn gift. Hurry up!”

  With exaggerated slowness I pull one ribbon end, watching her face as she sits vibrating in her seat like a puppy who is desperate to play.

  “Hurry up!”

  —Always teasing me, damn you.

  —Always.

  At last it’s unwrapped. Inside is a work of art.

  It’s a mead label with a gorgeous illustration of a dragon—one who looks suspiciously familiar.

  “Is this supposed to be me?”

  She claps her hands in delight.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  I study it with mock seriousness.

  “It’s not bad, but I believe I’m more handsome in real life. My left is my good side, you know.”

  “You would think so, you vain dragon. I’m surprised you didn’t ask Whimsy to marry you, you’re two peas in a pod.”

  I cock my head. Raise an eyebrow. Give her a long, studied look.

  “I haven’t even asked you to marry me.”

  She bites her lip. Takes a breath to say something, but thinks better of it.

  I know what it is, but I don’t give anything away.

  “I know… never mind. It’s just a joke.”

  “Hmm.”

  I let it go for now. I look back down at the label, because it really is lovely.

  “Draconian: The Burning Halo. A fire-inspired sweet mead made with lapsang souchang tea, Sichuan pepper, cinnamon, Thai chili, and gochujang. Sounds delicious.”

  “It’s a sweet, smoky, and spicy flavor profile. Didn’t I promise to make something inspired by you?”

  “I think I recall something like that, ja. I can’t wait to taste it.”

  I’ll never forget our first date where she told me all about her passion for mead, and I discovered something I liked even better than revenge. Or even Scotch.

  It’s engraved on my heart forever.

  “The name was Linnea’s idea, surprisingly. I think it’s some band she likes or something. I don’t know, it’s not my taste exactly. But the concept and recipe was my idea. I thought we could do a limited line of dragon meads, complete with these beautifully painted labels—and one for each element. Maybe, if your brothers wouldn’t mind, they could model for the labels, I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s all right. Anyway, I found an illustrator who’s incredibly talented, as you can see. She got all the details just right, even from my bad attempts at describing you. She was very patient. I’m thinking I’ll hire her again, if I haven’t annoyed her beyond belief.”

  “It’s brilliant, häxan. I love it. And I love you.”

  Her cheeks flush with pleasure.

  “I didn’t want to just buy you something—since you already have everything. I wanted to do something really special and memorable, something that you can’t buy. To show you what you mean to me.”

  “I see that. And it’s perfect.”

  Her eyes sparkle. Reflect what I feel for her back at me.

  I take her hand, squeeze it. She smiles up at me, and my heart throbs as if it’s filled with butterflies.

  And I know I would do anything to make her happy.

  I swear silently that I will.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  On our way out of the restaurant, we stop to pick up Whimsy’s pet tag. The Sami artisan has even wrapped it in beautiful handmade paper stamped with hearts and reindeer in holly-red ink. Emelie tucks it into her purse and gushes effusive thanks, making Gunná’s face glow.

  The time by the clock is afternoon, but the sky outside is coal-black: clear and twinkling with stars like diamonds strewn across velvet by a careless hand.

  As we walk a very round-about way back to our room, Emelie points out little things that catch her eye: a crystal snowflake in a window, a sculpted snow dragon with an ice princess on his back, star-shaped lights in a scraggly pine which hang like coldly shining fruit.

  Then she freezes in her tracks, gazing up at the sky.

  “Did you see that?”

  I follow Emelie’s pointing finger, but the snow-covered pines are in the way.

  “No. What?”

  “I think I just saw the aurora. Come on!”

  Emelie pulls me by the hand, leading the way up an uncleared footpath through a copse of trees.

  “Let’s go to the top of this hill, I bet we can see from there.”

  She’s trying to run, but the snow is too deep for it—so she does a cute little awkward shuffle through the drifts. In her eagerness, I’m content to let her make the way forward.

  Emelie stops at the top of the hill, head thrown back to gaze up at the sky. I follow her line of sight.

  Faint wide ribbons of aqua green, hot pink, and ultraviolet ripple like banners in a brisk sea breeze. They aren’t brilliant yet but are gaining force by the second.

  After a minute or two they are bright as neon lights in the sky.

  “Isn’t it magical?” Emelie says.

  I take a breath. It catches in my throat.

  It is magical.

  “When I was little,” Emelie says, her voice an awed whisper, “I read a Sami legend of cities in the northern lights. Of spirit worlds, angels, of great palaces where strange gods live. And though I never believed it before—right now, it’s hard not to.”

  I nod in agreement.

  I’ve seen the northern lights many times, and from high up, on my flights in dragon-form. They’ve become plain and uninteresting in the ennui of familiarity. But I blink hard, try to see with her eyes, with fresh eyes, with an attitude of wonder.

  And something changes. I’m not sure if it’s inside me, or without.


  The air crackles and sparks as if filled with electricity.

  I listen harder.

  There’s a faint hissing, rustling noise like radio static, or like a family of mice skittering through fallen leaves. Wrapped up inside of it, like an egg in its shell, is something fainter. Wilder. Musical.

  As if the music was made by half-wild spirits on pipes made of fae-bones and stardust.

  And for just a second, I think I see the outline of a city there, limned in lemon, cerulean, fuchsia. Spires like glass spun by divine spiders scrape the heavens—sparkling, reflecting the unearthly colors of the aurora.

  And just as quickly, it’s gone.

  Emelie’s hand finds mine as our faces remain upturned to the sky.

  “Did you see it too?” Her voice is low and hoarse with awe. “The city?”

  “I did.” My voice is not much different.

  “Have you seen it lots of times before?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you think it means something?”

  “Perhaps it’s Freyja smiling down on us from her seat next to Oden and Thor in the capital of the gods. Blessing our union.”

  “What do you think she’s thinking about right now?”

  “Probably wondering what to wear with Brisingr.”

  “Rubies. Pearls. Diamonds…”

  I glance down at her. There’s a wistful look of longing on her face, her eyes reflecting the shimmer in the sky.

  She won’t say it, not out-and-out… but it’s clear what she wants, and I want to give it to her. More than anything. I’d give her all thirteen realms if only to see her smile for me.

  I want to make her happy.

  Need to make her happy.

  And to have her here, draped in jewels from head to toe by my side.

  Forever.

  My heart beats faster. There’s a thrill of anticipation in my stomach.

  I quash it with an effort. Mustn’t give anything away.

  Not yet.

  “Amber isn’t enough for a goddess?”

  My voice is odd in my own ears.

  Quiet. Hollow.

  She doesn’t answer, biting her lip uncertainly.

  I don’t even like the sound of it, but I can’t give anything away.

  It would ruin everything.

  A long pause.

  “I’m cold,” she says at last.

  Her hand squeezes, relaxes in mine.

  Need to distract her. I scoop her up into my arms, kissing her until we’re both breathless as the aurora fades above us.

  And without another word, I carry her down the hill back to our room.

  4: Ragnarr

  “Before we go over to the sauna, I have something for you.”

  The eerie feeling the aurora brought is barely a half-remembered dream here in the bright, warm light of our spacious hotel room.

  And when Emelie’s attention was focused on digging through a pile of clothes, I whisked my second gift to her out from its hiding spot and hid it behind my back.

  Now, as she turns to me, I present the gift to her with a dramatic flourish and a courtly bow.

  After a moment Emelie accepts it, gives it an experimental little shake.

  It’s identically sized and wrapped to the one from the day before, and she raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

  “Another laptop? Or another bra?”

  Her tone is light, teasing.

  “If it’s a bra, I might have to wear them both at the same time, you know. The first one isn’t very supportive.”

  I smile.

  “Not exactly. Just open it, häxan min.”

  “Will I like it as much as you do?”

  I can’t hold back a laugh.

  “More, I think.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Don’t be afraid, häxan. It won’t bite—though I can’t promise the same.”

  Emelie peels off the paper and opens the box.

  More strands of gemstone beads, identical to the bra, but strung together differently. She picks it up by one end, puzzled.

  “It’s the matching panty to the bra you got yesterday,” I say in explanation.

  Her face is dubious.

  “Panty is… a bit generous.”

  She indicates a single strand of glittering gemstones and makes a face.

  “More like a thong, or a g-string, if anything. How does it even work?”

  “You can wear it by itself, if you connect these strands at the side”—I demonstrate by connecting the gold clasps—“or it can be attached to the bra at the waist chain and worn as a set.”

  “Hmm. Okay, I think I see it.”

  She fiddles with it, doing up the clasps and holding it up to her hips to see how it looks against herself in the mirror.

  She catches my eye in the reflection and smiles.

  “It’s meant to bring you pleasure,” I say, rather redundantly. Watching her play with it has planted very dirty thoughts in my mind, and it’s made me a bit stupid.

  Must be the lack of blood flow to the brain.

  She hums her approval.

  “I think I figured that much out already. More magic?”

  “Just a touch—and not the same kind as the bra, that would be overkill, I think—but that’s not what I mean. When the beads are against your slit, against your clit…”

  My words fall off. But her imagination takes over.

  “Ohh…” she says.

  Her eyes widen, and her pupils dilate.

  “Oh. So with every step…”

  I nod, holding her eyes. She shivers a little, but not with cold.

  “With every movement,” I say. My voice is roughed with desire for her. “With every step, you’ll feel it. And it’ll remind you of what I want to do to you.”

  “Not that I need any reminding, but… what, exactly? Tell me.”

  Her voice is breathy.

  From behind, holding her gaze in the mirror, I brush her red-gold hair away from her neck, plant kisses there. She gasps, leans back into me, watching my reflection.

  “I want to kiss you. To taste you. Everywhere those gems are. I want you to wear it while I give you pleasure, to see how much more intense it feels when I make you come.”

  Her lips part.

  “So the magic isn’t an aphrodisiac, it’s an, um, intensifier?”

  “Clever as always, lilla häxan.”

  “Fy fan.”

  “Indeed.”

  * * *

  Even the way Emelie walks is more sensual as we head to the private sauna at the other end of the building, dressed in little more than fluffy white bathrobes.

  She rolls her hips like a wanton with every step. It’s clear she’s enjoying herself already. I’d be willing to put good money on the fact she’s already dripping wet for me.

  She glances over her shoulder at me, and the look in her eyes is knowing, inviting.

  It’s all I can do not to tear the damn robe off her and fuck her right here in the public hallway.

  —You love how that thong feels, don’t you? Häxan, you’re driving me crazy.

  —Ja, I do. But you brought this upon yourself. Now you’ll just have to deal with the consequences.

  —A price worth paying.

  When the sauna door shuts behind us, I have to ball my hands into fists to keep my hands off her. Emelie poses, tugs at one end of the belt, lets her robe fall open. Shrugs it off in a puddle on the floor.

  And she is glorious. My cock, already hard, throbs with need of her. Her eyes dip to the movement, back up to my face. Smiles in triumph.

  “One would think you’ve never seen me naked before,” Emelie says lightly, running one hand through her hair.

  “You take my breath away every time as if it’s the first,” I say.

  And she does.

  Her breasts are full and round, her coral nipples hard with arousal, begging to be sucked. Every curve is lush and full, the dip of her waist lacking only the touch of my ha
nds. The fullness of her hips commands worship. And the red-gold curls like clouds guarding the gates of heaven.

  My mouth waters at the thought of exploring her, tasting her, pleasuring her. Making her come, hearing her cries of ecstasy. Emelie is my lusty temptress, my wanton witch.

  I am hers, completely and forever—and she knows it. She sees it on my face, and delights in it.

  The gemstone beads gleam at her mound, an erotic Brisingr between the thighs of a lascivious Freyja. And the wildflower musk scent that is so uniquely Emelie, the one that indicates her arousal, is intoxicating in the cedar-lined room.

  “Häxan—”

  “No. You stay there.”

  There is a commanding tone I’m unused to in her voice. She pushed me down onto the wooden bench, slips the robe from my body. The head of my cock glistens with pre-cum. She looks down, slides one fingertip across the head. Brings it to her lips, sucks it clean.

  Smiles.

  A groan escapes me. I reach for her, but Emelie dances away from my reach.

  “You’re going to sit there and watch me,” she says.

  Emelie sits across from me, leaning back like an odalisque and spreading her soft, full thighs for me. Parts her folds for me with the fingers of one hand, the pinkness of her center shining with desire. She toys with the strand of beads, tugging at it, jiggling it, gasping as the round gems tease her own hard pink pearl.

  “Tell me how it feels, häxan.”

  My voice is roughened with desire.

  My hand has found the base of my cock, but I keep my grip light and teasing.

  Her fingers flutter over her clit.

  “Even when I’m not touching myself, it’s delicious pressure. Light, pointed, like little licks whenever I move. Whenever I walk. Just the right touch, right where I want it. So sexy. And when I go like this”—she manipulates the beads back and forth with a movement of her wrist—“it’s like a little sex toy. Teasing, just right. I’ve never had a toy like this… but I still know it’s going to make me come.”

  My hand moves up to my shaft. I draw down the foreskin, gasping at the sensation.

  “Let me watch you,” I say, my voice a low growl. “I want to see you make yourself come for me while I watch.”

  My cock is wet with pre-cum, the head nearly purple.

  I take a firmer grip on my shaft, my wetness slicking my fingers. She watches avidly, then catches my gaze. Her fingers twitch.