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Poet sought the opposite. Using his best efforts, he shifted the object, hitting a narrow spot that never failed to disarm me. With every thrust, he encouraged me to let go, to release myself on the tool, to come all over it. Foreshocks rippled through my veins, small climaxes threatening to obliterate me.
However, I longed for more. I yearned for him.
Always, him.
I whipped my head back and forth. My eyes flew open and landed on Poet’s features, his expression gripped by awe.
The carved ridges of his body radiated with heat. The muscles contracted with every heaving outtake of air. He could have been a deity in his former life, except there was more. Purple welts looped under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in months, and a shadow of stubble lingered across his jaw.
Only then did I register these details, the sight clogging my throat. I wiggled until he translated my movements and hunched forward, enough for my tethered hand to cup the side of his face. “Oh, Poet.”
Gone was the sinful rake intent on seducing his princess. Now his eyebrows crimped, pain slashing through his face. He twisted his head, bringing his jaw into sharp relief as he nuzzled my hand.
“Not alone,” I pleaded. “Not without you.”
We had done that for far too long already. This wasn’t only about me, nor only about him. This moment, this night, was all us.
Poet lightly bit my wrist, then returned his gaze to mine. Those eyes glinted, reflecting my own desire, some manner of primal instinct consuming us both.
Uttering a haggard “Fuck,” he withdrew the object from between my thighs. My gaze caught a flicker of the long shaft, shaped like an erection. Yet it bore little comparison to Poet’s size as he tossed the item to the ground, untied the footboard ribbons, and hefted my lower half off the bed.
He rose on his knees, taking my limbs with him. Aligning my legs vertically and flush against his torso, he braced my ankles on his shoulders, seized my hips, and stared down. Those eyes tacked me to the bed, binding me more than the ribbons.
He watched my countenance, his expression smoldering. This man beheld me as if I was the very earth, the foundation beneath him.
I understood this feeling. Only one emotion could topple and rebuild kingdoms. In the jester’s arms, that emotion filled me to the brim.
This was why I had opened my eyes. This was why I’d wanted him instead of the fantasy.
In the pleat of my thighs, Poet’s cock lifted high, primed and poised. That length and ruddy hue consumed my attention, along with the droplet of cum rising from the slit.
Capturing his gaze, I rolled my pussy along the stem of his cock, saturating his crown, which swelled in response. His frame quaked, and his eyes sank into mine as he positioned himself.
“Briar,” he panted. “Wicked hell.”
Then he swung his hips, and his cock pivoted into me. The head splayed my pussy and stroked deeply. I shrieked in pleasure, my mouth ajar at the depth of his erection. Poet groaned in tandem, the reverent sound showering over me.
Despite the haze, we watched one another. Poet slung his hips back and forth, his backside working, launching his cock. My pussy clung to him, wetting him from the crown to the sac as he slowly pitched in and out. His waist pumped, the roof of his phallus opened me, persuaded my body to spill on him.
I grappled the ribbons and beat my own hips with his, our waists locking. With my legs upright, Poet struck another new angle, another new place that vanquished all expectations. I wept aloud, and he growled, whisking his cock into the damp clutch of my body.
Never once did our gazes stray. They remained fixed on one another, savoring each moan, every shift in expression. Nothing concealed or hidden.
No mask. No crown.
Only fire. That, and happiness. For too long, we had been deprived of this.
Fuck me sweetly. Make love to me hard.
I remembered. How I remembered.
The jester circled his hips, leisurely slinging his cock inside me. We had unleashed in the rain, then we devoured each other in this room. Now we worshiped.
Poet banded one hand around my ankle, spanned my buttocks with the other, and gently flung his waist into me. I keened, my clit thrumming and my pussy smearing him to the seat.
My expression must look as drunken as his, everything in me disintegrating into pleasure. So deep. So long. We made love so patiently, it hurt.
The jester pursued every sound I could possibly utter. I progressed from sighs, to whimpers, to moans. Eventually, I was gawking at him and shouting.
