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.
Chapter Thirteen
Ginger
If Grak were human, my thighs would snap his neck from how tight I grip him in the throes of my orgasm.
