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Briar
Yes. Touch me.
Here. Now. Please.
My delirious body said this. Not my head—that had stopped working long ago.
Poet’s request fermented, the words hot and heavy as his mouth grazed mine. Slowly, I nodded, the motion scraping my lips against his.
He inched back. Those green eyes flashed like scythes, his weight a hovering shadow.
Unsteady exhalations leaked into the air. My pulse beat out a hysterical rhythm, the ripple effect coursing through my limbs. I inhaled the scents of amber and vetiver. Every sensation magnified, from the slick warmth between my legs, to the rug caressing my nape, to the blistering intensity of his stare.
The Court Jester had me splayed under him.
In his chamber. In the dark.
The broad span of him radiated heat as my thighs flanked his waist, my legs pitching on either side. I’d never experienced such prohibited bliss, such illicit anticipation. I felt the entirety of this moment in the crux of my body. With him braced above, a forbidden thrill spiked through me.
Quickly, he twisted toward the grate, snatched a few logs and kindling from the neighboring rack, and threw them into the mouth of the fireplace. With fluid movements, he drove flint against steel. Flames scorched to life and ricocheted across the timbers, blasting the giant well with restless light.
With the blaze smoldering, Poet turned back to me. Amber pulsated across the floor. It laminated the grid of his torso, the dark pants that hung low, and the bronze crescent and black flecks painting the corner of his right eye.
Impatience must have wormed its way across my face, because the jester chuckled and snaked down to me again. As he did, one sly palm slid up my calf, taking the skirt with it. I spread myself wider and rested my hand over his, both of us gliding the material higher until it bunched around my upper thighs.
Still amused, he planted a sweltering kiss on my lips while fisting my skirt. Not wanting to miss the feel of his mirth, I sloped my fingers over his smooth abdomen, charting the heady vibrations.
My touch cut his humor short. Emboldened by this, I flicked out my tongue, licking the tip of his snaggletooth.
Victory. Poet hissed. The sound came out feral, as though he’d felt the sensation much lower.
His pupils inflated, eclipsing the irises. The ribbons encircling his wrist shone in the firelight as the pad of his thumb dragged across my lower lip, his touch searing a path along my skin. “How I’d love taste your pussy and fuck you tenderly.”
My navel fluttered. Only he could make such words echo like rustling silk. His wish pounded into my folds, dampening the cleft.
I wanted him. I wanted him to take me. I wanted that long, hard part of him inside me, so deep that I would feel every forbidden inch.
Yet a strange hesitancy crept through my mind. It clashed with everything that was happening.
The jester saw that. In the next moment, his aim became clearer. “Nay, I won’t tonight,” he prefaced. “Instead, I’m going to toy with you, make you feel good in another way. May I?”
I licked my lips. “I demand an equal share.”
“By all means, Highness. Though, I’ll stop when you tell me to. You only need to say the word.”
“I thought I was your target.”
Poet leaned down and scraped his incisors along my ear. “You still are.” Then his mouth blew into the shell. “Every. Single. Part.”
I shivered and strapped my hands around the dip in his back. But Poet shook his head.
“That won’t do, sweeting,” he murmured, then guided my hands to his buttocks. They were tight and sculpted, with indentations in the sides. As they flexed under my palms, heat eddied through my walls.
“Hold on,” he crooned.
A nervous chortle tripped off my tongue. How effortlessly he made me quiver with need, then laugh without fear. It drained my lingering shyness, so that we stopped talking, ceased thinking, because thoughts could be destructive.
Some type of feverish intent incinerated his gaze. He hunched over and claimed my lips, roping them into another sensual kiss, and then another, and another. Each one was swift and scalding, a series of taunts that drew whines from me. Over and over, his mouth stroked mine, teasing mercilessly.
