Page 19 of Trick

He could be lying. He could be doing an excellent job of it.

And perhaps he had the power to read minds. The instant my thoughts surfaced, he moved, strolling toward me until my back hit the wall.

Unanimously, my senses sharpened and dissolved. The corridor beyond dimmed to pitch black, yet I managed to hear our exhalations flee down its path. My skirts rustled against his legs, yet I couldn’t recall exactly which gown I wore.

Poet lowered his head and smirked, as if the astute little princess should know better. “A jester doesn’t corner a woman. He snares her in the middle of the room, where she belongs.”

Linking my fingers with his, he returned us to our original position in the hallway’s center. Only this time, he tethered us, clasping his strong hands to mine, stretching our arms out to the sides, and continuing the circle.

I mimicked his steps, too dumbfounded to resist. As we moved, that deceitful smirk twisted into something more wicked.

“My tastes for both sexes are hardly secrets,” he informed me. “But I’m not a greedy prick. I have my morals—most of the time. One might say I share myself selectively.”

He turned us in the opposite direction. His shoulders adjusted, revolving seamlessly. “In other words, I don’t fuck anyone who wears their ardor like the sun, open and shining all over the place. Taking advantage of innocents is what I call scheming, sordid lust.” His gaze ensnared mine like a web. “Nay, I’d rather fuck the ones who can handle me.”

I ripped my hands from his. “You shouldn’t use vulgar language in my presence.”

“You’re in Spring,” he said, as if that should have made it clear.

“And I’m from Autumn,” I retorted becausethatshould have made it clear as well. “We conduct ourselves differently, in case you haven’t been educated on that fact.”

“What precisely do you have againstfuck? ’Tis a lovely word. I do have a fetish for lovely words.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t recall giving a shit,” he remarked. “But out of curiosity, what cause do you have to doubt me? Jesters don’t lie. Indeed, why should we try? If I wish to fuck with someone, I’ll do so candidly. I have nothing to hide and no one who’ll stop me.”

“You disguise yourself in verse. You barely know me, yet that didn’t prevent you from scorning my character in public.Thatis untrustworthy.”

Another grin, more of that snaggletooth. “The candles again. You don’t want to be here, in this kingdom, with these people. Still, my jest made you feel left out. Oh, but I do believe you earned that. I’ve been told about you—the proper princess whom her Autumn subjects respect but don’t adore. As for the rest, I saw it with my own eyes. I see it as we speak, a righteous riot of freckles multiplied over and over within panes of glass.”

“Mirrors are mere surfaces. You do not know me.”

As if given a challenge, he sauntered forward. My restless pulse leaped. I stepped back—once.

It wasn’t enough. He merely ate up the distance as if it didn’t exist, as if no such thing could ever exist between him and what he went after. Our clothes brushed, the noise a hiss in my ears.

“Permit the fool to elaborate,” Poet murmured. “There once lived a princess made of impenetrable knots and impervious thorns. She was thin as a quill, if you will, with eyes like rain, for fear of pain—nay, I shall cease the rhymes, for they don’t become you.

“How about a sugary dose of this.The princess lived among leaves of copper and crimson. They flourished outside her tidy bedchamber, where she stored her heart—steady, solitary, and safe.

“Ah, but then, at a plentiful feast in the Spring Kingdom, she watched a duo of lovers kissing. Their tongues flailed and flaunted. And the princess scowled, despite such sad yearning blistering beneath her gown. For under the surface, she wondered what it was like to dare, to dance, and todo.”

His timbre skated up my spine. Threads of his breath stirred against my throat, causing a ripple effect along my skin. My breasts swelled, the silk of my bodice sliding over the hard studs of his jacket. The abrasion of our clothes grated on my nerves, rough yet oddly stimulating, a sensation I could either pull away from or lean into.

Poet’s gaze had been the weight I’d felt in the great hall, as I watched the couple molding their mouths together. He’d seen me.

As I swallowed, those fiendish eyes slid down my neck, trailing the contortion before lifting to my face. “There, there. I’ve made you flustered.” The jester dipped his head nearer to me, so that our breaths mingled. “So do I know you? Am I close?”

A hot stone sizzled low in my belly. “Just because you make a speech sound pretty, that does not make it true.”

“And just because you’ve replied, that doesn’t make it an answer.” I was about give him another tongue lashing for this insolence when the jester inquired, “Have you ever lost control with someone?” He burrowed closer, his tone dropping another octave. “Have you ever wanted to?”

His inflection seeped into my pores. And I could not speak.

“Have you ever fantasized about flinging yourself into the fire?” the jester murmured, pupils glittering with intrigue behind the diamond cutting through his left eye. “Have you ever imagined being naked and breathless, clasping someone who’s as rampant as you are? Ever opened yourself for a man or woman, spread yourself so wide they could reach every deep, tight, and moaning part of you?”

His voice tapered to a purr. “Would you care to know such an upheaval of the body?” And when I could only stare, that devious intonation thinned to nothing but a hushed breath. “Would you allow yourself that pleasure?”

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