Page 2 of First Snow

A shiver runs down Arttu’s spine. His hands dig into the dough, which he hadn’t realized he was kneading until now. A faint smell of cinnamon and cloves hits his nose. The man behind him leans closer still, nuzzling the side of Arttu’s face.

“I’m baking,” he snaps, irritated and, to his chagrin, aroused by the close proximity.

“Hmm, delicious,” the man murmurs. Arttu wonders if he’s referring to the yet unfinished pastries or, well… Arttu. He feels his cheeks heat up at the thought.

The whole house shifts, between one blink and another. Arttu has a swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach, and for a moment he doesn’t know which way is up. He falls on his back, landing on a large bed with a startled yelp. Someone is straddling his hips. Arttu gets a glimpse of the stranger’s sharp features before he’s flipped unceremoniously on his belly.

“What?”

Arttu’s complaints are cut short by a surprised sound of pleasure escaping his mouth. Why is he suddenly naked?

The stranger bites Arttu’s neck, followed by bruises sucked into his throat and open-mouthed kisses pressed down his spine. It feels heavenly. It’s been ages since anyone has touched him like this. Still, Arttu tries to turn around. He wants to take a look at the stranger’s face again, but the man holds him down with firm hands.

“You have no idea how lovely you look squirming under me.”

Arttu growls in protest. He’s many things. Lovely isn’t one of them.

“I love how you come undone under the slightest of touches,” the man continues in a low rumble. “I love how sensitive you are.”

Arttu presses his face into the soft pillows to hide the blush that makes his face burn. He’s achingly hard.

“Shh,” the man whispers. “You don’t have to answer me. Just let me tell you what a good boy you are.”

The stranger is still nibbling at Arttu’s neck while he caresses the curve of his ass.

“I’m not,” Arttu splutters.

“Not what, sweetheart?”

“Good.”

The man’s fingers slip between Arttu’s cheeks, rubbing tantalizing circles around his entrance.

“Liar.”

Something shifts again and Arttu finds himself lying on his side in the same large bed. He feels drowsy and content, though strangely bereft that the proceedings of the previous night were cut short. It’s morning now, sunlight flickering through half-closed curtains. The stranger is curled around Arttu’s back, holding him in a protective embrace.

“You’re awake, darling,” the man purrs. “Let me fetch you some breakfast.”

Arttu really wants to stay, but a sense of urgency washes over him. He needs to be somewhere. It’s important.

“Sorry, no breakfast. I need to be on my way,” he says, reluctantly trying to get out of bed.

His lover’s embrace tightens around him, holding him in place even as he starts to struggle.

“Oh, Arttu. You aren’t allowed to leave.”

Dread coils in Arttu’s gut…

He wakes with a start, feeling queasy; shaken by this weird dream in a way he can’t remember experiencing before. A strange mixture of arousal and fear has his body trapped in its grip.

Sofia sends him a curious look.

“How long was I asleep?” Arttu croaks to break the awkward silence.

“Half an hour, maybe?” Sofia puts her mobile aside, an excited gleam lighting up her features. “Did you dream of something?”

“No,” Arttu lies, averting his eyes. He can still feel the phantom warmth of a body enveloping him, the heat of the man’s breath against his skin. Arttu shudders. The stranger’s honeyed voice still echoes inside his head. He’s embarrassingly aroused.