by Jenika Snow
Bronson stood, took her hand, and led her out of the dining hall without saying a thing to anyone. No one stopped them. Then again, who in their right mind would stop a man like Bronson Lyon?
Chapter Four
Bronson led her out of the dining hall, through the corridors of the manor, and straight into his chambers. He had called for one of the servants to bring the priest, and when they arrived at his chamber the priest was already waiting to bless their marriage bed. He waited until the priest was finished, and once they were alone in the corridor, he picked up his wee wife and carried her over the threshold. When he had taken back Landonston for his own the manor had been run by a bastard of a man. St. Gerrard had ignored the pleas of the villagers and didn’t care that his people had no food or water, were dying of disease, or that the land was going to shite. The arsehole wanted nothing more than to enjoy the women he forced himself upon, gorge himself on food he stole from others, and grow big and fat before dying at the end of Bronson’s blade. For years Bronson had been fighting for the right to reclaim what was rightfully his, had killed many men to make that a possibility. But now he was claiming something very different, and something that he wanted almost nearly as badly as he had wanted his territory back. That said something monumental about this woman he now carried into his chambers. This passion that burned inside of him was bright and angry and alive, and he had never felt anything like it before.
The customs of his people were to finish celebrating with everyone. Although there were some that consummated their marriages in front of an audience, Bronson was not the type of man that liked anyone seeing his woman, or what he planned on doing with her. Oh, he planned on making this official, and planned on taking Genevieve deep and hard until she knew exactly who she belonged to.
He set her down gently on the ground and took several steps back to stare at her. She was gorgeous and innocent, and so very shy that his cock jerked forward. He had been trying to rein in his desires for her since he had chosen her, but now there was no need to do that. There she stood, wearing his tartan around her curvy body like she was born for it. Her hair had been left down as he specifically requested, and the thick waves in the locks moved over her shoulders and across her breasts. He wanted to see her naked with only her hair covering her peach colored skin, and wanted to have to lift the thick strands away to see the treasures that lay hidden.
“Are ye frightened, lass?” he said as he stared into her face that was partially hidden by her hair. He heard her swallow and saw the slender line of her throat work up and down as she did so. Of course he knew she was, but he wanted her to feel comfortable with being honest with him.
“Aye, Lord Bronson.”
He moved toward her until there was only a foot that separated them. “Lass, I am not yer lord but yer husband, and ye will address me as such.” He lifted her head with his finger under her chin, and once again he was struck by the intensity of her green eyes. “Say it tae me.”
She didn’t respond right away, but finally licked those red, succulent lips of hers, ones that he wasn’t afraid to imagine wrapped around his cock, and answered him. “Aye, husband, ye make me verra frightened.”
She was his Scottish lass, his wife, and the one woman who would never have to be afraid of him. She would also hold his heart, of that he was certain. “I would never harm ye, Genevieve.” He reached out and pushed a piece of her hair away. Moving closer to her, he smoothed his hands along the bare flesh of her shoulders, continued down her arms, and then stopped at her waist. “I can only assume ye are verra nervous about what will happen tonight, aye?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything in response.
“Ye are the only person that will never have tae be afraid of me.”
She nodded again. “Aye, husband.”
“Say my name, lass.”
She stared at him, right in the eyes, and he felt his cock grow even harder. “Aye, Bronson.”
Hearing her say his name turned him on more than he had ever been aroused before. “Ye kno’ what will happen tonight?” he said as he slid his gaze over her collarbones and down to where the slight swells of her breasts rose above her neckline. Her breasts were bountiful, and his fingers itched to feel them bare against his skin.
“I kno’, Bronson.”
“And ye are scared, lass?” he said, low, softly, but kept his gaze on her chest. She had these little laces that tied between her breast, and he found himself reaching out and taking hold of the ends and pulling at them until they came undone. She was breathing heavily, and he saw that she nodded in response to his question. “No need tae be afraid, darlin’.” He leaned in, just an inch so their mouths were only a hairsbreadth apart, and breathed in her scent. She smelled of flowers and citrus, a combination that had his heart pounding, and this sweat starting to bead his brow. “I want ye fiercely, lass.” He lifted her gaze to her face and saw her watching him.
“I want ye, too.”
And then he leaned forward and claimed her mouth in the only way he knew how to: brutally hard, and with a desire that rivaled all others. He moved his tongue along the seam of her lips, and the flavor of her was addictive.
He wanted the dress gone, wanted to see what was his, and what he would devour and worship. When she started kissing him back he didn’t stop the groan that left him, but he broke the suction of their lips and trailed his mouth along her jaw-line to her ear. “I am so hard for ye, lass.”
She made this soft noise, one that sounded like need and desperation, and everything that turned him on. He slipped his hand behind her nape, curled his finger into her soft, warm flesh, and started kissing her pulse that beat rapidly beneath her ear. He pulled her closer so he felt her breasts press to his chest. A low growl left him, one he couldn’t stop.
“I’ll be gentle with ye, Genevieve.” He kissed her neck, nipped her lightly, and breathed her in heavily. “I’ll make ye feel so fooking good.”
“Bronson.” She moaned out his name, and he felt her grip his biceps.
“Ye’re so wee compared tae me, darlin’.”
She made another small noise and dug her nails into his flesh. But that sting of pain mixed with his desire. He breathed harder, felt his cock stiffen even further, and knew that he had to claim her now. There was no more time for him to woo her, even if he had been that type of man. He had been trying to go slow, easy, and make her see that he wasn’t the brute he really was. Normally he took what he wanted from a willing female, threw them down and rutted like the animal he really was.
“Oh, lass, what ye do tae me.” He growled as he dragged his hand up her belly and over her rib cage to cup one of her breasts. He did the same with her other breast and tweaked both of her hard nipples between his fingers. When she moaned from his touch he thrust his pelvis forward, ground his cock into her soft, full belly, and growled out again.
“Bronson, ye’re making me feel so, so—”
“I kno’, lass.” He continued to suck on her neck, dragged his tongue up the slender column of her throat, and thrust back and forth into her softness. In the next second he pushed the rest of her gown down, and then forced himself to take a step back. Her body was meant to take a man inside, to take him inside. She was built to withstand the type of passion from the kind of breed that he was. He would try to be soft, but deep down he was rough, hard, and didn’t know the first thing about being a gentleman. He looked down at her body, at the curves that made her all woman, and stopped at her breasts. He might have already looked at them, felt them, and seen how they had hardened under his ministrations, but he would never get tired of gazing upon them. They were big, round, and her nipples were this dusky red color that reminded him of the sky when the sun set. He lowered his gaze over her nicely rounded belly, one that wasn’t concave like many of the women he had been with. He went lower still, and stopped at the trimmed, darker red hair that covered her pussy. Her thighs were thick, made to be wrapped around his waist as he pounded his cock in and o
ut of her. She was so nervous, and he could tell as much by the way she was breathing and the light sheen of sweat that covered her body.
“Ye look at me as if ye wish tae devour me.”
He saw her throat work as she swallowed, and he stepped closer. “That is because I do want tae devour ye, lass.” He wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck, pulled her forward, and lowered his head to lick the curve of her throat from collarbone to ear. He couldn’t get enough of her succulent flesh.
She gasped and brought her hands up to cover his. “Please, Bronosn, I need more.”
“I’ll give ye more than ye can possibly handle, love.” He breathed in deeply and continued to take both of her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and tweak them. She gasped and then moaned, and then when he couldn’t handle it anymore, he dipped low and sucked a taut peak in his mouth. Her flesh was sweet, smooth, and he felt the crown of his shaft grow moist as his seed dotted the tip. He let go of her nipple with an audible pop and scooped her up in his arms. He quickly carried her the rest of the way to his bed. The manor was one of wealth, though not by Bronson’s doing. Although he cared not for the elaborate things in life, he was glad he was able to take his bride for the first time in luxury. He laid her upon the green damask canvas bed, that not only had layers of straw and wool, but also had a plush featherbed atop that. He took a step back and gazed upon Genevieve. She was gorgeous atop it, with her long flowing red hair fanned out over her shoulders, her shyness an aphrodisiac as she tried to shield herself with her arms across her breasts, and her legs slightly crossed. The wenches Bronson bedded were not shy in showing him their bodies, and in fact were vulgar at times, but as a man he enjoyed their brashness and willingness to give him exactly what he wanted. The ornamented canopy had richly embroidered hangings, and the bed had only the finest linen sheets. In the room this piece of furniture was the most elaborate, and he was pleased his bride would lose her innocence to him in such richness and not in a barn like he had.
As was customary for his clan during the wedding celebration, he wore only his kilt and boots. A display of his power, of the physical strength he had, and that he could protect his bride, was of the utmost priority. But Clan Lyon was far more ruthless than many others in the surrounding territories, and they lived by their own set of rules. He first removed his sporran, and set the leather and fur pouch on the small stool beside the bed. He was pleased his wife wasn’t shying away as he undressed, but he did notice her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Next was his kilt pin, a replica of his father’s sword, and the one that now hung over the great room’s fireplace in honor of his fallen da. He removed his kilt hose, and flashes, and took out his sgian dubh. He set the hidden knife on the table by the bed. And then when his boots were off he stood before her nude and unashamed of the scars that littered his body. In fact, he was proud of them, because each one represented a wound he had earned on the battlefield.
His dick was so hard it ached, and his bollocks were drawn up tight to his body. “Little lass, are ye ready tae take ye husband into yer body?” He spoke on a low, rough growl, because right now all he wanted to do was attack her like a fucking animal.
She swallowed and slowly lowered her arms so her breasts were visible to him once more. She was breathing heavily, and her breasts were jiggling slightly because of it. And then she slowly parted her thighs, and the sight of her lips spreading, showing him her pink, wet flesh, had him feeling like he would snap and mount her right now without even attempting to go slowly. Bronson reached down and took hold of his dick in his hand, and started stroking himself from root to tip. His cockhead was wet from the constant seed that kept coming from the tip, and he knew he was nigh to bursting just from the sight of her.
“What say ye, lovely? Are ye ready for my cock?” He stared into her bright green eyes and continued to stroke his cock. And then she lowered her gaze and watched as he pleasured himself.
“Aye, husband.” She lifted her gaze to his face. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Five
Genevieve looked down at the long, thick length that was standing hard between Bronson’s muscular thighs. It was like another arm given how big it was, and although she was exaggerating, he was still a massive man. She might be inexperienced when it came to sex, but she also wasn’t naive. She had seen plenty of people that having sex in stables, behind taverns, and even, when they were drunk, doing it right in plain sight. But Bronson was the biggest she had ever seen. He definitely had warrior blood running through him. His body was made up of hard muscles that were defined in all their raw glory. She lifted her gaze from him stroking himself in slow, almost lazy motions. Genevieve didn’t want to stare too long at the fact clear fluid lined the tip of his cock from his excitement. The crisscrossed scars on his rippling abdomen showed a history of violence. She wasn’t afraid of him, though, and instead saw those marks as his strength and determination. She was more than ready to have him move closer, feel his big body right on top of hers, and have him thrust deeply into her.
He took a step closer, and another step, until he was at the edge of the bed and staring between her splayed thighs. “Ye’re so pink and wet for me, darlin’.” He stroked himself a little faster, and she watched his bicep contract and relax from the rapid motion. He placed a knee on the bed and put his hands beside her hips. “Lass, I want tae be gentle, but I have tae admit that I donna think I can. I want ye tae badly.”
She stated breathing heavily, felt herself grow wetter between her thighs, and nodded. “I want ye tae take me, Bronson.” Gods, she should feel embarrassed at being on display like this, but the way he watched her only made her feel this desire that had her mind feeling dazed and hazy. She thought he would have thrust right into her, but instead he moved down the bed, placed his hands on her inner thighs, and pushed her thighs open until her muscles screamed in protest.
“I’m going tae taste ye, lass, and lick yer sweet little pussy until you scream out my name.” And then he had his mouth right on her, lapping, sucking, and making her feel uncomfortable and so good all in the same breath. She would have never thought a man kissing her … down there could feel so pleasurable. Bronson took his fingers and spread her labia apart, and then she felt him flatten his tongue and run it from the opening of her body all the way up to her little nub that felt as though her heart was beating rapidly in it. When he reached it he sucked on that little bundle until a cry did leave her and she fisted her hands in the linen bed coverings.
“That’s it, Genevieve. Scream so loud my ears ring,” he murmured against her and went back to torturing her in a way that had sweat beading her brow even more, had her heart feeling like it would burst from her chest, and had this intensity moving through her. Something big was going to happen inside of her. She could feel it, could feel the tightening in her lower back, and knew that whatever this was would change everything inside of her. “Come for me, lass. Make my face wet from yer pleasure.”
And then it was like something broke inside of her. The pleasure coursed through her, and she was vaguely aware of this loud sound filling the room. She soon realized that the noise was coming from her. She felt this euphoric sensation move through her and didn’t care if she was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Bronson kept making these deep, almost animalistic sounds against her flesh, and she felt even more wetness leave her.
“That’s it, lovely, let go and give yerself tae me.”
When the pleasure receded she relaxed against the bed, breathing out heavily and trying to get her bearings. Bronson moved away from between her legs, and she forced her eyes open so she could look at him. He had his hands braced on the bed beside her upper body, and his position made him look so very fierce. The thing that had her enthralled was the fact his mouth was glossy from the wetness that he had urged out of her when he had licked at her pussy.
“Come here, darlin’.”
She pushed herself up, and then he claimed her mouth, forcing her to taste herse
lf on him as he thrust his tongue between her lips. The flavor was salty and sweet, with a hint of musk to it. She made a small noise, and that seemed to have something snapping in Bronson. A second later he groaned, speared his hand in her hair behind her head, and pulled on the strands forcefully. She felt the hot, hard length of him press between her thighs as he continued to kiss her. Bronson swirled his tongue around the inside of her mouth, and then sucked her tongue back into his mouth with a possessiveness that Genevieve felt deep in her bones. Without breaking the kiss he reached between them and placed the tip of his erection at the entrance of her body. Everything inside of her stilled, tensed, and she panted with wariness. He pulled back and looked down at her face. The fierceness that covered his expression made her picture him on the battlefield taking what belonged to him.
And she belonged to him right now.
“Lass, it’ll hurt, and for that I am sorry.”
She was surprised he was saying anything, but she didn’t verbally respond. She nodded, gripped his biceps, and held on. He stared into her eyes, and then he thrust deep, hard, and in one fluid motion into her body. He groaned above her, closed his eyes, and she saw how taut his body became. She felt the heavy weight of his balls press against her bottom, but he didn’t move right away. She felt full, stretched, and the discomfort was so shocking that she was having a hard time catching her breath. After a few moments of him letting her get used to him he started moving within her.
In and out he moved, slowly at first, and letting her get accustomed to his size. He didn’t speak, but he breathed hard, heavily, and kept his eyes closed. He almost looked in pain, and she couldn’t draw her gaze away from him. He finally opened his eyes, and the perspiration that covered his face and dripped onto her chest turned her on even more. She felt like another explosion would move through her and steal her away. He leaned back slightly and looked down at where their bodies met.