Page 171 of Trick

An urgent tremble rushed up Briar’s fingers. Choppy breaths pushed from her throat.

We raced through the mesh of undergrowth, our legs and arms pumping. I knew where to go. Briar had no idea yet surged through the wild with abandon, the skirt of her dress taking flight around her calves.

Ahead, a row of bent trees formed an arched bower. Black petal cords hung from the branches and shielded the entrance.

I slowed, clenched her hand, and prowled ahead. I whipped the cords apart, then grabbed Briar by the hips and whirled her inside. No sooner did we break through the vines, than we unleashed. As she flew into me, I grabbed for her.

Her arms linked around my shoulders, my fingers dug into her hips, and I walked her backward across the grass. My forehead dipped, trapping her in my gaze, which grew hooded. Little pants skittered from her throat, the sound blazing through my veins.

With a growl, I dove my head. My famished lips welded to hers and spread them wide. My tongue speared through her lips, enticing a moan from deep inside her. The noise quaked from her mouth to mine in a hot rush.

Briar dissolved against me, her digits climbing through my hair. Her lips folded under my own, her tongue flicking, lapping with me. At the taste of berries, I groaned. That mouth rode mine, heaving into the kiss, rocking into a breathless tempo.

Each of her curves pressed against me, heat emanating from the crux of her thighs. The force of it stiffened me to the point of agony, my cock wedging between us.

Jolting back, I framed her face in my hands. She did the same, and I couldn’t tell whether this meant we were holding on or letting go. That mystery would be solved later.

Briar’s gaze trickled momentarily, surveying the enclosure draped in cords. The ripe scents of jasmine and figs spritzed the bower like incense. Writhing orange light from distant torch flames squeezed through the mesh and dappled the area.

And she knew.

“This is …” Briar trailed off, mesmerized, husky.

The answer ripped out of me. “Aye.”

She gasped as I snagged her hip with one hand, hauled her forward, and sunk into her again. Sunset dripped through the canopy as we collided, a tumult of greedy lips and hectic fingers. I kissed her under a beam of sinking light, the force of my lips obsessive, destructive.

It wasn’t nearly enough. It would never be enough.

I wanted her breath, wanted the taste of her branded on my tongue. I wanted her cries, wanted every sound this woman was capable of uttering. I wanted her loud and soft. I wanted her ruined, burned, and lost.

I wanted to step into that inferno with her.

The stories were true about the wildflower forest. The woods didn’t manifest its secrets that easily, so I didn’t know all the hidden pockets where recklessness permeated the air, its essence clinging to the foliage like sap.

But I did know this one.

My free hand made smooth work of the laces down her back. My fingers plucked, the bands falling limply from their grommets. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed them to the ground.

Her bodice sagged, breasts loosening. This roughspun wouldn’t take long, but I moved slowly, needing to work for this, to reveal each piece of her skin like a forbidden secret. This had to take effort, to be earned.

Pulling back, I fastened my eyes to hers. I shed the bodice, chucking it aside before continuing with the skirt, which dropped to the grass. Briar’s outtakes quickened with each divestment, as if I were touching her in new places.

Oh, but I hadn’t begun to lay my hands on her. When I did, she would feel it to the marrow of her bones.

We kicked off our boots, then paused in a threadbare attempt to calm the hell down. She stood before me with a weed circlet lopsided atop her head and wearing nothing but a filmy chemise. Her nipples pitted through the sheer material. One shoulder drooped, exposing the knob of her shoulder, sprinkled with freckles.

Before I could properly relish the sight, an unspoken ambition lurked in her eyes.

My own gaze slitted. I swept my mouth against hers and muttered, “You want something from me, don’t you?”

“I do,” she confessed.

“Then take it, sweeting. Take what you want.”

Briar nodded vehemently and grabbed the offensive jacket lined in flaps. She unclasped the front and peeled the vestment off my shoulders, fumbling with the atrocious thing until I wrenched my arms from the sleeves and slung the fabric aside.

I loomed over her in low-slung hose. My torso contracted, pecs bumping into her breasts. Briar’s tongue peeked out to slip across her lower lip like she’d uncovered a delicacy. With her head pinned to mine, her palms dragged down the plate of muscles, etched the broad ridges of my pecs, and skidded over the stack of my abdomen. I clenched under her touch, tingles racing across my flesh.

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