CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT（Untitled）Branikk

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Branikk

Feeling my bride climax in my arms is amazing—her breathy gasps, the tight clutch of her hands on my shoulders, the way she writhes against my thigh—and not nearly enough.

Grace comes back to reality slowly, her beautiful blue eyes a little dazed as they flutter open. She offers me a soft smile. "That was great."

" That was only the beginning."

I set her gently on a mound of moss and pull everything from the saddlebag. Impatience lending speed to my movements, I spread the leather of the tent flat across the ground and pile the furs on top. The evening air is balmy, and this wisteria grove is far too lovely for us to hide inside the tent. If I cannot give her a proper bed for our first time, I will at least offer my bride a bower of copious flowers.

My cock strains against my pants as I pick her up and lay her on my furs, her lips red and swollen with my kisses, her gaze satisfied, her hair spread golden around her head like the rays of the sun.

Only her clothing keeps it from being utter perfection.

I remove her boots quickly, familiar with their human fastenings. Her feet are soft and a little ticklish when I first touch them, making her muscles tense in a little, involuntary kick. But I press my thumbs firmly into the soles until she moans, every muscle in her body melting.

Her legs fall open, bent at the knees, and I crawl up her body to hover over her. The deep vee of her pink shirt taunts me, making my tusks ache to rip the fabric from her. "Do you like this shirt?"

"Yes."

"I was hoping for a no. But I can improvise." I smirk, letting my tongue tease around my tusks. Then I dip to grip the hem of her shirt with my lips, dragging it up her stomach. My hands slide under the fabric in the back, lifting her up enough that I can pull the entire thing up over her head.

Her glorious breasts await, their plumpness straining the pink triangles of the thin-strapped garment she still wears. Hard nipples poke upward, begging for my mouth, and I fall on one, sucking on it through the fabric, wetting it with my tongue.

"Oh, god!" My moon bound's hands bury in my hair, holding me to her.

I move only enough to drag the damp fabric to the bottom of her breasts, baring her raspberry nipple to my eager mouth. "You're so sweet." I swirl my tongue around the tight bud. "I love how you taste."

I free her other breast, scoring the upper slope with my tusks in a love mark right over her heart. A feral possessiveness fills me to see my mark on her skin, and I lick and suck and work at her.

She writhes, her hands tugging at my hair, demanding more. My bride is as hungry as I am.

My fingers trace the straps until I find the clasp at the back and toss the pink bit of bother aside. Her human pants part with the pop of a button, and I draw them slowly down her long legs, kissing her soft skin as I go.

"Branikk!" she gasps when I brush the inside of one knee with my tusks.

Continuing on, I grin, vowing to return to that exact spot. Her pants finally slide free of her feet, and I look up the long, glorious length of her legs. "I've been dreaming of your legs. I'm going to enjoy having these wrapped tightly around me when my cock's buried inside of you."

"Oh!" Her eyes widen, pupils dilating.

My moon bound likes when I talk to her like this. Thank the goddess, I've been blessed with a smooth tongue.

"You are glorious." I pick up one leg and run my tusks up the side of her calf until I reach that place she likes on the back of her knee. "Spread out on my furs, ready for me. Are you wet, my Grace? Do you drip for me?"

Her mouth falls open on a moan. I take that as answer enough.

I kiss her other leg, working my way up the smooth satin of her inner thigh, letting out a groan of my own. "I can smell you, the sweet scent of your arousal. It's better than any perfume, any flower."

Another light-pink garment hugs her sex. I bury my nose in the thin strip of fabric running between her legs and breathe deep. Then I lick at the cloth, already damp with her need, wetting it even more. I find the swollen nub waiting at the top of her sex and suck harder.

"Branikk! Oh, god!"

"I think you do drip for me." I tease a finger along the side of the fabric. "Shall I check?"

She bites her lip and nods, her wide eyes taking in my every movement.

My cock jumps, demanding attention, and I grind my hips forward against the soft moss of the ground, unable to be still.

But I am the patient hunter, luring my prey. I will show my bride all the delight she can expect from my bed.

So she will never want to leave it.

My finger dips under the edge of the fabric, meeting her slick wetness. "Yes," I hiss. "So wet. So ready for me." I drag the cloth aside, unable to wait to remove it from her. I must taste her now. She's beautiful here, swollen a deep berry pink, fragrant with arousal. I lick and lick again, taking this truest taste of her into me with a groan.

Over and over, I plunge my tongue into her sweet depths, lapping at her until her hips lift to meet me each time. Tugging the fabric out of my way, I slide my other thumb through her wetness to drag it over her swollen nub.

"Oh, god! Oh, Branikk!"

Yes. I am a god, a god of pleasure made only for her.

My moon bound bride. My everything.

I thrust deep, swirling my tongue until her entire body tenses. Another brush of my thumb, and she screams, her walls fluttering around me in a wild dance of delight. I lap again and again, drinking it all down, wanting all her pleasure.