Page 80 of The Knucker King

He ached to serve Avice in all ways.

But only when she was ready.

Here she was, cold, tired, aching, and hungry. Trewoofe knew it was not the right moment. She needed to rest and recover. Not to mention they had an audience over by the hearth.

He stood abruptly, stopping short of cracking his horns against the beams. He shifted from foot to foot, his erection throbbing painfully beneath his clothes.

“Lord, are you alright?” Avice asked, her face crinkled with concern.

“I am sorry,” he grunted. “I need to pass water. Where shall I go to do that?”

She chuckled and pointed to the closed door. “Just in the garden is fine. I usually walk further into the woods, but it is too risky to do that right now. Please, not too close to the cottage.”

Trewoofe nodded and bolted from the room, slamming the door so roughly the whole cottage shook in his wake. He sprinted onto the frost, the chill stinging his soles, and tucked himself behind the largest tree, so he could hide what he was about to do.

Grunting, he fumbled with the ties of his hose. He snarled as he scrabbled with the knot and stopped just short of ripping it completely off. Finally, he pulled his throbbing erection free.

He pricked with guilt at thought of lying to Avice. It is not a complete falsehood. I do need to pass water… I just need to rut first.

Trewoofe pressed his head to the trunk, the edge of his horns cutting grooves through the bark. With his thumb, he spread the beads of moisture that leaked from him over the head. He let out a whimper at the thought of Avice doing this for him in the future, imagining it was her hand rubbing his engorged length. Yes, he still towered over her, but now – if they were careful – he would fit.

From the base, up the shaft, to the head, he tugged.

He squeezed his eyes shut, working himself, until stars danced on the back of his eyelids.

Trewoofe shoved the sweep of his horns further into the bark as he increased his tempo, yanking his twitching cock.

“Oh, my little witch,” he groaned.

His hips began to buck in rhythm with the speed of his hand, heightening his urgency. Avice may come looking for him soon, and as much as he wanted to serve her, he did not want her to find him like this – in the throes of his own self-pleasure. In his hurry, his claws accidentally tangled in the downy hair of his crotch, and he yanked them free with a hiss. He found he liked the gentle sting and wondered if Avice would tug at the hair on his head.

That sent him over the cliff edge he had been teetering on.

He plummeted into climax at the thought of her hands tangled in his mane, pulling at his sensitive scalp. Tiny stars exploded across his vision, and pleasure pooled his core until it finally broke free. He ripped his horns free of the trunk, sending a crack all the way through as his white-hot euphoria spilt into his eager hand. There was so much, as though he had been saving it all to fill her.

Trewoofe puffed and panted, bicep burning, still working himself until he had squeezed out every last drop. He finally stooped to wipe his hand in the frost, ridding himself of his sticky seed. He hoped this would satisfy his need to rut with Avice, until the situation to properly court her presented itself.

Spent, he spun around and tucked himself back into his hose. He leant back against the cracked trunk, trying to catch his breath in the last twitches of his euphoria.

The tree had had enough of his abuses. It surrendered to his weight, crashing to the ground with an earth-shattering crack. He threw himself out of the way off the branches, only to feel a third stitch snap under his bandages.

“Avice is going to be so cross with me.”

That sent a skitter of delight up his spine. If the Knucker was honest with himself, he quite enjoyed it when his little witch told him off.

31

Chapter 31

Avice

Avice let out a shuddering breath after Trewoofe fled the cottage. She tried to cool her boiling skin by scrubbing it with a cloth and melting snow. It made her prickle but did not cool the flames at her core. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together as the ghost of Trewoofe’s tongue circled her belly.

You two, Bramble huffed, are behaving like lovesick pups.

She shot her familiar a scowl across the cottage. He pinned his ears back and looked away.

“I like him, Bramble,” she sighed, kicking off her dress, chemise, and stockings, continuing to scrub herself. “I cannot help the way I feel.”