Read Online Fall Hard by J. L. Merrow - Free Book Online
Authors: J. L. Merrow
Tags: Nightmare
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reckless.
As the gorge narrowed, the boat accelerated sharply. I stared at the Thor’s hammer tattoo on Viggo’s right hand, as if memorising Mjölnir’s intricate decoration would somehow protect me from a messy death on the canyon wall. Viggo had strong, sun-browned hands, his wrists lightly dusted with golden hairs.
Rocks three storeys high leapt towards us—then miraculously receded only a hair’s breadth from disaster. I barely recognised the troll’s face as we hurtled past, inches from its jaws. At the head of the gorge, Viggo twirled his finger and spun the boat with teeth-jangling force; then we roared off back the way we’d come. It started to rain—not a gentle English drizzle; this was harsh Arctic rain that hit with the force of hailstones, stinging my lips and cheeks like needles. I wondered if Anne McCaffrey had visited Iceland before coming up with her Dragonrider stories, with their world’s lethal rain of Thread.
“Ah, Icelandic summer—don’t you just love it?” Viggo yelled—and I laughed aloud, because suddenly, bizarrely I was having the time of my life. It was crazy—I could barely see through the rain, my face hurt, my bad leg ached and my body was bruised. Plus, a growing cold sensation in my lap was giving me grave suspicions my romper suit wasn’t as waterproof as I’d been led to believe. And I was loving it, all of it.
“This is great!” I shouted, meeting Viggo’s ear-to-ear grin with one of my own.
The ride seemed even rougher on the way back. I whooped aloud as we hit a huge bump, and Viggo laughed with me. I felt like a kid on a log flume—wet, exhilarated and just a tiny bit queasy, but still wanting to stay on all day.
We passed the trailing edge of the rain and broke into bright sunshine just as the river flattened and widened, and I realised with a jolt of disappointment we were almost back at the jetty. So soon? I wanted to beg like a little kid to go again. “You’ve got the best job in the world,” I told Viggo as we pulled up, the roar of the boat dimming to a purr and then cutting out altogether. My voice sounded way too loud in the sudden stillness.
“It’s not a bad way to make a living. You were a good passenger.” He gave me a broad smile that somehow seemed to hold more than simple friendliness.
My heart beating a little faster, I peeled my numb fingers from the hand rail, and let him help me out of the boat. My limbs were stiff and my tread slightly unsteady on solid ground—I guess it hadn’t taken long to get my river legs. Viggo held on to my frozen hand just a little longer than most men would, and warmth spread through my body at his touch. It only heightened the euphoria left by the boat ride.
“Were we just friends when I was here before?” I demanded, suddenly reckless. “Or were we something more?”
“We were good friends,” he said, as if it was an answer. “Come! Let’s get you changed.”
We crunched over the black gravel and stepped into the chilly, damp-smelling container. Viggo shooed out Loki when he tried to bounce in too, and shut the door behind us, the only light now coming from a thin fluorescent strip. Still teasingly businesslike, he helped me unstrap myself from the helmet and lifejacket and hung them on pegs around the container along with half a dozen others. As I peeled off the romper suit, I realised I’d been right about the waterproofing failure. “This really isn’t what it looks like,” I said wryly as Viggo stared at the huge damp patch around my crotch, a smile dancing on his lips. “It was the suit that sprang a leak, not me.”
Viggo raised a blond eyebrow. “It looks to me like you need to get out of those wet things.” Moving slowly, clearly giving me time to protest, he stepped closer and started to undo my jeans.
Chapter Seven
Suddenly I wasn’t cold at all, and my cock no longer cared about the damp. Although it did, very much, want to get out of these wet clothes. “Don’t you
As the gorge narrowed, the boat accelerated sharply. I stared at the Thor’s hammer tattoo on Viggo’s right hand, as if memorising Mjölnir’s intricate decoration would somehow protect me from a messy death on the canyon wall. Viggo had strong, sun-browned hands, his wrists lightly dusted with golden hairs.
Rocks three storeys high leapt towards us—then miraculously receded only a hair’s breadth from disaster. I barely recognised the troll’s face as we hurtled past, inches from its jaws. At the head of the gorge, Viggo twirled his finger and spun the boat with teeth-jangling force; then we roared off back the way we’d come. It started to rain—not a gentle English drizzle; this was harsh Arctic rain that hit with the force of hailstones, stinging my lips and cheeks like needles. I wondered if Anne McCaffrey had visited Iceland before coming up with her Dragonrider stories, with their world’s lethal rain of Thread.
“Ah, Icelandic summer—don’t you just love it?” Viggo yelled—and I laughed aloud, because suddenly, bizarrely I was having the time of my life. It was crazy—I could barely see through the rain, my face hurt, my bad leg ached and my body was bruised. Plus, a growing cold sensation in my lap was giving me grave suspicions my romper suit wasn’t as waterproof as I’d been led to believe. And I was loving it, all of it.
“This is great!” I shouted, meeting Viggo’s ear-to-ear grin with one of my own.
The ride seemed even rougher on the way back. I whooped aloud as we hit a huge bump, and Viggo laughed with me. I felt like a kid on a log flume—wet, exhilarated and just a tiny bit queasy, but still wanting to stay on all day.
We passed the trailing edge of the rain and broke into bright sunshine just as the river flattened and widened, and I realised with a jolt of disappointment we were almost back at the jetty. So soon? I wanted to beg like a little kid to go again. “You’ve got the best job in the world,” I told Viggo as we pulled up, the roar of the boat dimming to a purr and then cutting out altogether. My voice sounded way too loud in the sudden stillness.
“It’s not a bad way to make a living. You were a good passenger.” He gave me a broad smile that somehow seemed to hold more than simple friendliness.
My heart beating a little faster, I peeled my numb fingers from the hand rail, and let him help me out of the boat. My limbs were stiff and my tread slightly unsteady on solid ground—I guess it hadn’t taken long to get my river legs. Viggo held on to my frozen hand just a little longer than most men would, and warmth spread through my body at his touch. It only heightened the euphoria left by the boat ride.
“Were we just friends when I was here before?” I demanded, suddenly reckless. “Or were we something more?”
“We were good friends,” he said, as if it was an answer. “Come! Let’s get you changed.”
We crunched over the black gravel and stepped into the chilly, damp-smelling container. Viggo shooed out Loki when he tried to bounce in too, and shut the door behind us, the only light now coming from a thin fluorescent strip. Still teasingly businesslike, he helped me unstrap myself from the helmet and lifejacket and hung them on pegs around the container along with half a dozen others. As I peeled off the romper suit, I realised I’d been right about the waterproofing failure. “This really isn’t what it looks like,” I said wryly as Viggo stared at the huge damp patch around my crotch, a smile dancing on his lips. “It was the suit that sprang a leak, not me.”
Viggo raised a blond eyebrow. “It looks to me like you need to get out of those wet things.” Moving slowly, clearly giving me time to protest, he stepped closer and started to undo my jeans.
Chapter Seven
Suddenly I wasn’t cold at all, and my cock no longer cared about the damp. Although it did, very much, want to get out of these wet clothes. “Don’t you
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