Chapter 9 Brannock
Brannock
I try to take it slow and remember to be gentle–to remind myself that she’s precious and priceless–but her hands are on my body, and her soft sounds are in my ears.
And I’ve always been more beast than man.
After three nights of holding her in my arms, her soft body pressed to mine, the only thing left is the beast.
She’s sunshine and smoke around me, and I’ve never ached like I do right now.
“Rapunzel,” I growl against her skin, my hands around her waist to anchor myself to the moment, to her, to whatever little sliver of sanity I still possess. But her scent is in my lungs, and her hands are in my hair, tugging insistently. “We should—”
“Please don’t say stop,” she whimpers. “Please, Brannock.”
“Gods.” I press my forehead to her throat, my heart kicking against my breastbone. My hands clenched around her hips, desperate to keep going, to explore and conquer and claim.
One shapely thigh wrapping around my hip tips me right over the edge. Her heat sears me through our thin layers of clothing. It sends fire into my veins and need crashing through my soul.
I roll us slightly, afraid I might crush her with my weight. She says she isn’t fragile, and she’s right about that. But she’s so much smaller than me, so much softer. It would destroy me to hurt her now.
My tusks scrape her skin gently as I slip my hands beneath her thin nightgown. That virginal white fabric has taunted me for three nights now, testing my patience and restraint. I’ve thought a thousand times about using my tusks to slice it from her body.
Apparently, I still have a little restraint left in me, after all, because I don’t do that now. I lift it ever so slowly, giving her time to change her mind or stop me, to scream and lock herself in the tiny bathroom as she should.
She doesn’t. She rises above me, confident and sure, even as she trembles. Her beautiful eyes are wide in her pale face, fingers trembling as she reaches for the hem of the gown to help me lift it over her head.
“Gods,” I growl, eyes locked on her pale skin. Acres of it, gleaming and creamy in the firelight. Dusky pink nipples and a soft, sweet flush. “You’re so beautiful.”
A ghost of a smile dances at her lips as she dips her head, shy in the face of my honest praise. “No one has ever told me that before.”
She should be told every day. But I’ll be the one who does the telling, no one else. The thought of anyone looking at her like I am right now—of anyone touching her the way I ache to touch and taste and take—has my hands flexing on her hips.
I sit up beneath her, forcing her to lock her legs around my hips. She gasps slightly, eyes wide and dazed when she feels how much I want her. How much I need her.
“So beautiful,” I rasp, wrapping my lips around one nipple as carefully as I can. I know she doesn’t mind when the side of my tusk scrapes across the sensitive flesh. She quivers on my lap, moaning.
Her hands fall to my chest, plucking at my shirt as she writhes against me, the ridge of my cock between her legs. Does she feel how desperate she’s made me? How wildly my heart beats right now?
Gods, it feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest as I suckle on her, drawing one nipple between my teeth before lavishing the same attention on the other.
One of the small tears in the fabric she mended just days ago rips open beneath her fingers.
“Sorry,” she gasps. She doesn’t sound like she means it, though.
I hook an arm around her waist, rolling us, drawing her down beneath me. She’s spread out, wild hair and roots everywhere, her eyes locked on mine as I drag the shirt off over my head.
Her eyes fall to my chest, her gaze tracking downward.
Why I expect to see horror or revulsion painted across her perfect face, I don’t know, but it’s what I expect.
And I’m wrong. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a monster unworthy of her.
She stares up at me like I’m the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
One hand rises, oh so slowly, before a fingertip traces down a particularly nasty scar I received on the battlefield. Her touch burns in a way nothing ever has, as if she’s electricity beneath me, vibrating to a frequency only I know. My cock throbs in time.
“One day, you’ll tell me how you received each of these,” she murmurs.
“One day,” I promise, more nervous about that than anything.
Because that’s real pieces of me that no one else has ever had or known.
I want to give them to her, though. I want her to know every ugly piece of my past, every tainted, dirty corner of my soul.
I think I’d give them all to her if she asked it of me. Or perhaps I already have.
She said the roots delivered me to her. Maybe they delivered us to each other—two creatures adrift in a world that makes little sense, both in need of the other. This tower may have been her prison, but it kept her safe for me… and I found salvation within its walls, with her.
I kiss her again, pouring every ounce of desire into it. I paint her with need, letting it roll over her in a wave that leaves her gasping. When I break from her lips, she trembles beneath me, restless and aching.
I don’t leave her that way for long. Gods, no. I’m still too much of a beast to pull back now.
My hands trail across her body as I kiss a path down her chest, seeking out all those places I’ve tortured myself thinking about for the last three days—the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the softness of her belly.
She shifts and shivers beneath me, her hand drifting through my hair again.
When I land between her legs, I intend to remove the drenched scrap of fabric she calls panties slowly. Honest, I do. But I smell her, and my restraint is already in tatters. They tear beneath my eager hands, shredding in my impatience.
“Brannock,” she gasps. It isn’t fear quivering in her voice, though. Gods, no. It’s all smoke and sin.
“My apologies,” I murmur, draping one leg over my shoulder. My lips and tusks run up her inner thigh. Gods alive. She smells divine, so sweet and tangy. A groan vibrates against her flesh, my hands tight enough to bruise as I fight for control that just isn’t coming.
“Make love to me,” she pleads so sweetly. “Make me yours.”
I bury my face between her legs with a roar of surrender.
The first lick is heaven. The second is nirvana.
She pulls at my hair, crying out my name in a way I know I’ll kill to hear again and again. I try to be gentle, to keep my tusks away from her delicate skin, but I’m a slavering beast between her legs. And every time my tusks press against her heated flesh, she sobs my name.
Honey spills from her, soaking my face in her pleasure. I lick up every drop and then go back for more. And still, I’m greedy and desperate. I press my tongue to her opening, forcing the tip of it into her. She’s so tight and so eager.
Her hips roll against my face as I use it like a cock, trying to get it as deep as I can, to taste and claim as much of her as I can.
“Brannock!” she cries, her voice breaking. “W-what.. Oh, Gods. W-why is that so good?”
“Because it’s you and me, Rapunzel,” I rasp against her flesh, pressing my thumb to her clit to drive her over the edge. “Let yourself fall for me. I’ll catch you.”
I want to beat my chest and roar when she gives herself over to me without hesitation or reservation. She bows beneath me, my name on her lips as she shatters apart at the seams, satisfied and babbling.
The tower trembles around us, pulsing as if it truly is part of her, reacting to the pleasure wracking her body. The roots pulse and twitch around us, seemingly quivering in delight.
I watch her in rapt fascination as she moans and writhes the same way they do, her face the picture of rapture. Gods, she’s perfect in every way.
But apparently, I don’t watch closely enough. Because I don’t see one hand snaking between our bodies, not until it’s pressing against my aching cock in a silent demand. Rapunzel isn’t satisfied with only a piece of me. She wants all of me, every inch, every festering wound, every scar.
I don’t hesitate to give them to her—to give myself to her. I am Brannock, outcast orc warrior… and hers.
My hands slip to my leather pants, covering hers. Our eyes lock as we work together to pull them down. I intend to strip out of them completely, but as soon as they’re around my knees, her hand brushes my erection, and I forget everything else.
“Rapunzel,” I growl, my fingers locking around her wrist in a desperate bid to keep from spilling across her perfect fingers.
The way she smiles at me tells me that she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She’s all innocent sweetness and sinful need, guided by instinct and desire.
“You touched me,” she says.
“Yes.” I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth before crawling over her. “But if you touch me now, this will be over before it even begins.”
“Oh.” She stares up at me, eyes huge and wanting. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”
I groan, leaning down to claim her mouth in another drugging kiss. Her arms twine around my shoulders, pulling me closer. The playful mood between us evaporates as soon as her tongue touches mine. Lava coats my veins, and desperation clouds my mind.
I haul her beneath me, arranging her with her legs splayed around my hips. She’s open and aching, already squirming beneath me impatiently.
“Be very good for me,” I murmur, gripping my cock.
“Or what?”
She’s trying to tease, but my response is solemn. “I could hurt you.”
Her expression softens, one hand landing against my cheek as if to reassure me. “You could never do that, Bran. I trust you.”
Gods, what have I ever done to deserve this kind of sweetness? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But somehow, someway, I will find a way to deserve it, even if it takes a lifetime.