Page 11 of Frost
She wraps her arms around herself, so I give in and slide the coat off my back and wrap it around her shoulders. She immediately snuggles into it. Seeing her in my clothes, savoring my warmth, causes something primal to roar to life inside of me. I want to protect this fragile little creature, claim her, keep her.
“Peppermint,” she mumbles as she burrows her face into the fur lining.
My cock twitches in my pants, knowing she’s thinking about how I tasted. I want to pump her full of my cum, fill all her tight little holes until it’s oozing from every one of her orifices.
“Can you help me get back to Oslo?” she asks with hope.
The thought of her leaving these woods, leaving me, has the monster within clamoring to be unleashed. I could so easily throw her over my shoulder and force her back to my home, tie her down, and breed her. But we will do this the nice way.
“Please?” Her sweet pleas pull me from my fantasies.
“I’m sorry, little Angel.” I lean forward to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t have a snowmobile.”
She tilts her head to look at me inquisitively before looking around at the forest. “You live here all the time then?” she finally asks.
“I do.” I nod my head.
“It must be very peaceful. It’s very pretty here,” she remarks, and I feel a glimmer of hope unfurl in my chest. Maybe she’d like to stay.
“Where you’re from isn’t like this?” I find myself desperate to know more about her, to get under her skin and into her mind.
“Not at all.” Her voice is breathy as she takes in the snow-speckled evergreens. “I wish I had my camera.”
She’s talking to me, yet she’s not. Her mind has gone somewhere else and I’m desperate to see the world as she sees it in this moment.
“And yet you want to leave?” I ask.
The question seems to pull her from her thoughts.
“I should probably get back,” she states with a look around.
I hate to let her leave but she’s not dressed for the cold, and it’s not like I can bring her to my house, can I? The thought of her sugar and cinnamon scent filling the empty spaces of my cabin fills me with a rush of excitement. She’d look perfect in my kitchen, wearing an apron and nothing else. I could spread her out on the table and… Nope, can’t let my mind wander there or it’ll be impossible to ignore my throbbing cock. I watch as she begins to walk back towards the way she came.
“Don’t you want you catching a cold out here,litill snær.”
“Yes,Daddy,” she calls over her shoulder.
I’m sure she’s just being smart but the way she says Daddy has the monster in me damn near shattering my human disguise. The urge to throw her to the ground and spank her, show her what happens when you sass Daddy, is almost too strong to ignore. That round ass would look delicious, all ripe and red for me. I bet she’d take both my monster cocks like a good girl.
We trudge back through the woods in a comfortable silence. Her wide blue eyes take in everything around us. Wisps of her pale hair dance in the slight breeze. She’s a stunning creature. But it’s her curiosity that truly captivates me. She asks the names of various things as we walk, repeating the Norse words with interest. As we walk closer to the cabin, a familiar noise pricks at my ears. I let out a long sigh, knowing our peaceful time is about to come to an end.
The snowmobile appears as we leave the cover of the trees and enter the open clearing. A single rider sits on the seat. He sees us and rides straight for us.
“That’s Hans,” she tells me. She doesn’t sound pleased. “Part of the foreign exchange family I’m staying with. The rest are coming later this week.”
A convenient story to get her alone and trusting. Too bad for him, my girl’s not dumb. I see the way her body language shifts as he gets closer. She doesn’t trust him. Smart girl.
“Elisa!” he calls as he comes to a stop in front of us and vaults from his vehicle. “What the hell are you doing? Who the fuck is this?”
His tone is aggressive. I clench my jaw in frustration. I can’t lose control—not yet. Not with her right here.
“I went for a walk. My friend—”
She looks to me, waiting for my name. A devious idea crosses my mind.
“You can keep calling me Daddy, sweetheart,” I tell her as my fingers reach out and cup her face. I stroke my thumb across her plump lower lip, her mouth flung open in surprise at my forwardness.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are, dude,” Hans declares, taking a step forward.