Frosty the Snow Dom by Angela Knight #holidayromance #BDSM #darkfantasy @AngelaKnight

Steaming up the ice…

When ice artist Judith Dane is hired to create a kinky version of Michelangelo’s David, she thinks the ice sculpture is just another Christmas party centerpiece. But when she delivers the work she’s nicknamed “Frosty the Snow Dom” to the BDSM club Valhalla, the party turns out to be a lot stranger than she expects.

When Frosty comes to life just like a certain snowman, she discovers just how hot ice can be. But what happens when the spell breaks?

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Angela Knight


Judith Dane stepped forward to sink the electric chainsaw carefully into the block of ice, sending a fine spray of snow crystals flying. The Stihl E180 vibrated in her grip as she sliced downward in a long, smooth curve, following the outline of muscled male ribs cut into the ice.

The sculpture would serve as the centerpiece of the client’s party the next night. Judith wanted to finish roughing the figure in before she returned it to the walk-in freezer overnight.

She was alone in the dim, cavernous studio, with its racks of power tools, chisels, and drill bits. This close to midnight, the other carvers had gone home. Judith knew she should follow suit, but the compulsion to work on Frosty was too strong to ignore.

She had no idea why she felt so enthralled by the piece she called Frosty the Snow Dom. For one thing, she didn’t have time for an attack of artistic obsession. With Christmas just four days away, IceCellence Ice Sculptures had more work than they knew what to do with. Corporations, hotels, and the wealthy had commissioned another forty-two sculptures for holiday parties between now and New Year’s.

Though she had to admit, this was the first time she’d ever been called upon to re-create Michelangelo’s David as a leather Dom. Valhalla, New York’s newest BDSM club, was hosting a Christmas party.

The mind boggled.

Just think of all the things you could do with a candy cane. Judith grinned. She had to admit, the thought was intriguing. Which is probably a sign I’ve read too many kinky romances.

Chainsaw rumbling, Judith stepped back to study the six-foot rectangle of ice — a pair of three-hundred-pound blocks stacked on top of one another and frozen together. She’d used an electric drill to carve a shallow outline of the figure on the surface of the blocks.

Frosty was going to be her best work yet.

Hefting the chainsaw, Judith stepped in again to deepen the cut she’d just made. A hunk of ice fell, narrowly missing her foot, and she danced as it shattered on the concrete floor. As she released the Stihl’s trigger, the blade automatically stopped whining.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the sudden silence. Judith jumped, damn near dropping the chainsaw.

“No!” A woman cried in the quavering voice of the elderly. “Leave me alone!”

“I don’t think so, you old bitch,” a man snarled over a chorus of drunken male laughter. “We’re tired of you stinking up the streets.”

Something thudded. There was another pitiful cry. “Stop! Let me go! Help!”

More ugly laughter.

Oh fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck. Judith ran to her wheeled carving station, put down the Stihl, and snatched up her cell phone. Her thumb danced over the screen.

“911,” a cool male voice said. “What’s your emergency?”

“I hear a woman screaming in the alley outside IceCellence Ice Sculptures. Sounds like several men are attacking her.” She rattled off her name and the Brooklyn address.

“We’ll send an officer. Stay inside and don’t unlock your door.”

Outside, the woman screamed again.

“Hurry! It sounds like they’re killing her.” Judith hung up, shaking, as she stared at the fire door that led to the alley behind IceCellence. She hoped the cops hauled ass. Every minute they delayed gave those bastards more time to do God knows what. Would the old woman even be alive by the time they arrived?

Thud. “No! Help!” The last word quavered, a pitifully weak cry.

Judith’s eyes fell on the Stihl lying on her carving station. Nothing’s quite as intimidating as a chainsaw.

“Heeeelppp!” A gasp.

Fuck this. She dropped the cell in a pocket of her hoodie and ran to the pegboard, where a huge roll of extension cord hung. Heaving the coil off the wall, she lugged it back to her station. You couldn’t use a gas-powered chainsaw indoors, so all their equipment was electric. Unfortunately, that meant the machine had to be plugged in.

This is crazy, the voice of sanity protested in the back of her mind. Judith didn’t care. That old lady sounded too damn much like her grandmother. Damned if I’ll stand here and listen to her get the shit beaten out of her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades, Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police department.