Page 179 of Trick

And I held on.

The wet evidence of my climax laminated his flesh. His cock rose between my fingers, the column slick and the crown fevered in a ruddy tint. It stretched along my palm, firm as a finial with a slender cut across the top.

I had given the jester my virginity, and now I wanted to take something from him. A thrilling sort of curiosity directed my hand. I glided it over the stem, slowly, gently.

Poet sucked in a breath. Those eyes narrowed into harsh lines that distorted the tear painted on his countenance. And when I drew a path to his sac, then to the pome at the top, his hips vaulted.

“Briar,” he warned, dropping his hand over mine. “If you keep doing that—”

“I know,” I confided with feigned innocence. “Let me have you. Please?”

His orbs hooded. Awe and longing swirled in the green scythes.

How I loved rendering his silver tongue speechless.

Without waiting for a response, I unhooked my legs from around his waist and nudged his frame backward into the grass. We switched positions, me hovering over his side and Poet sprawling underneath.

I admired his body, sculpted to dance and trained to wield knives. The smooth cliff of skin spanned before me, his long cock lifting between those solid hips and that steep V.

Gluttony overcame me. Love and lust coiled in the rift of my legs.

I sketched the inclines of his hips, threaded my fingers through the slender trickle of dark hair leading to the ridge projecting from his body, so much heat originating from there.

A defeated sound pushed from Poet’s lips, the noise satin and gritty in a way only he could achieve. Transfixed, he bracketed his elbows and braced himself, his pulse ramming into his throat. The vision teased a grin across my mouth.

Yes. Watch me.

My digits traced his width, starting at the base where his sac hung and scaling its height to the apex. His cock jolted, thickening for me. My heart sprinted, and fluid raced between my thighs.

I feathered around the crest, the pads of my fingers brushing its mass. The swollen head flushed, a droplet of rekindled arousal budding from the slit. I thumbed the incision, sweeping lightly.

A captivated groan engulfed Poet’s lungs. Something severe cast across his face, as if the ministrations pained him.

Torment. That was it.

Touching him felt like touching myself. Strong. Invincible. The memory of telling Poet how it felt to gratify my body and then showing him in the library replayed.

The same craving led my digits over his crown, spurring them to flick his crease. And as he leaked onto my finger, my core responded. I sought his weak spots and powerful spots, wanting them both.

Emboldened, I rolled my palm down his column and strapped my digits around him. The flesh yielded, stiff but pliable. It enlarged, nearly too wide for me to encase him fully, his girth wetting the slot of my thighs.

I licked my lips, braced him in my hand, and stalled. The enigmas of pressure and pacing funneled through my mind.

Poet sensed my indecision and molded his fingers with mine. He urged them tighter and strummed our hands up and down his cock. Once the tempo became clear, he withdrew and offered me leave to take control. He rested his weight on those bent arms, keeping himself partway aloft, panting and willfully at my behest.

I ensconced him in my grip and siphoned his erection. Another groan rumbled from Poet’s mouth, then another, and another. One free hand curled around my hip, as if needing the additional leverage to hold himself up, lest he should evaporate.

I pumped him, maintaining a steady tempo. With each assent to his crown, my thumb glided over the inflated knob of skin. Then I plunged again, over and over.

He lost himself in my touch, and his face clenched, eyeing the hand that encased his length. Unable to stand it, Poet snapped his hips into my fingers, jutting through them as though it was my pussy.

I sighed with relish and quickened the tempo. My hand tugged on the hardness, yanking hoarse moans from his lungs, each new one amplifying. His backside clenched, and his abdomen contracted as his cock bucked into my hand.

The jester’s moans roughened into growls. “Damnation. Aye, love. Like that.”

My forehead landed against his, and one of his legs steepled for balance as he leaned into me. I trapped him in my gaze and squeezed, my wrist flexing as he rode my fingers to the hilt.

Tremors raked up his limbs and tracked across his chest. I savored the rupture of noise, the tightening of his erection, the way he launched into my hand.

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