Page 106 of Trick

And my body sang. The naked bridge of his cock slid between the crevice in my drawers, brushed through the curls, and rode up the groove in my core. I cried out, embers flying through the place where his unclad erection plied my bare flesh.

Poet’s mouth fell open at the contact. His eyes hooded.

While fixating on me, he followed the sounds I made, translated every response, and gave me what I wanted. He arched his backside, sweeping his cock back down, exiting the slit in my drawers, then slowly reeled through the barrier again. This time, the pommel of his erection angled, sketching along the rift in my folds.

The jester continued this. His flicked his hips between my spread legs, passing in and out of the furrow in my undergarments and skating his bare cock over the split of my walls. As he did, plaintive sounds tripped from my lungs, and I arched beneath him.

Dear Seasons. Our nude flesh pressed, aligned, and swiped against one another. So very near to my entrance, so close to sealing him inside me.

My core throbbed like a pulse, hectic and uncontrollable. A shameless rush of arousal leaked from my body and smeared his erection from base to roof as it swayed back and forth against me. Each movement rubbed us together, his arousal skimming my center, the traction stunning.

Poet groaned in tempo to our motions. His hips rolled, his thrusts shallow and measured. I felt the circumference of him, the shape and mass of his cock, topped by a broad crown. The hard line of his body massaged my wet cleft, the rhythm even and patient, the result overwhelming.

We rocked together, the temperature building. I moaned, clenching my thighs around his roving buttocks. Each intimate muscle inside me compressed, coils winding in too many areas to heed.

Yet it didn’t suffice. I needed it deeper, faster. Either that, or I’d surely burst into pieces.

I wasn’t alone in my torment. Poet shook as if holding himself back, as if struggling for control.

The need to do something,anything, overtook me. Mindless, I tasted him. My lips snatched his ear and drew on the lobe, my tongue curling over the patch of skin.

He rasped, the guttural sound amplifying. And the more I traced him, the rougher he crooned. The rougher he crooned, the deeper his hips ground into my core.

The kernel of nerves at my center throbbed. My clitoris prickled with stimulation, the stiff glide of his erection wrecking me, soaking me. I pictured its shape, the flush of its head, the skin coated in my slickness.

With gentle lurches of his hips, he breached the slit of my drawers. The distended length of his body raced across my drenched folds and pressed into the kernel. The spike of sensation uprooted a shriek from me.

A haggard sound emptied from Poet’s chest. “Seasons almighty, Briar.”

He must have felt it, because his cock hardened even more. On a growl, he snatched my mouth and rocked his tongue into me. Every undulating flex of his waist matched his kiss and roused a sequence of chants from my lips, which Poet swallowed hungrily.

My head swirled. Sparkles crackled across my flesh. It felt like touching myself, except a thousand times more agonizing.

I swiveled my hips against his, my cleft so wet and wanting. Fluid poured from me and dripped onto the ridge of his cock.

Poet pulled back again to watch me. His features cinched—harsh, pained, possessive.

I was doing that to him. No one else.

The notion fueled me with pride and power, as intoxicating as the press of his cock. Every fiber sprung to life. I was so slippery against him. I clung to the jester, reeling myself with his waist, chasing the hot pressure that washed up my legs and swirled in my crease.

My moans thinned into cries. “I’m … I’m …”

“Aye, my thorn,” he grated, kissing my unhinged mouth. “That is precisely what you’re going to do.”

And so I did. Pleasure spiraled through my folds, whirling quicker and quicker. My joints tensed as the sensation surged between my thighs, seized the tip of my clitoris, and finally broke apart. I spasmed in his arms. The force of it ruptured through me, shoving incoherent noises from my tongue.

Blackness flooded my vision as I bowed into him. I cried and cried as his mouth swooped against mine, consuming the wild noise while his cock swayed in the gap of my thighs, rubbing me, stroking me. His lips muffled the noise from traveling, kissing me through the climax, kissing me so deeply. My walls convulsed against his cock, the flanks shuddering repeatedly, my pleasure spilling onto him.

At last, I sagged onto the rug. With a contented hum, Poet pried his mouth from mine.

Soft pants dropped from my mouth. My eyes floated open to find him looming. His orbs hooded in satisfaction.

Spent, I reached up to hold his jaw. And at once, he slowed his movements, his waist and cock ebbing to a halt.

A disgruntled sigh fell from my lips, but the protest was short-lived as Poet just stared at me. The kohl under his lashes crimped. Those eyes flared through the half-light. Whatever he saw, felt, or thought, I couldn’t say. But something in his expression transformed as he watched me coast back to earth.

Something else took over. Something dynamic, unprecedented, and tender.

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