Outside on the cliffs, the avalanche had buried the besieging army.
Inside the castle, the hero let the snow-maidens strip him bare, bathe him in roses, towel and powder him dry. They led him to the Ice Queen’s bedchamber.
She was smaller than she’d looked on the battlements. The blue jewel on her crown had glowed brighter than the sun, and when she’d lifted her arms the mountains had come down. She was the true hero; all he’d done was bring word of attack.
She shifted her weight awkwardly as the laughing snow-maidens shut them in together. Candles lit the room and softened her features. The hearth kept away the cold of the persistent snowfall. She squeaked when packed snow on the peaked roof outside crunched and plummeted.
The squeak made him hold her. Her heartbeat wasn’t as fast as his. She giggled and said, “You’re afraid of me.”
It was her mouth on his. He carried her to bed distracted by her warm bold hands. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered into his ear, and licked it.
“I’m not,” he said, or meant to say, but her lips wrapped around his cock and his words faltered to groaning. “I’m not afraid,” he said, when she straddled him and took him deep inside her. Then he fell back on the pillows and gave up protesting, because fear didn’t matter when arousal had replaced it, coursing strong through them both.
He stopped her before either had reached the edge, and cupped her cheek with his palm. The candles cast a soft blonde glow over her white hair. Her eyes were embers. He flipped her down beneath him. “My queen,” he whispered.
She grasped his hips and pulled him hard inside her. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
© Felisha Moon 2018