Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
She’s tentative and unsure, but somehow perfect as she sucks me deep, using her lips and tongue to drive me higher. What she can’t fit, she strokes with one perfect hand. The other cups my heavy balls, rolling them in a way that has the entire forest listening to me growl and curse.
“Please,” I gasp. It’s the first time I’ve ever begged for anything. I’m an orc warrior. We don’t beg. We slash and hack and maim and take, never beg. But right here? Right now? With Rapunzel’s mouth wreaking havoc on me? I beg. I whimper.
She brings me right to the edge with fire in her eyes and my cock in her mouth, but she doesn’t send me over. Instead, she rises over me, triumphant and sure. I strain against the vines again, desperate to touch and take and claim. Gods, do I want to claim.
But she isn’t mine to claim now. I’m hers.
“Rapunzel!” My voice echoes around the forest, a full-throated roar of surrender as she sinks down on me, taking me deep inside.
Her perfect breasts bob in my face, her head thrown back. Her hair is a tangle of perfection around her, vines wild and grasping as she rides me, lifting and then slamming back down in a way I feel all the way to my soul.
I strain against the vines binding my hands, but they only pull tighter, holding me captive to her.
“You’re going to pay when you release me, little dryad,” I growl.
She falls forward across my chest, her lips against my ear. “Maybe that’s the plan, Brannock.”
I groan her name when I feel her tongue against the shell of my ear. I intend to tell her… something. But when she slams down on me again, rational thought spirals away. All that’s left is the way she rides me on our bed of moss with the forest alive around us. All that’s left is the hot clutch of her body around mine and the sweet rasp of her breath in my ear. All that’s left is her.
And somehow, that’s everything I need. Just her. Always her.
I know she’s going to fall before she does. I feel it in the way she trembles, hear it in the way she gasps. Her pleasure is in the air around us, shimmering and alive. So is my name, shouted into the forest as if she intends every creature within to know it and the pleasure I give her.
I roar hers, too, telling this world what mine never knew. I belong here. I’m hers.
The forest responds to our pleasure, leaves and petals raining down on us from above, the ground humming beneath us. The trees quiver and tremble around us like we do on the moss below, sated and complete. Finally free.
If there’s a better bed than moss that has very specifically decided your woman deserves a pillow, I haven’t met it.
She’s sprawled half on me, half on a fern that refuses to stop offering coverage (decency, apparently, has a union). Her hair glows green and gold at the tips. I want to touch every inch of her and never move again.
I lift my head and catch her expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like you’re a miracle?”
“Like you’re planning things,” I say, poking her in the ribs.
“I’m thinking we make a place like this,” she admits, “at the edge of Screaming Woods. Near the old trail so we can get to the river. I can sing the garden to life. You can keep the neighbors from stealing our tools.”
“Who will our neighbors be?” I ask warily. “You haven’t forgotten I’m an orc.”
She cups my cheek. “My gorgeous, sexy orc. Screaming Woods is perfect. Our neighbors will be ogres, shapeshifters, griffins, fairies, and dragons. Maybe the occasional hydra.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds… lively.”
She laughs, then sobers, violet eyes shining with love as they find mine. “Home.”
The word settles something in my chest. “Home.”
Something tugs at my peripheral vision. A sapling is budding beyond the bower, its leaves glossy and new, and a small dogwood blossom opens like a wink.
“You did that,” I murmur.
“We did,” she corrects because she likes to ruin me.
A trickle becomes a small stream at the bower’s edge. I fetch water, and she washes pollen I didn’t know I’d acquired from my jaw, tutting like the queen she is.
I press my mouth to her knuckles. “You need to sleep.”
“I’ve slept my whole life,” she says, but she’s already softening where she’s tucked against me, lashes lowering, breath slowing.
The forest adjusts, cooling the air and smudging the edges of the world.
“Tomorrow,” I murmur into her hair, “we head to Screaming Woods. We’ll build the house. Scare the neighbors. Plant too many flowers.”
“Too many,” she agrees sleepily. “And we need a big bed we can roll around in.”