Page 28 of House of Clowns

My heart raced, fear flickering in my chest as I saw a knife. He plunged it deep into the ground, its rounded back carved from a piece of wood, his initials carved into the smooth surface.

He left me hovering above the handle, its tip teasingly entering me, forcing me to kneel against the earth.

A wicked smile spread across his face as I gasped in surprise.

“Ride it,” he growled in my ear, his voice low and commanding. “Just like you would for me.”

With a shiver, I settled onto the handle, arching my back, imagining him beneath me instead of the cold wood. I danced on the edge, entering it inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he whispered as he leaned in closer.

He gripped his cock in his hand, stepping closer, and I instinctively opened my mouth, eager for him. As he thrust forward, my tongue met him and I surrendered to the pleasure, feeling him fill my throat.

His head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips as he gazed up into the trees, lost in the moment. His palm pressed against the back of my head, urging me deeper, and deeper.

The sound of his pleasure only fueled my desire. I rocked against the knife’s handle, matching his rhythm as he drove into my mouth, each thrust pushing us closer to the brink. My fingers found their way down, tracing soft circles on myself, a soft tease that sent tingles through my body.

With each movement, I felt the pressure building within me, a sweet tension that begged for release. I yearned for us to reach the peak together, so I quickened my pace, my lips sliding against his cock.

But then, he shifted, lifting my chin to meet his gaze, a silent command in his eyes.

He kissed me fiercely, then turned me around and pushed me down onto the ground.

I knelt there, my ass in the air, anticipation thrumming through my veins as I heard him position himself behind me. He thrust deep inside, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him with an urgency that stole my breath away.

My body tightened around him instinctively, every thrust, every move- a wicked dance of pleasure. I cried out his name, the sound mingling with the night air as I collapsed against the earth, surrendering to the sensations that enveloped me.

But he didn't stop. I felt him widen, pushing me to the edge, as he shouted my name, “Fuck, Chiara."

With one final thrust, he pulled out, releasing himself on my back, his body collapsing against mine.

SEVENTEEN

ACE

The night wrapped around us, an ink-black canvas save for the thin slivers of moonlight that slipped through the tangled boughs above. My head rested upon his chest, and my finger traced lazy patterns on his skin, letters maybe, words that drifted beyond language but somehow felt like they belonged to us.

And suddenly the forest could hold its breath, steady, insistent beats of our hearts came louder with each one a muted drum in the quiet. I closed my eyes and let a hazy picture of us drift through my head, wondering what we'd be like ten years from now. The answer felt as elusive, impossible to grasp, as the faint light filtering through the trees. But he was the only one I had been able to see with me in that nebulous image of the future, and my voice came out low, barely audible above the night.

"Do you ever think of leaving the circus?"

He exhaled, and the sound seemed to settle between us, an unspoken confession. "I did," he whispered, "a couple of times. But…." His voice died away, words hanging unspoken, like dust in the moonlight. "I just never knew where else I'd go."

He shifted, lifting himself so that my head slid from his chest into his lap. His fingers swept a few strands of hair from my face, tracing gentle lines along my cheek as if I were something fragile, precious. "The world," he whispered, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, "isn't ready for another clown."

"What if you left with me?" I asked, my eyes searching his; the question landed somewhere deeper than words.

He smiled—the tragic sadness swirled in his eyes behind the expression. "If you ever wanted to go, I'd let you leave… but you'd go alone."

My chest tightened the words like a cold breath against my skin. "Why?" I asked, the syllable nearly catching in my throat. "I wouldn't go without you."

"You would," he whispered, his voice heavy with a quiet acceptance that pained to hear. "The world would welcome beauty like yours with open arms. But me…" He looked away, the shadows catching on the edges of his face. "My ugliness belongs here. In the House of Clowns."

I sat up, cradling his face with my hand, my thumb stroking against his skin's roughness. "Your so-called ugliness," I whispered, "belongs with me. It's beautiful to me."

I leaned and pressed my lips to the side of his cheek, feeling the warmth seep from his skin. "The world's ugly," I whispered, "and most people are too."

He chuckled, a rumbling deep in his chest. "You're weird, you know that?"

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