That was fun.
I set my very attractive burden down on the small deck in front of the sauna, just high enough to get our feet out of the snow. I join her on it with some alacrity. We brought a nice head of steam with us from the hot pool, but it vanished right about the time the last of the snow in my hand ran down her inner thighs.
I tug on the simple leather cord that unlatches the door and herd us both into the heat that billows out. The owner has a lovely arrangement with a neighbor knowledgeable in the ways of temperamental saunas, and she fired it up for us some hours ago. She added some lovely romantic touches as well. There are candles swimming in small bowls of water, ringing a sauna that in Finland would be a cozy fit for a dozen or so. North Americans like a little more space when they’ve unveiled themselves.
Daley picks up a copper dipper and drizzles water over the hot stones, which hiss and fill the air with steam. She dips into the water again, turning the dry heat into something far more humid. I inhale deeply. The cedar wood used here has a different smell than the spruce of Finland, something uniquely of this place and building on what the earthy smells of the cave began.
I look at her, admiring the way the candlelight plays on her skin. She tips her head back, eyes closed, inhaling deeply. I move in closer. We’ve cooled off enough to have some time in here before we need to visit the snow again, and I’ve got plans. I herd her closer to the hot stones, setting them to hissing with another dipper of water. Then I lift her hands to a very convenient overhead log rail, one I scouted earlier that generated some suspicions as to what the owners of this cabin might do in their free time. Given that they know Rafe, it’s not an altogether wild guess. The positioning is perfect, bending Daley just slightly over the protective railing that surrounds the stones without inconveniencing her shoulders.
Almost as if it were made for just this purpose.
I smile, watching Daley’s face as she works out where she’s landed. She eyes me, interested, but wary.
I hold up one of the tools I tucked away under a bench earlier. “It’s traditional to use a bundle of sticks to warm up the skin and get the blood circulating. I thought we might try this instead.”
Her lips quirk. “Cedar boughs work quite nicely.”
I laugh and settle the strands of the flogger on her shoulder. This is a tiny one, better made for petting than pain. “I’ve not got such good technique with tree branches.” I slide the strands down her back, and then flick them against the curve of her ass as they tumble. “Whereas this puts a buffet of options in my hand.”
She’s quite still. Assessing.
Fair enough. I repeat the motion, sliding the strands down her back and letting them thwap gently against the back of her thighs. Her belly and her breasts, nicely lit by the candles around the stones, are already covered in a lovely sheen. I dipper more water on the fire.
She inhales deeply.
I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “What color is your traffic light, love?”
She arches a little over the fire. “Green.”
Green and clearly a little surprised by that. I smile. Floggers come laden with baggage, but they’ve some lovely enticements to offer too. I land mine a little more freely, lightly falling strands of sensation, working over her shoulders, down her back, over her ass and thighs. Her hair, put up on the back of her head after our swim, is out of my way. I’ll let it down later.
She makes a sound, one of hesitant desire, as I increase the weight a little, traveling in a figure eight over her ass cheeks. She rocks against the railing at her hips, her body more certain than her mind.
I trail the strands between her thighs, leather butterfly kisses.
The next sound out of her coalesces into something far less conflicted. More sure. More needy.
I smile. We’re on our way.
I’ve hunted her lioness, tempted her. Now I want to hear her roar.