CHAPTER THIRTEEN（Untitled）Grace

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Grace

Aurora lips leaves from the dogwood tree as I putter around the area, gathering wood for the fire. Once I have a good selection of everything from tiny twigs to decent sized logs, I use the knife Branikk gave me to prepare a clear spot of ground. By the time I'm done, I'm sweaty.

I rifle through the saddlebags, pulling out the cleaning cloth and both waterskins. They slosh emptily. "I'm going to head back to that creek we rode past and fill up."

The unicorn eyes me for a moment, her gaze assessing. Then she gives a sharp nod. "You're no foal to amble unaware of the world's dangers. Yell at the first sign of trouble."

"I will." I head off, practicing walking as quietly as possible. The creek's not far, but this is the first time I've been truly alone since Branikk and Aurora found me. It feels good that she trusted me to be on my own, since my first couple of days made it super clear I don't know much about the woods.

But I've always been a quick learner. I study the landscape as I go, marking my path mentally and not letting myself fall into the trap of "it all looks the same." Yes, there are lots of pines and ferns and moss. Yet there are differences if you pay attention.

Like the tiny cluster of mauve mushrooms dotting a moss-covered fallen log. Each stands only a couple of inches high, the almost translucent caps a light purple that shades to pink around their rims. I never expected mushrooms to be pretty, but they're lovely.

Yellow-green fiddleheads rise from the center of a clump of ferns in a batch of question marks. All it needs to complete the picture is an owl hooting, "Who? Who? Who?" from a branch overhead.

I grin. Who'd ever think I could be whimsical? But something about the quiet beauty of the forest brings it out in me. It's so different from the carnival, where everything's loud colors and bright lights and hawkers yelling for attention.

It makes it all the stranger that this natural place is where someone chose to pull off the biggest hoax of all—the reality TV show I find myself stuck in. Or maybe that's exactly why they chose this location. All this nature makes everything feel more real.

I push through a couple of pines, the soft needles tickling over my bare arms, to find the creek burbling happily in front of me.

After drinking the last of the water from the waterskins, I crouch to refill them. Branikk promises they have "magic" that keeps the water inside clean, which I take to mean they've got a fancy filter built into them somewhere.

I give one of them a good shake and pour some water across the cleaning cloth, then wash my face before dragging the cool wetness over the back of my neck. This cleaning cloth thing is amazing, working on both skin and clothes—it even removed the grease stains from my T-shirt and jeans. I don't know where I can buy them, but before I go home, I'm going to bug a producer until they give me the name so I can get some of these for myself.

A loud splash comes from somewhere downstream.

I freeze. It sounded big. Are there bears in these woods?

Another splash, followed by a deep groan. Branikk! Is he hurt?

Leaving the cloth and waterskins on a clean patch of moss, I jump up and follow the stream, which curves around a large rhododendron, heavy with dark-green leaves and clusters of large, pink flowers. Cutting inland, I work my way around the six-foot bush, sliding forward an inch at a time…

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

My hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my gasp of surprise.

Branikk stands knee deep in a small pool. Naked. He bends forward, his ass just as fine out of clothes as in… and completely green. I'd wondered about the extent of his makeup job, and now I know—they dyed his entire back.

Standing, he lifts a leather bag full of water over his head and pours.

The water splashes over the width of his shoulders and sluices down the long, black hair covering his back before slicking over the thick muscles of his glorious ass and thighs.

My mouth goes dry, my heart thundering in my chest. The fluttering in my stomach kicks up, throwing a wild party.

God, I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone.

Branikk pours two more pails of water over himself, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, a look of carnal joy on his face. He's so at ease in his body, so comfortable being naked, that self-assurance shows with every move. And why shouldn't he be? He's gorgeous.

He turns to toss the improvised bucket onto the bank, and…

Oh, god.

I bite at the fingers covering my mouth.

He's green everywhere .

His cock is massive, jutting from his body at full attention. Little bits of silver decorate the bottom of his length. He's pierced! And there's something mounted right above the top, a larger piercing unlike anything I've ever seen. Not that I've seen that many cocks, and none were pierced like this.

Thank god the rhododendron's thick, waxy leaves hide me. And if pink from my T-shirt shows through, it'll hopefully blend into the flowers. Because damned if I can get my feet to move. It's like they're nailed to the ground, my entire body locked in place. I can't look away.

Branikk's huge hand wraps around his cock and gives a firm tug. He moans again, and my cheeks heat as I realize that's the sound I heard before. Thick white fluid pours from the flared head.

God, is he coming already?

But no. He strokes again and again, making more fluid in a continuous stream.

"Fuck, Grace. Yes!" he growls. "Just like that."

Oh, god! He's thinking about me? My entire body springs to life like someone flipped a switch to put my libido into overdrive. My clit gives an insistent throb that makes me squeeze my thighs together.

Faster and faster, he fists his cock, his big thighs trembling as his hips begin to pump.

This is the fucking hottest thing I've ever seen.

"My Grace," he growls. Branikk throws back his head, the tendons on his neck standing out in stark relief as he gives one last tug. His hips snap forward, thick white fluid shooting several feet to splatter against the bank. His choked yell resounds through my ears. "My bride!"

I bite down on my fingers to keep from crying out and can finally spin away. I flee back up the creek to the place I left everything, then squat to splash cold water over my heated cheeks.

My heart pounds, my panties soaked, my entire body aching with want.

I can't get it out of my head. The way he called my name as he came.

"Shit, gal," I whisper. "You're in way over your head."

How am I ever going to resist him now?