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I whipped my hips quicker, pistoning into her, lengthening her climax.
As her cunt pulsated, my cock shuddered. I stilled, my mouth falling open against hers. Then I shot into oblivion, a chain reaction firing through my blood. With a final pitch of my ass, a bellow ripped from my lungs as I came. My release spilled into Briar whilst she cried out, her moans like sobs, like screams.
My growls and her moans collided, the catastrophic noises smashing through forest. I drowned myself in them, wanting to hear every wild thing we did to each other, hoping the whole forsaken world heard us, too. For at last, we didn’t have to be silent.
With a final cry, Briar sagged onto the grass, and I fell into her. We lay there in a boneless, mindless heap. Sweat coated my spine, and my hips rested in the hot valley of her sprawled legs as we panted into each other, straining to catch our breaths.
Briar’s fingers draped over my ass, and her free hand combed through the damp layers at my nape, the sensation among my new favorites.
Wicked. Hell.
This was how it felt like to fuck someone I loved.
We heaved, shockwaves coursing through us. Minutes or hours passed. I couldn’t say, nor give an infernal shit.
Still inside her, I hauled myself up on one bent arm. Briar’s eyes sparkled at me, her face radiating awe and pleasure. I had done that. I’d given her every bit of myself, stripped myself raw in nearly every way.
All except one. I caught her wrist and raised it, my mouth skimming the place where the iron shackles had cut into her. Quietly, I spoke against her pulse and told her my name.
Not Poet. Not the Court Jester of Spring.
My real name.
40
Briar
His breath swept through my ears like a breeze. His voice warmed my skin like rising steam. His name poured into me like melted honey.
Pleasure unlike anything I’d ever known coursed through my veins, the shock of it oozing from my scalp, to my heart, to my toes. A million silken wings fanned in my navel. My eyes closed, listening to the sound of him, letting this final secret envelope me.
His name. I felt it like a touch, like a confession, like a promise.
At last, my lashes fringed open. The jester materialized above, his features unveiled, slack with reverence. No mask. No artifice. Sex had loosened the whetted edges of his jawline, desire swam in his pupils, and something more bobbed in his throat. The emotion surfaced like an exposed root.
His name. He’d given that to me.
I smiled and traced the ledge of his chin. “Hello, sir.”
An indentation burrowed into the crook of his mouth. “Evening, sweeting.” The backs of his knuckles pushed a strand of hair from my temple, fingernails enameled in the half-light. “How do you feel?”
It came out effortlessly, honestly, and without reservation. “I feel in love.”
His eyes flashed. “What a coincidence.”
Only that tear painted black and dangling under one orb betrayed the raw expression reflected at me. But even that couldn’t hide the magnitude of his stare, as open as a chasm. The jester lay naked, with his cock primed inside me and his secret lingering on his tongue.
I stored the knowledge inside, as though it were a keepsake clasped within a locket. Yet always, he would remain as I’d known him.
My jester. My Poet.
Mine. All mine.
A fresh wave coursed up my limbs, rushing to the juncture where our hips joined, our pelvises locked in heat. Seasons, he was still hard. The realization pooled liquid through my walls, renewing the throb in my core.
My palms draped atop the ovals of his buttocks and swayed to the dip in his spine, which beaded with sweat. A sudden urge crept through my fingers, and the notion scorched across my cheeks. Whatever hints showed across my countenance, Poet’s eyes squinted with intrigue.
I gave him no merciful warning. Impulsively, I angled my hips to release his length and drifted my hand down to catch his erection.
