Hotter on Ice

by Rebecca Hunter

  “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice reverent.

  His cock throbbed impatiently, so she scooted closer until his erection pressed up against her. She grabbed on to his shoulders and moved herself up, using him to stroke her clit. She was so wet as she slid against his cock. His fingers tightened around her ass, and he flexed his hips as she moved back down. The sounds of raw pleasure came from both of them as they shifted and moved against each other. When she slid down again, he ground his hips against hers, whispering how badly he wanted her, how hot she made him. Still, he wasn’t speeding this up, just stroking her. Like he was waiting for her to make the next move.

  She lifted herself up again, but this time, she reached between them and positioned his cock right at her entrance. Then she raised her gaze to meet his. He was staring at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. And in that moment, it felt like so much more than sex, so much that it took her breath away. But she had promised herself to enjoy this feeling, not worry about it, so, slowly, she lowered herself. Her body needed time to adjust, so she eased down just a little bit, then pushed up again.

  Henning’s hands dug into her hips, but he didn’t move, just coaxed her on.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that, baby. You like that? Do you want to ride my cock?”

  It was the kind of talk she had ached for. His words were making her even hotter, reminding her all the time that he was the one fucking her. Like he didn’t want her to forget. She sank lower and lower until finally he was deep inside her. They sat that way, looking at each other. She had never done a lot of talking in bed, but Henning was being so open about how he felt that she just said what was going through her mind.

  “Rougher.” The word slipped out, and she didn’t want to take it back.

  Henning let out a desperate groan and thrust his hips up, deep. He let her set the pace, his hands over her, his hips flexing when he was deepest. He grunted but didn’t say anything, just let her slide up and down his thick cock as the pleasure built. Over and over, he pressed deeper inside her, lighting up her whole body each time, until she was dizzy. His breaths were coming fast and hot, and a sheen of sweat built on his forehead. She knew he wouldn’t let himself come until she did, but he sure as hell felt ready. He was waiting for her.

  “You want me to touch you?” His voice was a gravely whisper. “You want me to make you come?”

  He said the words like making her come was the hottest thing he could imagine. She nodded, too breathless to speak, and Henning reached between their bodies and stroked her clit. The orgasm crashed through her as she slid down his cock again. He grabbed on to her hips and kept up her pace, as pleasure rolled through her. Then a ragged groan tore through him, and he buried his face into her shoulder as his hips bucked under hers, setting off another wave of ecstasy.

  Gasps. Pants. Henning fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. His breath was in her ear, and she closed her eyes and let this be her world. The kind where all this pleasure and happiness was so easy. Where the past fell away, and she and Henning could simply exist like this.

  “That was intense,” she said after a while.

  His chest rose and fell under her. “The good kind of intense, I hope.”

  She smiled. “The amazing kind.”

  The kind that will disappear after we leave this place. God, she really didn’t want it to disappear. That last thought was clear and strong, and she struggled to tamp it back down.

  Unless...could this be more? Or was that the opposite of standing on her own? Alya swallowed. Later. She could think about that later.

  He lifted his head and pressed his lips into her hair. She took in the warmth of his body, the brush of his hair against her stomach, his scent that swirled around her, paying attention to every detail, memorizing this moment.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “REINDEER? SMOKED MOOSE?” Alya wrinkled her nose as she scanned the cold buffet. “Not sure about this.”

  She took some caviar and lox instead.

  Henning eyed her. “Your mother didn’t feed you this stuff, too?”

  She shook her head. He served himself a taste of both along with two kinds of pickled herring.

  “You’re really going to eat that?”

  “When in Sweden...” The right corner of Henning’s mouth twitched up as he gestured to the various dishes and breads and cheeses beautifully laid out on the tables. “Besides, if no one eats the reindeer, then these animals died for nothing.”

  His tone was low and intimate, for her ears only, but by the time she opened her mouth to make another comment, the humor in his expression was gone. It was the first hint of lightness she had seen in him since they had watched members of the film crew walk into the restaurant, cameras in hand. And it disappeared so quickly.

  The rest of the day had been full, with a second photo session in the Icebar and a relatively painless interview. Dinner with the photo shoot crew didn’t sound very appealing, but after eating in their room for the last few meals, Alya decided they should venture out for dinner, not just for her job but for Henning and her. To take the little cocoon of intimacy they had found out into the world, just to see what happened. But the cool, distant expression on Henning’s face when they headed out of the room and through the snow had her second-guessing this idea. The moment they left the hotel building, crossing through the cold darkness of the Swedish night to the little restaurant, he was back to being the man who sat next to her on the plane, the impassive bodyguard who was there to protect her with his life. Exactly what he was hired for. Except now, she was watching him, too.

  It was clear that he hated the fashion scene. Though his expression was flat, hard, she read every one of his tells: the working of his jaw as industry snark hummed from the tables, the flexing of his large hands at every stray gaze that lingered on her, the narrowing of his eyes when gazes lingered on him instead. Was his aversion to this scene worse now than when they arrived, or was she just more able to read it? Yes, it had all led to some amazing sex, but watching him right now was driving home the point that all of this had a cost for him.

  Still, she was also sure he walked into this job with no illusions, so why was his reaction bothering her? What had she expected? That a few incredibly intense encounters would somehow change the world they lived in? She shouldn’t even care since this was all over as soon as they left the place, and yet she did.

  “You okay?” Henning’s rough voice cut into her thoughts.

  “Of course.” She gave him a real smile, and his expression softened.

  He gestured to an empty table in the corner. “I’ll be in the back if you need anything.”

  Alya opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She didn’t need Henning. But watching him choose to walk away, to sit in the corner instead of next to her made her insides sink.

  Alya frowned. She was here for work, not fooling around with her hot, surprisingly tender bodyguard. This was probably what her mother sounded like, right before she followed husband number two to another country, dragging young Alya and Natasha behind her, letting it all play out in public. Alya hadn’t expected the public drama Nick tried to stir up after she broke up with him. With the intensity of the last couple days, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was getting on yet another emotional rollercoaster that would somehow end badly. That despite all her efforts to avoid her mother’s path, she still kept stumbling back onto those tracks.

  But she and Henning were just having a few days of fun, nothing more. She could worry about all these complications later, after she was done with this job. They still had tonight alone in the Icehotel, plus a little time tomorrow before they got back on the plane.

  So she straightened up and made her way to an empty chair at the table with Jean Pierre and two of the other models. She sat down and nodded to them, searching her brain for thei
r names... Audrey and Katherine.

  “Saw your interview this afternoon,” said Audrey, glancing over at the film crew, just a few tables away. “Nice job dodging the question about Nick Bancroft’s statements about you.”

  Alya rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I knew it was coming, and truthfully, I thought she’d press harder. I’m just hoping that being professional and open with the interviewer will be the best answer to anything Nick said about my instability.” She put air quotes around that last word. “But I’ll probably get another form of that question tomorrow.”

  “You didn’t respond when she asked about someone new in your life. And she suspected it was me.” Jean Pierre laughed. “Which, of course, I didn’t confirm or deny.”

  “Of course not.”

  Audrey and Katherine laughed, and Jean Pierre shrugged. “It’s what they were looking for. Why not?”

  “It could have been worse,” said Alya. Like if they had instead turned their eyes to Henning, who was doing his best to stay as far away from the camera as possible. He had left the room entirely when she sat down for the interview.

  “Change of subject. I heard from the hotel staff that Daxon Miles is coming tomorrow,” said Katherine. “He was on some endurance ski trek in Sweden, and now he’s heading here.”

  Alya wrinkled her brow. “Who’s that?”

  “The hot guy from that YouTube show, Pure Adrenaline, where he cliff-dives and scales mountains—that kind of thing.” Katherine smiled. “Hot, single, with that kind of reputation.”

  Audrey laughed. “In other words, Katherine’s staying an extra night here.”

  “Sounds entertaining,” said Alya, taking a bite of smoked fish. “You’re probably not the only one staying on.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.” Jean Pierre chuckled. “That bodyguard of yours keeping you occupied?”

  Katherine looked over her shoulder at Henning, then back at Alya. “I can see the appeal. That brooding, tortured vibe he has going on can make things interesting in bed.”

  Alya resisted the urge to look back at Henning. She resisted the urge to contradict this one-dimensional view of him, that his scars were about sex appeal, not him. But saying any of those things was as good as admitting the truth: not only were they sleeping together, but she was starting to want more. So instead, she waved off the comment, like it was just another half-serious insinuation. Like he didn’t matter to her, one way or another. And it felt like shit to do that.

  * * *

  Alya stopped in front of the doors to the Icehotel and turned around, looking at him with those beautiful blue eyes. The snow was falling in tiny, shimmering flakes all around her. She was so lovely it hurt, but Henning couldn’t look away. Her eyes glittered, and her cheeks were flushed from sex after dinner. It had happened, urgent and wordless, as they changed into thermals before putting on their snowsuits. Alya still hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since they left the restaurant, which was fine in his book, but now, as she looked up at him, he could feel that something was on her mind.

  “You sure you’re okay with sleeping in this place?”

  Oh, that. Henning’s half-smile tugged at his lips. “I’m feeling pretty relaxed right now.”

  “Me, too. But that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” He did. Looking down at her, he drank in the warmth of her expression. “I’m fine.”

  Surprisingly, he really did feel fine. The shudder of dread that had run through his body the first time the cold wind hit his face was gone. Maybe it was the sex, all that intimacy that was loosening something inside him, or maybe the sharpest edges of those memories of the explosion were finally dulling, but he felt so much better than fine...as long as he kept his mind on this moment. Not the past, and not the future.

  Alya’s gaze stayed on him for an extra beat, and then she nodded. So he reached for the reindeer antler handle and opened the door to the frozen palace in front of them.

  All the cords and equipment from the shoot were gone, and the hallway was silent. Inside, away from the gusts of wind, the only sounds were the crunches of their footsteps on the snowy floor. The tiny lights behind the sculptures shone through the blocks of ice, but otherwise, there were no other hints of civilization except this marvelous creation of ice and snow that surrounded them. There were others from the shoot staying the night in the Icehotel, but even they felt far away. He and Alya were alone.

  “You know where we’re staying, I assume,” he said. Henning had been a little distracted on that first day, when the receptionist gave her the details.

  She looked up at him. “Um, I changed our room.”

  He nodded, waiting for whatever was making her hesitate.

  “I had originally reserved a room with separate beds, so I changed it.”

  “I see.” Henning swallowed.

  She frowned. “Judging from the look on your face, I should have asked first. But I just thought...” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. “Sorry.”

  He gritted his teeth. Time to put aside his own baggage and be what Alya needed for one more night. He could give her that.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend the night next to you.”

  She blinked up at him, searching, but if she was looking for hesitation in that statement, she wouldn’t find any. He had spoken the truth, full stop, and if she wanted him close one more time, he was going to give that to her. Besides, he rarely had nightmares anymore. And with Alya next to him, her body against his, the scent of her surrounding him—these sensations had slowly carved a little opening of light into the cave where he had buried himself for years. It would be enough to get him through tonight.

  She must have found an answer because she smiled. “Good. Because I switched us to the Viking Room.”

  Henning tipped his head back and laughed. All morning in that room, he had watched as another man touched her. Even lay with her. All for the camera. But tonight, he would be the one to lie with her for real in that bed. Hell, this woman understood how his mind worked.

  “I thought you’d like that,” she said, chuckling. “I want to be here with you.”

  She grabbed his hand, glove in glove, and started down the hallway toward the Viking Room. They stopped in front of the reindeer pelt that covered the doorway.

  “Not a lot of privacy in this place,” he said, holding the fur curtain aside for her to enter. When she passed by, he leaned in to press his mouth against her neck. “You’re not very quiet, you know. That’s not at all a complaint, by the way, just an observation.”

  She laughed. “You’re not either. Between that and the layers of clothes we’ll need to keep on, I think we’re going right to sleep tonight.”

  Yeah, right. No books or TV or anything else to distract him. And just the idea of her body next to his on the Viking bed was making his cock hard. How the hell was he going to fall asleep?

  The room felt bare without the people and the equipment that had filled it earlier. The bed itself stood out in the center, its rounded hull and sea dragon bow rising up out of the snow, as if it were floating. Henning walked over to inspect the setup. The pelts had been replaced with two puffy sleeping bags, zipped together, and when he lifted them he found a mattress on top of a short platform. He breathed out a sigh. Thank fuck they weren’t sleeping directly on the ice.

  Alya followed him over to the bed and started to unzip her snowsuit.

  His eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re supposed to stuff everything except our boots at the bottom of the sleeping bag, right?”

  “But that sleeping bag is about zero degrees right now. You’re going to need some body heat to warm it up,” he grumbled. “Let me go first.”

  Henning shucked his boots and climbed onto the ice ship, slipping into the sleep
ing bag. Once he was inside, he shoved his gloves to the bottom and then unzipped his snowsuit, wriggling out of it until it was at his feet.

  “Fuck, it’s cold,” he said, shivering.

  The cold was everywhere, and for a moment, his muscles tightened, and his breath stopped. A vision of Sanjay on the floor next to him came without warning, blood gushing out of his neck, dying right in front of him. Hell, no. Henning was not going to let this happen tonight. If he just focused on Alya, warm and safe next to him, he could get through this. Just breathe in and out. The warmth of his body began to spread, and his breath came back. Focus on this moment, nothing else.

  Henning took off his extra fleece and made it into a pillow for them both. Then he rolled onto his side and looked up at her. That flash of dread apparently hadn’t shown on his face, or at least she hadn’t seen it, so he waggled his eyebrows at her. “Okay, baby. Time to climb in and strip.”

  Alya pulled off her boots and then slipped into the sleeping bag. It was a tight fit, good for keeping the warmth in but not ideal for undressing. Henning pulled down her zipper, and they moved and shifted until her snowsuit and gloves were at the bottom of the sleeping bag, too. Then, finally, they were facing each other.

  “You better hope I don’t need to use the bathroom anytime soon,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s going to be a project.”

  Henning chuckled and slipped his arms around her, pulling her close, against the warmth of his body.

  “Mmm.” She sighed, snuggling in. “Very nice.”

  It was all so good, her soft body, the sound of her satisfaction, the peace of having her all to himself like this, so, of course, his cocked stirred again.