The Earth King’s Bounty Read Free Page B

continued thrusting for another handful of counts before he, too, stilled. His answering roar was the sound of rocks cracking, the deep chested bellow of a mature stag in the season of rut; he pushed himself between her legs, his cock jerking against her belly as thick ribbons of milky white seed shot from him, splashing hot against her stomach and up across her breasts, droplets of it pooling hot and viscous against her skin. Where it fell she could feel the heat gathering, like droplets and drizzles flung from a half-cooled kettle.
    She was still panting, limp and breathless in the dirt, when he let go of her arms and sat back on his heels between her thighs. His own chest was rising and falling faster but nothing like her gasps, and the strong jut of his erection against her sex was undiminished. His eyes had the heat of sundrenched summer fields in them, the burn of a golden noonday sky reflected from the dark stones of the earth. Reaching out, he pressed one hand just above the mound of her sex, nostrils flaring as he drew in a deeper breath. Ninia held her own breath in her lungs, aching, pinned beneath his gaze and his hands.
    His palm moved up, scooping up the still warm splash of his seed that lay beneath her navel and rubbing it, in a slow, slick circle, across the whole of her lower belly. Ninia sucked in a breath, feeling her still aching cunt clench, heat sinking into her skin. The god gathered up another handful of seed, rubbing it all around her navel; where he rubbed it the milky liquid left only a thin sheen, her skin soaking it in eagerly. "The fields are watered," he told her, his voice rumbling through her in notes she could feel in her bones. He thrust almost gently against the nub of her clit, just hard enough to draw a gasp from her lungs, leaning forward to gather up and spread the splashes of seed that had fallen against her ribs. Everywhere he touched was on fire, a warm, steady glow that lit her from the inside out. "The fields are bared. All that remains is the planting."
    Ninia was almost sobbing by the time he reached her breasts, his large hands gathering them up in his palms, squeezing and rubbing, the last of his seed massaged into each firm young globe. She arched her back to press into his hands, her breath hissing from her; he lowered his head over first one breast, then the other, exhaling a warm gust over the tight pebbled peak of her nipples. His tongue flicked out, painting a wet stripe over one. Ninia grabbed at the vines of his hair, trying to tug him down, but he pulled away with an upwards quirk of his lips. "Not yet, my queen. The fruits aren't ripe yet." His hand squeezed her breast tight, pulling at it, and let go, only to repeat on the other side. "Bloom for me."
    Ninia moaned as he gathered up her breasts, first one, then the other, then back again. His large hands were the skilled touch of a farmer on the tender teats of a young heifer, stroking, coaxing, and the heat that gathered in her breasts and between her legs with each squeeze made her squirm and gasp beneath him. If she had thought her hard pebbled nipples prominent before, it was nothing compared to the proudly upthrust pillars of fiery sensation he tweaked them into, catching them between thumb and forefinger to tug and pinch as his hands squeezed at the flesh of her breasts until she thought she would lose her mind.
    She felt dwarfed beneath him, pinned by his weight, the press of his powerful body, his sex and his hands. At the same time his gaze on her, steady and full of heat and desire that were almost reverent, made something swell within her; equal, powerful in her own right, his spring and summer queen of the bursting fields and bountiful crop. That heat, caught inside her beneath her breastbone and pooling through her stomach, made her arch into him, surging into the rhythm his hands created. His sex pressed against hers, the heavy globes of his sack rubbing against her wet lips, his erect staff taunting her