Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Grak
My human, Ginger, wants to kiss me.
Not on the cheek. But my mouth. I see the way her eyes linger on my lips, and I see the way her small tongue darts out to wet hers.
Everything about this makes my cock strain and throb.
Alas, I cannot return to work at this family establishment while wearing a tented kilt.
“Don’t strain your muscles. Let me do it.”
I take her mug and mine and set them down so we don’t burn ourselves.
Then I hug my arms around the back of Ginger’s legs and lift her up.
She lets out a small yip as her feet leave the ground.
“You are more beautiful than a snowflake. Especially up close,” I say, and immediately feel inadequate. I don’t know how to pay her a compliment that’s big enough.
Fortunately for me, she doesn’t mock me for what I said.
Ginger’s lips part, and her pretty brows draw together like she can’t decide if she’s pleased or annoyed with me.
“Shall I put you down?”
“No,” she breathes. And then she tilts her head slightly to the side, and our lips join softly for one too-short moment. Ginger’s lips brush over my mouth like a hint of sugar on the most tempting cookie.
The touch of her pillowy lips is brief yet flips an internal switch. It is a feeling that I’ve felt only a shadow of while in her company in the game.
But that feeling is different now. Deeper. Stronger.
So strong I can’t hold back.
I hold her close with one arm hooked under her bottom. Ginger is secure, sitting on my arm. I am strong enough for her, and she seems pleased.
I touch her cheek with one finger, then two. “You humans are so soft and pliable. You are not like us.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s different. But I like you, so it is a good thing. Everything about you is good.”
Ginger bites her lip and shakes her head. “Not everything. I was not nice to make you sleep in the cabin.”
“It was my choice. And you were kind, giving me a blanket.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“No. But I don’t require much sleep.”
How was the sleeping bag?”
“Roomy enough,” I lie.
“Are you sure?”
“I do not wish to talk about the sleeping bag anymore.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I do not wish to talk at all. I wish for you to kiss me again.”
Her pretty eyelids close halfway. She licks her lips again. At the sight of this, blood rushes to my cock, making me strain for release.
But it is not the time for that yet.
Ginger once again warms my lips with hers, and this time I taste the whole sugar cookie. Her lips are sweet and warm and slick. Fearing she might pull away again, I cup the back of her neck to keep her still.
Ginger sucks in a breath when I do this, but the kiss grows deeper.
Everything is warm and wet and more luscious than the sweetest dessert. I feel as though I could block out the entire world and kiss her forever.
With her legs hooked around my waist, I walk backward until we’re in the craft room.
I am snug between her thighs as I sweep aside all the crafting materials and lay her down on the table.
“Grak. Grak, what are you doing?”
“The other thing,” I say dumbly, too focused on pulling off her boots one by one, and then tugging down the snow pants, followed by the long underwear underneath.
“Too many layers,” I grumble.
She shivers when I finally have her naked from the waist down, but soon enough, she will be heated from the inside out. The best sort of heat.
I kneel in front of the table and pull Ginger’s body close to me, fitting her legs on my shoulders.
Her sweet scent fills me. The ache in my chest expands. I’m so close to making her mine. So close to the final claiming.
Ginger’s skin is soft under my rough hands as I caress her legs, helping her relax.
“Grak…” Her voice trembles, and I can’t tell if it’s out of fear or need.
“Give me your hands, wife.”
Ginger reaches down, and I clasp both her hands in mine, threading our fingers together. I let her watch me kiss the tip of each of her pretty knuckles.
When I’ve kissed all ten, I gently release her grip and place each hand on one of my horns.
She gasps, and I do not have it in me to hesitate one more second before I taste her.
I yearn to drink her in and prove myself worthy of her.
Ginger’s soft pussy is sweet in my mouth. At the first touch, I’m overwhelmed with love and lust for this woman. My Ginger. My wife.
I let my tongue do what comes naturally, splitting her ripe fruit open and taking what I want.
Her fingers creep away from my horns as I slowly claim her. She explores the tips of my slightly pointed ears. I wait for the moment she pushes me away, repulsed by my appearance. But that moment never comes.
As my tongue slips inside her heat, Ginger begins to writhe under me.
I pull away only for a second to scold her gently. “Horns,” I rumble. “Hold on to my horns, Ginger.”
She does as she’s told, which pleases me. But pleasing her is the purest joy. The ache in my heart shrinks with every “yes” from her. With every pull and squeeze on my horns, I am growing closer and closer to my purpose.
And when I stroke my ridged tongue against her sweet bud, her climax confirms it. I was built for her, and Ginger was meant to be my queen.