Anna's hair was completely white. So was her skin, and — to beat a cliche to death — cold as ice. He felt the familiar swell of fascination as his hands automatically went for her dress. He tossed her skirts up, pulled her undergarments off, and let his fingers brush over the snow-white hair on her pubis. He curled a finger inside her, and as expected, it was icy and dry.
He spit on his fingers, and pushed them in, and repeated until her insides were slippery as they would get. He idly wondered whether he'd catch frostbite.
He was already hard, and it took only second for him to slip inside her. He grunted harshly, scrunching up his nose and exhaling as his foggy breath clouded his vision. It felt fantastic, of course, better than any yet. There was a certain legitimacy to it, he reflected, as he thrust. She fit him like a glove. A frozen, dead glove.
What's more, her body was more pliable than the others.
The best ever, he thought, as he released himself in her, his brain finally registering the painful feel of frozen ground beneath his knees. Live women make too much noise.
His elk made some kind of disgruntled nose when a heavily-blanketed, oddly shaped heft was place in the sleigh. Kristoff chuckled. "C'mon, Sven, we've got a lot of ground to cover today. Business will be tight these coming days."