Page 9 of Guarded By the Yeti

“I understand. I can pay the full price.”

“Are you sure? I can give you a discount. It’s only fair.”

“No need.”

I look around the house, and I can tell a big family lives here. It’s crowded, with things strewn everywhere, and the female, Ishkala, looks exhausted, like she’s the only one taking care of the house while the males are out there, doing God knows what. At least her nephew seems to be repairing some kitchen appliance. I feel like she deserves to get the full price she’s paid for the piano.

“Okay, then,” she says, shrugging. “I won’t lie I need the money.”

The transaction is made, and her nephew helps me pack up the electronic keyboard, along with its furniture and the little chair. We secure everything onto my snowmobile, then we shake hands.

“Are you from Icefang?” he asks.

“Not exactly. I’m from around here, though.”

“Oh, you’re what they call a hermit.”

“I’m a bit of a hermit, yeah, you could say that.”

“And you want to spend the holidays learning how to play the piano?”

I shrug. “Beats getting bored.”

He watches me as I get into the snowmobile. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s suspicious of me. I better get out of here before he asks too many questions. I wave at him, wish him a good day, and peel off, heading north, back toward Icefang. I avoid the community this time, drive around it, and as I’m getting closer to the cabin, knowing that Ysella is waiting for me, all my worries vanish. Today was a good day. I can hardly believe my luck.

She welcomes me with open arms. When she sees the piano, she jumps up and down, clapping her hands. I don’t even have time to take the food supplies to the kitchen, because she’s clinging to me, pulling at the fur on my arms, urging me to install the musical instrument. It takes me a while, and she’s impatient, pacing and trying to help me, getting into my space, making it really hard to focus.

I don’t shoo her away. I’m glad she’s happy. She’s gathered her long, white hair in a loose bun, and she’s still wearing my humongous T-shirt, even if her dress has dried. She’s barefoot, and I make a note to throw more logs into the fire, keep it toasty for her. But first, the piano, because it seems she can’t contain herself.

When it’s done, she sits on the little stool and starts playing. Eyes closed, hands dancing over the keys, one foot on the pedal, she plays a slow, haunting song, and it seems to tear through all my barriers. The few barriers I still had, that is. I need to force myself to go back to sorting and storing the food supplies I got in Icefang, because all I want to do is sit here and watch her play.

The music follows me into the kitchen, and I hum softly as I get to work. When it’s always dark outside, time becomes relative, but I’m pretty sure we need dinner. I’ll cook ussomething nice. A feast. While she gets lost in her music, I can get lost in cooking for her.

One hour later, the food is on the table, and Ysella stops playing. She joins me and sits close to me, our arms touching. Then, under the table, she presses her leg to mine, and a shiver runs through my body. I have to fight back a groan. It’s hard to resist her. I lean in and inhale the scent of her. She’s not ovulating yet, but something tells me it’s going to happen soon. Will I be able to fight my urges then?

I must. I’m more than my “condition”, as I started calling it in therapy. Oscar doesn’t agree. He didn’t agree when I decided to become celibate, either, saying that suppressing my natural, biological needs won’t lead to anything good. I’d say I’m doing fine, given the circumstances. I have a beautiful woman sitting by my side, and instead of throwing her on her back and inserting myself between her legs, I’m pilling food onto her plate. My desire to take care of Ysella is stronger than my lust for her body.

She has a healthy appetite, and I’m glad she doesn’t seem as affected as she was yesterday. She drinks half a bottle of wine by herself, which I’m not sure about but... who am I to stop her? Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes twinkle. I can tell that she’s tipsy. When she reaches for her notebook, she struggles to write, and I don’t think it’s because the pencil needs sharpening.

“Thank you,” she writes down. “It was delicious. No more. I’m full.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, no more? No dessert?” At the last minute, I bought a pie at the market in Icefang. But we can eat it tomorrow.

She shakes her head and rubs her belly. She taps her empty glass, and I hesitate before rolling my eyes and pouring her the last of the wine. She takes the glass to the living room and collapses on the couch. She motions for me to sit beside her.

“I have to clean up,” I say.

She shakes her head at me, furrows her brows, and beckons for me again. It seems I can’t refuse her. She won’t take no for an answer.

“Fine. I guess I can do it later.”

I sit down at a respectable distance, but she abandons her wine glass on the coffee table and snuggles close to me. Her hair smells like soap, and her breath smells like wine, and I don’t mind it one bit. Her body fits perfectly in my arms, so I pull her close. Then I feel her hands starting to explore, and I tense up. She rubs her palms over my chest first, then lower, over my abs, until she reaches down and runs a hand over my thigh.

“Ysella... This is a bad idea. I told you, we can’t do this.”

She ignores me and continues rubbing my inner thigh, moving closer and closer to my engorged cock. It’s straining against my pants, and it would be ridiculous to try to hide it. My words mean nothing when my actions are telling her the opposite: I like what she’s doing to me. I want her.

“Ysella,” I try again.

---