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Poet hissed, and his pupils infiltrated the darkness. My feverish reaction elated him, so that he increased momentum by another fraction. His reflexes kicked in, and he angled his himself steeper, the steady lash of his cock penetrating me to the hilt. His width broadened, sloping through my walls, and I wailed with each stroke.
“That’s it, Princess,” he crooned. “Tighten for me.”
“Closer,” I begged. “Deeper.”
Poet seethed, released my legs, and descended on me. He landed between my thighs, splitting them around his waist. Then he grabbed the ribbons and bound his own wrists with mine, tying us together.
Like this, we sprang at one another, slick and slippery. And so very, eternally slow.
The jester ground his hips into me, steering his cock and plying my folds. Our mouths hung open, my moans colliding with his roars as we beat our pelvises together. One of the ribbons tore from around my foot, enabling me to link it over his thumping waist.
Moonlight splashed across the floor. Hours must have passed, and in that time, Poet had not let up. Nor had I, though several times he twisted his hips and lunged his cock in a way that prompted me to nearly faint.
My voice grew hoarse. My nipples toughened and pitted into his chest. My clit bloated, rubbing the column of his erection.
All night long must have happened, though I could no longer recognize the world outside. Only the change in light warned me. Yet I did not care if minutes or days or weeks had passed.
Poet kept a measured pace, his waist snapping. The headboard and footboard rocked, but the ribbons did not chafe or constrain. We clasped our fingers and held fast—held on.
And on. And on.
Shadows sketched Poet’s abdomen, which clenched with effort as he bolstered himself above and lunged into me. Pleasure crackled between my walls, small convulsions vibrating through me. On the brink of nirvana, I made a grievous noise, my pussy clenching and seeping on him.
“Poet, come with me. Come with me,” I repeated desperately.
White hot liquid surged through my legs. As it did, Poet growled and accelerated his hips, his cock pumping, hitting that spot. I tensed, shrieking and unraveling, my pussy contracting around him while he continued the onslaught.
My breasts arched into his torso, and he watched me dissipate into a million pieces. I came so hard, my throat stung. Then Poet slammed into me once, twice, three times more before stalling his buttocks. His cock twitched, and a hot rush of fluid gushed into me. The jester’s features cramped, then collapsed, a bellow ripping from his lungs as he came seconds later.
“Briar!” he hollered.
Our fingers clasped, the ribbons mooring us to one another. His cock shuddered, my pussy gripping him hard, both of us spasming in unison. Even while the climax ruptured through us, while we were still locked in free fall, Poet’s mouth crashed atop mine, and he spoke.
“Please, Briar,” my jester choked out in a whisper. “Please don’t leave me again.”
I shook my head, my breathing ragged as I made a similar entreaty. “Please don’t let me go.”
Because I missed you. And I need you. And I want you. And I crave you. But also, I love you.
We nodded against one another. Still moaning, our lips slanted and melted together as though sharing a vow.
15
Briar
Fingers stroked the side of my face, gently nudging me from a dream state. My eyelashes fanned open. Opaque furnishings trembled into focus, a warm patina spilling through the windows and laminating the bedroom so that every surface resembled aged brass. I lay on my stomach, the bed and pillows cushioning my limp muscles, and the quilt barely covering my backside. As I twisted my head toward those wandering digits, a sleepy yawn curled from my throat, then my lips raised at the sight that greeted me.
Poet lounged on his side, naked with his broad pectorals and tight nipples exposed. The blanket slumped just below two steep hipbones and scarcely covered the base of his cock. He watched me back, his features cast in a sheen of daylight. Layers of dark hair hung around his face, the tousled mess accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and chin. Never mind how those clover irises danced with color or how that sculpted chest flexed with each intake. Goodness, this man.
Elation fluttered in my flesh. Other pertinent cravings roused the blood between my thighs. Inwardly, I berated myself to regain some composure and come up for a proper dose of air. It had been a long and relentless night, wrought from more positions than I could count.
Him, hovering above. Me, astride his waist.
Him, from behind. Me, on all fours.
Him, pumping around my lips. Me, straddling his mouth.
On the bed. On the floor.
