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We flew into each other, chasing oblivion, long deprived of such bliss. Neither gentle, nor sweet. Neither patient, nor restrained. Yet no less determined, nor less powerful. This loss of control was shameless, reckless, and sinful. This was wild and free, like a scandalous tale for campfires.
That was all. That was everything.
The sacrifice. The waiting. The reward.
For him, I would do it again. For this, I’d surrender my throne a hundred times over.
My folds pulsated. I rushed at Poet, my pussy clamping onto his length, relishing how it twitched inside my walls. I clutched him wetly, sealed my inner flesh around his solid one, and he wrenched me forward sharply, swinging the head of his cock deeply.
His tongue flayed mine, our mouths rocking in cadence to our movements. Embers crackled through my veins. My sobs narrowed, gaining speed as the pleasure mounted, from my clit to my toes.
Poet found a secret spot and attacked. With a vicious hum, the jester pivoted his waist and launched at that narrow place until I was writhing on top of him, with my legs elongated over the bridge’s edge. The sensations converged at the apex of my body. I paused, going still and clinging to Poet as heat unspooled through me.
And then I burst. My bones quaked, my cunt squeezed his erection, and I hollered into his mouth. I vibrated on his lap, spasms raking through me as I came around my jester’s cock.
Poet groaned his approval. He swallowed the erratic noises I made, as if they tasted of wine.
And then he kept thrusting.
Before I could fully recover, his hips sprinted between my thighs. The impact blasted me with renewed heat, and my lips peeled from his only to unleash another onslaught of cries. I had never been this open, this soaked, yet Poet tilted his cock at an impossible angle and fucked into me, creating another wave of friction.
I broke into movement once more. Only this time, I clasped the back of his head and hunched into him, pressing our foreheads together. My eyes fastened to his, clinging to that magnetic gaze. As he whisked his cock into my pussy, I did not look away, would never look away again.
My moans came out like chipped glass, shattered and stinging. Not because it hurt, but because the way he made love could destroy a person, and the way he fucked could ignite a bonfire. And I wanted him to feel the same thing. I needed him to feel how I loved him.
So when I swiveled my hips harshly, Poet’s groans intensified, and his face slackened. That sultry voice rustled through my drenched hair. I bucked until I lost all comprehension of anything beyond this enclosure. Eager for more, I rode him into the bench, the tips of my nipples dragging over his chest, my pussy pressing down on his cock until he was bellowing.
We shouted against one another’s mouths. Our hips locked and reeled together, colliding over and over. I hollered into the fray, my sobs amplifying and my walls rippling.
Poet lunged his cock into me and hissed, “I love you more.”
For a second time, I sprang apart. The orgasm tore through my body, streaks of pleasure multiplying across my flesh. My pussy contracted around Poet’s cock at the same time he rammed inside my walls with rapid, shallow thrusts. He struck into me, into me, into me.
At last, his eyes tensed and flashed. My jester paused—then roared into the treetops as his cock jerked, gushing fluid between my folds. He came loudly, the force of it shaking his muscles and unbuckling his jaw. Helpless noises surged from his throat, flooding my ears with the most beautifully chaotic sounds.
How I remembered this. The way he looked when he climaxed.
Poet’s muscles gave, shuddering like a fallen tree. His groans melded with my own, the remnants of pleasure taking a long time to ebb. At length, the cacophony tapered, our damp bodies heaved for oxygen, and our mouths slumped together. We collapsed into one another while the echo of rain whooshed into the setting and pattered my toes.
Spent, Poet unhitched my limbs from over the ledge and mashed me against him. In tandem, I threw myself into his frame and wrung my arms around his neck. All the while, his cock remained hard and poised inside me.
Shaking uncontrollably, I buried my face in his throat and crumbled into his embrace. His heartbeat hammered against my own. As the torrent showered around us, my jester carded his fingers into my hair and fingered that single braided lock, where little oak leaves entwined the layers.
Finally, he spoke. His awestruck voice ruptured, as though he’d been holding his breath for ages. “Briar.”
At last, the final knot between us unraveled. I lifted my head to grasp his jaw and sweep my lips over his, the corners of my mouth lifting. At once, his chest rumbled, and my grin widened. And then we were chuckling—still moaning but also laughing.
Tucked away in this enclave, I took a deeper breath than I ever had. Exhaling, I whispered low enough that not even the rain could hear. Only the two of us caught the sound of his name as it floated from my lips. “Fenien.”
13
Poet
There it was. My true name.
Long ago in Spring, when I first spread this woman around my hips and made her shout, I had whispered the name. The confession had fallen off my tongue like a moan, the temptation impossible to resist.
For safety’s sake, I’d spent a lifetime hiding this part of me, concealing the truth behind a mask. Yet without warning, she had ripped off that visor. To that end, confiding in her became an inevitability, as intuitive as drawing in air.
