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Done with words then, the jester pressed a finger to his lips.Hush.
Or someone might hear us.
He vanished between my legs, so that only pure sensations remained in his wake. His hair swished against my skin. The blanket shifted with his movements. I rested on my back, my eyes surging to the canopy. My expectant body tensed, then loosened into the mattress when his warm lips pressed against the leenix scar, kissing it gently. From that alone, something new blossomed within me, elevating the desire.
Poet grasped my naked buttocks, securing me in place. His weight drew nearer to my center, his head nudging into that delicate space. The temperature of his exhales met my own heat, causing my eyelids to flutter.
There was a pause, followed by Poet’s groan. The noise came out ragged, equally carnal and reverential.
Then I felt it—a short, wet lick up the pleat of my body.
My spine snapped off the bed, and a whine leaped from my mouth.
And he did it again. His tongue flicked over the slick crease, dragging the tip slowly. Then again, and again. He dabbed that place softly, as if collecting the wetness, as if to consume it. Tremors rippled from that spot, the likes of which I’d never known.
So it began. One pass after another, he swiped his tongue along my core, over the split of my entrance. Poet lapped at me, deep hums echoing from his throat. He sketched my opening, tracing its shape with deft strokes and teasing a series of stuttered noises from me.
The drastic sounds grew in pace and octave, until I could barely recognize them. My moans fractured with every swift lash. I raised my hips to his face, and the dress hem bundled higher, exhibiting me completely from the navel down. With my lower half suspended and straining closer to his mouth, I beseeched him for more of this, more of whatever he was doing.
But he pinned me, his glossy black fingernails spanning my hipbones. I had no choice but to whip my head back and forth, unable to keep still. It felt so good, too good. This had to be forbidden, this savage pleasure, this loss of composure.
Lazily, the flat of Poet’s tongue roved up and down my pussy. My walls soaked his tongue, and my hands seized his bent head, now visible to my gaze. I pressed him into me, urging him to keep going, don’t stop.
Dear Seasons.
Do.Not.Stop.
He licked my folds, then did something outrageous. Draping his tongue over the gap in my body, he glided upward in one long pass, reaching the pert nub rising from my core.
And he licked there, too.
I sprang apart. “Oh, gods.”
Poet rasped and flexed his tongue over the crest. My mind emptied, everything I felt reduced to that cinched bit of flesh, that one small peak. With every lick, the nib swelled further. He patted it rhythmically, each hot sweep sending bolts through my walls.
My eyes rolled back. I gripped his head harder with one hand and seized the nearest pillow with the other. I sunk my teeth into the down, muffling the broken moans. The jester charged at me then, strapping his lips around my clitoris and sucking it into his mouth.
My moans splintered into sobs. Poet latched onto the bud, all the while flitting the tip with his tongue just so. With each nudge, another shocked convulsion lurched from my mouth, the cries in tempo to his steady licks.
I released the pillow and fisted the sheets. My hips bucked against his relentless mouth, my arousal melting like a candle and pouring on his tongue. He worked that tender knot of heat, plaguing me into a near swoon as my body lost control against his lips.
Yet Poet wasn’t done. His mouth pulled away from my clitoris, slid between my folds, and probed them open. Like that, he curled his tongue inside me, slowly so that I felt its entire length.
The sounds I made became guttural, welling from a place so deep, so buried. Poet moaned, the vibration palpable against my inner flesh. He tasted me this way, his tongue pushing in and out, the motions patient and attentive to my sobs. The penetration was smooth, fluid, and breathtaking.
The lithe pumping of his tongue increased my moans. As they did, he licked into my folds faster, levered deeper, then withdrew and captured my nub again. The agony tripled as he alternated between sucking the pellet of flesh and siphoning inside me.
The sodden walls of my pussy contorted. Fissures of pleasure crested, heading toward a breaking point. I reached back and grabbed the mattress’s edge. Using that for leverage, I ground my waist, swatting myself against Poet’s mouth, riding his tongue.
A pleasured growl skated from his throat. He doubled his efforts, whisking his tongue into me, prying himself away to suction my bud, then striking back in. My mouth fell ajar, the cries fraying into silent shouts, because if I let it out, the whole castle would hear me.
The same rapture mounted from when I’d touched myself, then when he ground his cock against me on the floor, only this was magnified and infinitely more destructive. Poet’s tongue cast into my pussy quicker. He hit a tapered spot that had me arching, which prompted my legs to fall far apart and a wet influx to pour from my slit.
The jester’s lips swooped to my peak and snatched it once more, sealing his mouth around the distended skin and wrapping me in tight warmth. His body moved. His frame jutted forward, head bobbing, lips thrusting around my clitoris, which intensified the force of his ministrations. The feelings escalated, and the sensations climbed.
Oxygen drained from me, and my bones locked. I teetered on a precipice, helpless and on the verge of screaming.
And all at once, everything shattered.
