by Eve Redmayne
When he kissed the cleavage bubbling over her bodice, he didn’t linger, but instead wrapped a hand around each breast.
Her nipples strained against his palms. She writhed and pushed against him, his hot length burning against her thigh. Now was not the time to play, her ache was too great. She wanted her husband to make love to her slowly and teasingly, certainly, but not now. Now she needed it quick and hard. Needed him to make her his.
His smile widened as though he sensed her needs—and ignored them. He moved passed her ribs, pressed kisses through the silk gown, and watched her thrash as he made it to her navel.
Inflamed beyond reason, she squirmed, needing release. But he withheld it from her, the bastard! She wanted to remind him what she could do to him, but at the same time wanted to see what he was going to do to her. They’d spent so much time apart; she’d only had tastes of his lovemaking.
With excruciating slowness, he rucked up her skirts in one hand. The fabric eased away from her buttocks, leaving her bottom-half naked, exposed to his dark gaze. “You’re not wearing undergarments.” His voice rumbled low, as though pained by her spontaneous decision, and his eyes burned as he looked his fill.
“Oh, you noticed?”
He laughed deep in his chest, but his eyes remained fixed.
Powerless to stop, she glanced down. The lust in his eyes, as he stared at the soft brown curls between her thighs, made her insides clench.
With one hand affixed to a shuddering breast, he plucked her nipple with enough force to elicit a frantic moan from her. With the other, he kneaded her bottom and leaned forward, tongue peeking from between his teeth in concentration. Lower… lower… Shudders crept up and down her body as she waited in dizzying anticipation.
The moment his breath tickled her inner thigh, she cried out and bucked against his face. Yes! All other thoughts fled as his tongue brushed the edge of an intimate fold and moved towards her center. Her hips arched, seeking more, and he reached both hands around her ass, better angling her to receive him.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said as he kissed the sensitive bud then pushed deeper, laving her with his tongue.
When he looked up, a quizzical brow raised, she laughed. “I didn’t know if people in Orygin knew how to do this, and I worried about the shock you’d feel when I asked you to try.”
“Oh, we know,” his muffled voice responded, pressed against her as he nibbled inflamed flesh. “Gods, you taste good!” He growled, lifted her higher to flick her with his tongue, then pulled long and slow against her eager clitoris.
The sudden crest of an orgasm caught her by surprise. She cried out, her internal muscles clenching, rippling, shocked by the ferocity. “Oh!” she gasped between pleasurable spasms and peeked down to see the roguish smile on his face, his head still between her thighs as he savored her reaction. This man, on his knees, pleasuring her, was more than she could stand. Her head fell back, and she gloried in the cascading waves of orgasm.
***
Braum bowed his head and breathed in her scent. Her sweet musk nearly caused him to lose his seed like an untried teen. She loved his tongue on her, and the gods knew he loved it as well, but fuck, he was coming undone.
He drew down her softness with his tongue and back up again until he found the fevered bud once more. Silky folds spread with impatient fingers, he tongued her hard, her eager clit between his lips, working her with his mouth. Every eager sound she made sent him closer to the edge. A wild creature, all magic and fae, she took everything he gave.
As he pulled harder, he craved her cries. And finally, when she shivered once more under his tongue, he placed a final, fierce kiss upon her trembling clit and pulled away to drag her upward. “Now. Mine!” he growled. Astride his thighs, her eyes widened, unsure of his next move.
He ripped her gown over her head to expose her fully to him. “I never want you to wear undergarments.” His words came out dark, and his eyes turned molten as he took in the bounty of her body.
More than he deserved.
With an almost violent motion, he grabbed his cock harshly and pumped his fist up. He had a sudden urge to feel all of her and jerked her so close, their bodies clung flush against each other.
When he kissed her, his lips demanded she yield everything. But instead, their tongues dueled as she fought, never surrendering, stoking the fire within. Her body arched into his, hands grasping as she scored his back with sharp nails, gray eyes a-glitter—relishing the battle.
Without warning, he released her to spin her around. Her back to him, his eyes lingered over every curve, from her narrow waist to the wide hips, and generous ass. Unable to resist, he filled both hands with her soft bottom and leaned against her, his straining cock nudging apart her soft flesh. She shivered at his touch, and he groaned low.
“Braum,” she begged, back arched, finally submitting for his pleasure.
With one thrust, he plunged into her. Deep. Full. Her body contracted around him, and she let out a surprised cry at the welcome intrusion. He relished each of her fevered cries with every forward thrust and every breathy gasp as he slowly slid out.
He drove deeper, his shaft running along the sensitive flesh, sensing exactly what she needed. Harder. It was a reunion of bodies and yet everything about this coupling was new. He’d never taken her from behind, and the view of his cock as it slid between her buttocks, only to emerge slick with her desire, maddened his senses. Her soft flesh jiggled as he slammed hard. The sound of his bollocks, rhythmically smacking against her, pushed him to drum faster. Yes, she was too good for him, but gods, he’d never let her go.
Still pistoning, he leaned forward and clasped both her breasts in his hands. Her nipples—already stiff from his earlier attentions—pulsed as he pinched. In response, her body shuddered in anticipation. Unable to deny her anything, he released one quaking breast and reached down to press against love-damped curls. As he rammed into her from behind, he fingered her clit with firm strokes until she was forced to abandon all control.
Gods, she was sweet. He gritted his teeth, wanting to come, but wanting her to come one more time, before him. Instincts blocked, he denied himself relief to press hard against her enthusiastic bud. And he grinned as she obeyed his silent command.
“Braum!” She cried and climaxed so powerfully, she collapsed within his arms.
Still pounding, he supported her entire weight while plying her pleasure-soaked folds, not yet ready to culminate, himself. She convulsed around his cock and yelled her pleasure. Her body urging him onward, finally, he let himself fall.
Encased within her soft flesh, he pressed firmly against her ass as his orgasm overtook him. Waves of pleasure encompassed his entire body as his seed pumped violently. She was his. Would always be his. Unable to move, he pulsed against her, shivering from pleasure, and groaning against her neck, not caring he sounded savage.
After a long moment, he realized there was no way he could leave her body’s soft sheath. She’d just have to get used to him there because it felt so blasted good. Everything felt right—their bodies united.
“Do you know how much I love you?” he breathed against her ear, finger still pressed against her. She didn’t reply, just moaned, and arched her hips a bit. Not willing to deny himself anything, he lifted the finger to his mouth and licked, tasting her essence. “I’ll never let you go, though I’m unworthy.” When he finally slid free, they tumbled to the ground, together.
He leaned up and looked at her, sex tumbled and rosy-cheeked “I swear to be yours, always. To protect you, and love you, and provide your every day with happiness.” The vows came unpracticed and raw, from his heart. She hadn’t known they were exchanging vows the first time, so now he wanted her to understand everything he’d do for her. What she could expect from him as her husband.
“I’ll provide for you, never leave you wanting, and fill your belly with babes made from our love.” He thrust against her, and she smiled, reaching back to smack him lightly, t
he grin never leaving her face. “I will be your husband,” he finished and brushed his lips to her neck.
CHAPTER 43
An afternoon spent in their private glen, full of loving embraces and naked frolicking, raced by all too quickly. They ate sweet fruit, laughed, cried, and reacquainted themselves. And all the while, Braum couldn’t stop staring in wonder at the woman he loved.
He traced over the pink scar that bisected her face. Placed tiny kisses from her forehead to chin, all while begging forgiveness. And when she reciprocated, his eyelids lowered as she gently kissed the cruel slashes on his legs and apologized for almost killing him. They both agreed to be better.
When he promised they wouldn’t live in the keep, Jessica careened into his arms. Then when he mentioned his hunting lodge lay in the border-lands between Grayweather and Moonstone, she let out a yip of happiness. They’d practically be Willow’s neighbors. Warmth filled his heart at the realization he’d provide well for this woman.
As the sun began to set, they readied to leave. Jessica frowned at the muddy path. “I probably should’ve rethought the whole, downpour thing, considering how far we have to walk. My dress is going to be ruined.” He laced her into her gown, and she brought the rain to a halt.
“And here I thought my wife an all-powerful fae goddess,” he teased, nipping her neck as he secured the final lace. “I think you’ll figure something out.”
She stuck her tongue out but retreated when he snapped his teeth back at her. “You’re right—I can make my strong, prince of dwarves’ husband carry me the entire way back. Or buy me a dozen new gowns.” She sashayed away, hands swaying as she retracted the magic.
Plums dissolved into blossoms and colorful grasses shriveled back to thin blades.
When his eyes stopped bulging from the things Jessica wrought, Braum pretended to wring his hands. “Alas, fair wife, the only way I can do that is if we live in the keep. No keep, no gold.” He shrugged as though distraught.
“You’re a wicked man!” she scolded. “I guess I’ll make do with a muddy gown and happy life, then.” At once, she snapped her fingers, and everything jumped to rights. “Shall we go?”
Hand in hand, they strode back, enjoying dusk’s glow. Every step through the brush brought a shower of raindrops, and yet Jessica chattered excitedly. It took a couple minutes before Braum realized no birds chirped around them. He’d been too busy feeling all was right with the world to notice something was wrong.
Now anxious to get to the fort, he quickened his step and looked for any sign of movement. How had he let down his guard? When they came to the steepest point on the trail, he cautiously glanced about and held his hand out for Jessica, careful of the thick mud.
A war cry echoed over the hills, and his head shot up. Braum jerked Jessica behind him as a force of elves hurtled from the trees to surround them, all with spikes and shields at the ready. He focused a furious eye on the leader, and growled, recognizing the tall figure. “Elf, don’t come any closer to my wife!”
“What’re you going to do about it if I do, cripple?” Wycliffe jeered and tossed off his cloak.
Jessica peeked from behind Braum’s back to stare at Wycliffe, his face contorted into a maddened smirk. As their eyes met, he puckered his lips in a mock kiss, but before she could react, Braum moved to shield her, again.
“I’ll kill you,” Braum spoke quietly, the threat unmistakable.
The elven soldiers inched closer. Wycliffe lifted an elegant hand, ruby ring glinting in the sunset. “Stand down, men. You saw how I thrashed him back at Britarre. And if I can’t defeat a cripple, you deserve another prince.” He tossed away his spike and motioned to Braum with both hands. “It’s time we finished this the old way. My pride demands it.”
“Your pride, not your honor?” Braum flexed his fists.
“Piss on honor.” Wycliffe turned to his men. “Don’t intercede. This long-suffering victory is mine. I’m going to finish him.”
Only able to spare Jessica a moment’s attention, Braum ensured she was safely behind a tree. Then, he dropped his own weapons and stalked forward.
With rage fueling him, Braum charged, catching Wycliffe unprepared. Before the elf could put up a resistance, Braum caught him about his waist and dragged him to the ground. But his lame foot lost its grip and together they slid down the mud-slick hillside. Skidding to a stop, Braum leapt up and pounded Wycliffe with everything in him, enjoying the satisfying THUNKS as his fists slammed against Wycliffe’s face.
“You actually dared challenge me?” Braum roared as blood arced from Wycliffe’s nose. Every muscle in his body flexed to the breaking point as he spared nothing, his fury aimed at the elf’s face. “And insult my wife in my presence?”
Brutal punches met their mark. His neck bulged, and chest heaved as he sucked in the oxygen that drove the attack. Braum’s bicep ripped through his shirtsleeve and his knuckles gleamed red, whether, from his own or Wycliffe’s blood, he didn’t know, nor cared.
“I can take you. Don’t need help.” Wycliffe managed between blows.
It rankled Braum how arrogant Wycliffe was, especially after how he’d treated Jessica. This was the last time the elf meddled in his life. It was bloody-well time he took care of him and for the last time.
Braum brutalized the elf until Wycliffe collapsed, gasping for air, never getting even one hit in. Solving their dispute, the old way, suited Braum fine. If he wanted to, he could now declare Wycliffe’s claim on Britarre as his own but beating the prick to an ugly pulp was reward enough. After a vicious kick to the gut, Braum knelt, his knees sinking into the mud, and wrapped his fingers around Wycliffe’s throat.
The elf slapped at Braum and tried to free himself by twisting away, but Braum pressed harder. Finally, Wycliffe stopped fighting. Tongue out, and eyes bulging—bright red from broken blood vessels—he drew still.
A small sound came from Jessica’s direction and pulled Braum back from the brink. When he looked up, the band of elven soldiers stared, horror on their faces, as their prince died before their eyes.
The wrath in his brain diminished from a pulsing boom to a low thrum. No, he wouldn’t kill Wycliffe. Wouldn’t sink to the elf’s level, though he dearly longed to. Because it was wrong, and Jessica wouldn’t like it, and that was enough for him. He didn’t need revenge as much as he needed his wife’s respect.
Braum stood, letting Wycliffe sink into the mud. Chest heaving, he looked at his wife, waiting for her reaction. Every muscle in his body ticked, engorged with blood. Mud clung to his pants. His hair hung dark with damp from the fight in the wet foliage. And blood dripped systematically from his knuckles as he sucked in air.
Her fingers pressed against her lips as though she held in a scream, then her eyes softened, and she nodded. She knew he could’ve killed the bastard with his bare hands and hadn’t, for her.
Not quite finished, Braum took a cleansing breath. He limped around the prostrate man, raised his foot, and kicked hard with booted heel—one more time for good measure.
Wycliffe bounded downhill, crashing over saplings and oozing blood, before skidding to a stop. Covered in mud from head to toe, he struggled to sit up then collapsed.
“Now you know not to pick fights with a cripple,” Braum said as he made his way back to Jessica.
Hand in hand, Braum helped her down the hill and walked a wide circle around Wycliffe, his eyes never leaving the elf. Unable to resist, he released Jessica and stepped close to grab Wycliffe by the collar of his mud-soaked shirt. Yanking him close, he snarled, “I wouldn’t hesitate to rip your throat from your neck, but I’m not going to do that. But just so we’re clear, I will wreak such pain and death upon you that your kind will weep for a thousand years if you so much as come within a league of my wife, understand?”
None too gently, he shook Wycliffe until the man managed a weak, “Yes,” blood dripping from his mouth. “Now let the fuck go of me.”
Braum had to laugh at that. Cocky son of a bit
ch didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. If he didn’t hate him so much, he might like him, a bit.
“Why’re you here, anyway?” Braum asked.
Wycliffe wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “We came after you the night you escaped the dungeon and have lain in waiting since. My dear old papa sent me with the army to man up as punishment for my actions against you and Jessica.” A bitter laugh bubbled out, and he leaned forward on a groan, clutching his side. “Not sure if this was what he meant or not.”
“Get him out of here,” Braum said to the soldiers and wrapped Jessica in his arms. They watched the elves drag Wycliffe away, too unsteady to walk on his own feet.
“Thank you.” Jessica nestled into his side. “I know you probably want him dead but chose to let him live for me and your people, to keep us free from war.”
He found that funny but hid his amusement with a stern frown. His people had nothing to do with the decision. It had all been for her. The dwarven people would gladly go to war for a much lesser slight and might think less of him for letting the elf go, but that was a repercussion he’d deal with later. “Anything for you,” he said and meant it.
CHAPTER 44
Jessica’s horse lumbered along, flanked by Braum’s and Willow’s mounts, as they overlooked the valley bordering Grayweather and Moonstone. A week had passed since their reunion, and she still couldn’t believe all that had happened. She tilted her face toward the sun, grateful warm weather was returning and considered the recent events.
Orrin had disappeared from the outpost without a trace. This worried her as it wasn’t like him to brood. Goodness only knew what’d happened to Wycliffe. And yesterday, Chappy had shown up on the road and—much to her horse’s dismay—plodded along by Willow’s side.
But the witch was a trooper. She’d traveled with Jessica, Braum, and Klieg to Grayweather Keep, endured a frosty reception by Braum’s parents, and somehow managed not to snarl at anyone the entire time.