Page 7 of The Bull's Beauty
She switches sides, moaning just a little when the first spray of milk releases from her other breast. It coats her fingers, trickles down to her wrist. I want to be on my knees in front of her, tongue out, catching every drop.
She leans back on one elbow as she works herself dry, the curves of her thighs stretched out in the fading light, the weight of her breasts shifting with each motion, and I swear—I could die right now and my soul would still be thirsty for her.
My breathing’s gone ragged. I clench my jaw, try to ground myself, but every part of me is pulsing with raw, aching desire. I want to march straight into that clearing, wrap my hands around her hips, and tell her she’s not going anywhere until I’ve had my fill.
She tugs her blouse back down, tucks herself in again with a soft grunt. She still looks uncomfortable, like she didn’t get all the ache out, but she’s already rising, adjusting her cloak, tying it loosely over her shoulders.
Shame coils hot in my gut, but my hand is already moving, already fisting around my cock like I’m punishing myself for wanting her. It’s obscene—how hard I am, how fucking massive and throbbing just from the simple natural act.
The swollen crown of my cock glistens as I rut into my fist, hips jerking like a beast in heat. Every drag of my palm is a betrayal of my dignity. I shouldn’t have watched her, but she’s so fucking beautiful.
My breath comes in ragged grunts as I imagine sinking into her, filling her,claimingher.
“Fuck! fuck—” My release hits me like a kick to the gut, thick ropes of cum hitting my hooves. I bite back a shameful groan. She’s a goddess. A perfect, milk-swollen beauty, and I’m just a pathetic monster jerking off in the bushes.
Chapter Six
Beatrice
The path grows steeper after the ridge. My legs are screaming, my boots are soaked through, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been bitten by at least three different kinds of bugs. The sun’s gone, the sky is lavender and bruised, and my thighs are chafing like hell.
But I’m free.
I slipped out while everyone was in the great hall and guards were switching posts for the dinner shift. It was even easier than I anticipated. No one glanced my way, and though I kept expecting someone to stop me or come looking, I’d spent so many nights eating supper alone in my rooms that missing dinner wasn’t unusual for me.
Every miserable step is one more away from that stinkhole of sweat, testosterone, and overgrown Bull egos.
Andhim. Good riddance.
I grit my teeth and push harder up the incline, boots sliding on slick leaves. I definitely won’t miss him.
Especially not the arms.
Or his deep, smoky voice.
Ugh! I shove the thought away. My traitorous brain never did know when to shut up.
The stream appears between the trees like a miracle, glittering silver under the dusk. I nearly collapse beside it, dropping my satchel and cloak in a heap. My whole body sags, trembling, aching. I’m soaked in sweat. Dust clings to every inch of me like a second skin, but it’s not just my legs or back that hurt.
My breastsache. They’re heavy and full. Throbbing with each breath. I wince as I shift, crossing my arms over my chest, as if pressure alone could dull the pain. But it doesn’t help. The fabric of my shirt scrapes against my nipples, each movement a low, dragging pulse of discomfort that refuses to be ignored.
I should’ve taken the herbs.
Annie offered them more than once, butno,I had to be stubborn and prove I didn’t need anything from anyone. Not even relief from my own pain. And now, I’m paying for it.
The weight in my chest pulses again, hot and tight, like something might split if I don’t ease it soon. I glance around, making sure I’m well and truly alone.
Kneeling beside the water, rolling up my sleeves with trembling fingers, I splash cool handfuls over my flushed skin, gasping as it hits my neck, my face, the inside of my arms. Then, with a frustrated sigh, I tug at the laces of my shirt and I pull it open.
The cool air kisses my skin, and a shiver rolls through me, goosebumps blooming in its wake. I inhale sharply, not because of the cold, but because of the sweet, aching relief.
My breasts are taut, nipples dark and swollen, the skin hot to the touch. I cradle one gently, cupping both hands beneath the weight of it, then settle into the rhythm.
It hurts at first. It always does. A deep, dragging sort of pain that shoots straight through me. But slowly, the pressure begins to fade. The fullness starts to ease.
And of course, that’s when he slips into my mind.
Silas.
