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My erratic breathing resounded through the room, refusing to be silenced. While absorbing the sound, Poet ran the backs of his black fingernails down my cheekbone.
Despite what we’d done, he touched me in a different way now—obsessed, entranced, almost uncertain. With our groins still pressed together, his hands sketched my knees, climbed my waist, and trailed over my ribs.
My capped sleeve sagged, splitting the bodice completely. Yet the cashmere dress stuck to me, too restrictive. I wanted it off, gone, never to return.
Every spot Poet caressed brought a shiver to the surface. The whole time, he studied me, and I studied him. Somehow, the staring felt even more intimate, more penetrating than what his body had done to me.
Invigorated, I traced the mantels of his shoulders, encircled his strong wrists, and pinched the scarlet bracelet, giving it a light tug.
A deviant grin slid across his lips before dissolving once more into fascination, so much that I doubted he’d ever gone at an exploratory pace with anyone.
We made it into a provocative game, swapping touches. Enthralled, he thumbed my lower lip, the pulse in my temple, the errant strand of hair that came loose from my braid. He tucked that piece safely behind my ear and sketched the weave in my braid.
I skimmed the ledge of his jaw. His index finger etched a line down my neck, and I dipped my palms to the upper slopes of his buttocks. He stroked under my calf, turning it to liquid. And as I descended to clutch the divots of his backside, his sharp intake tingled in my ear.
With the jester, the world receded. I became someone else—someone impulsive.
Then I realized something with a measure of disappointment. He hadn’t orgasmed with me. At some point, my legs had fallen from around Poet, but I moved to encircle him once more, to give back what he gave. As I started to wiggle my sodden core against his cock, Poet’s hoarse groan accompanied the shake of his head.
“Nay, sweeting,” he whispered. “Just you.”
Then he ground his lips to mine. He claimed me with another shattering kiss, his palms clamping onto the back of my scalp, angling my head to meet his urgent mouth.
Our desperate lips sealed. My tongue swayed against his, inundated with plenty to say but less will to say it.
This happened. I had no excuse.
25
Briar
Seasons help us, it kept happening.
From behind a hallway tapestry, an arm shot out as I walked by. It snatched my wrist and hauled me into an alcove of shadows. I gasped as a shaft of darkness surrounded me, and a set of hands gripped my waist.
My fists balled, about to smash into the assailant. But then I recognized his scent, the shape of his body, and the strength of his hold.
Glancing up, my gaze collided with a pair of verdant eyes smudged in black. It looked as though he hadn’t remembered to remove the kohl the night before. More than that, it appeared as if he hadn’t slept—like someone had torn through his dreams and ripped them asunder.
I opened my mouth to speak. However, the words died as his gaze torched a path across my face. The jester gave me less than a second to process before he mashed me against him, and his lips crushed over mine.
The hot clutch of his mouth tugged me into a frenzy, his tongue plying through and tracing my own. I moaned against that tongue, the sound tracking down his throat. To my ears, the noise was less brittle, more sustaining. While my toes curled into my heels, the rest of my body felt reinforced, secure.
I cleaved through his hair and seized that mouth, kissing him back. His firm body encased me like a shield. My fingers dashed through his roots like thorn vines. The instant the tip of my tongue flicked against his, a deep rumble scrolled from Poet’s chest.
The world spun as he twisted me to the nearest wall. My spine thudded into the stone facade. His lips rushed across on mine, consuming me. Our tongues swatted at a rampant pace because time was of the essence.
He looped my thigh beneath his arm, hiked it to his hip, and plowed mouth into me. The flat of his tongue flexed sharply against mine until my thoughts evaporated. His hard body splayed me against the wall, and his lips crawled from my own to the basin of my clavicles, where he sucked hard.
With a brittle yelp, I bowed into the stones. As I fractured into pieces, he lifted his drugged face back to me and devoured the noises I made.
But it wasn’t until I released his hair, raced my fingers along his shoulders, and skated a trembling digit down his spine that I dominated him. Poet’s mouth shook. He sucked in a harsh gust of air, and his frame shuddered against me.
How I loved wiping that mouth clean of mockery. How I enjoyed that my touch could do him this harm.
I could rule a nation. And I could do this to him. Yet I could not say which felt more powerful.
***
