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Poet uttered a gruff sound and pried his mouth away. I fell into him at once, my head twisting into his neck, the cries uncontrollable as he gripped me in a steel embrace, holding fast. I felt his own frame radiate, his fingernails digging into my back, the sting pleasurable. Like this, we clung and shook while rain doused the world.
“I’m here,” the jester rasped, pulling back and clasping the sides of my face. “I’m here, my thorn.”
I nodded into his hands, my cries ebbing as Poet licked the tears, then dipped his head. He plied me with volatile kisses along my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat, where his mouth latched onto the pulse point and sucked.
I moaned, the sensations overlapping, from heartache to arousal. My head fell back, rain pummeling us both as Poet hummed raggedly and continued sucking my flesh between his teeth, then swabbing my skin with his tongue.
Cupping the back of my head, the jester rushed his mouth along the nook of my jaw and throat, his movements swift and anarchic, as if he had no tolerance for pacing and no patience for sorrow. And neither should I.
This. Was. Real.
I arched into Poet’s mouth, my whimpers getting lost in the storm. My nipples pitted into his chest. A hot wet rush puddled in the crease of my pussy, my walls slick and aching.
The jester lifted my gaze to his drugged one, black pupils swallowing those green irises. He must have felt the liquid heat between my thighs or sensed the moment it happened. His savage gaze consumed my features, raking from my mouth to the dark circles of my nipples poking through the drenched nightgown, to the shadow of hair concealing my pussy. Due to my earlier fantasy and the imperative need to cool myself, I had forgone undergarments.
At the expression darkening Poet’s gorgeous face, a thrill shimmied through me. Something primitive and absolute reflected in his gaze, followed by another immeasurable emotion.
Finally, he shook his head and groaned, “Briar.”
Then his mouth swooped down and snatched mine again. He rammed his lips into me, the rhythm provoking an excruciating throb in my clit. I shoved myself against him, pulling on his hair for balance.
Our tongues pitched together with abandon, the kiss feral and our clothes slipping and sliding together. The contours of Poet’s muscles rippled against my breasts, my nipples toughening and scraping his torso. Sparks flared down my spine, so that I scrambled to get closer, because it wasn’t enough. Seasons help us, it had never been enough.
I wanted him torn and shouting. I wanted him shattered and helpless. I wanted him needy and begging. I wanted his cock filling my cunt, deeply enough that I would feel him inside me forever. I wanted to rope my legs around him so tightly, no one would be able to pry us apart again.
I wanted his moans. I wanted his screams. I wanted all of him and more, more, more.
I wanted us to burn together.
Poet’s hands sliced through my wet hair and shackled the back of my head, locking me in place, the better to devour every sound I made. My mouth rocked under his, our tongues writhing. He licked into me deftly, the tempo urgent. Arousal coated the seam of my thighs, my clit rubbing against the broad stem of his cock.
My nightgown was pasted to my body, impeding my movements. Worse, the barrier of his own clothing prevented me from indulging fully. Every yard felt constrictive.
Grunting, I peeled my lips from his. The jester grumbled in protest, enraged as if I had committed a crime by pulling away. But then a husky noise of approval rumbled from his chest as my fingers grappled the clasps of his shirt. At the same time, Poet seized my hips and urged me backward across the platform.
I caught on and kept pace with him. Satisfied, he let go, braced his fingers on my neckline—and yanked. A gasp catapulted from my throat. The garment split down the middle, shearing to my navel.
We burst into motion, stumbling across the platform while attacking one another, the motions critical as we rid each other of every layer. The top closures of his shirt were already undone, offering a delicious view of his collarbones and upper pectorals. Beneath that, the peaks of his nipples rose through the material, and the chiseled grid of his abdomen contorted, as if he’d been carved from marble.
Impatient, I grasped the closures and gave a harsh jerk. The clasps burst and scattered to the ground, and the fabric shredded, the gap flapping open to reveal that glorious torso. Rivulets raced down his cobbled muscles and rushed into the low waistband of his leather pants.
My fingers itched to sketch every groove. Instead, my hands dove to the buckle of his pants. Meanwhile, the jester multitasked. His head dropped under my jaw, his teeth sank into my neck, and his fingers hooked beneath my nightgown straps and thrust the garment down.
The dainty straps snapped in half and slumped down my arms. The nightgown fell to my waist, and my breasts lurched into view, rain sluicing over the tips of my nipples, the shells darkening.
Poet uttered a gritty noise before scooping one breast in his palm and seizing the nipple between his lips. I cried out into the rain, the sound dire. My head flew backward, a flurry of sensations coursing through my veins, the pleasure so drastic I did not recognize myself.
The heat of his mouth sealed around the bud and sucked. My limbs threatened to give out. Like an untamed creature, I hurried to loosen his belt while enduring the sinuous pulls of his lips.
All the while, we staggered over the bridge. Poet toed off his boots in a rush. I managed to free his belt and whisk it from around his hips. Threads frayed. The wet slap of material resounded in my ears, along with several undomesticated noises grating from the jester’s lungs. Together, we stripped our vestments to rags.
Humming, Poet switched to the other breast. With one palm spanning my backside, his free hand bunched the hem of my nightgown and pitched it down my thighs. The strength of his grip tore the muslin, reducing it to scraps and chucking it to the floor.
Shafts of eventide light illuminated my wet breasts and soaked pussy. Poet released my nipple, his forehead bowing to relish the sight. The narrow patch of hair glistened, and my walls clenched under the heat of his gaze.
“Briar,” he muttered again, his digits shaking as though holding himself back from touching.
My knees quaked, on the brink of dissolving. I longed to stop time, to watch his eyes feast on me, to savor it. But more than that, I wanted to satisfy my own craving. I yearned for the stiff ridge pushing against his pants.
