Page 72 of Trick

He wouldn’t be riveted on me this way if I were. He wouldn’t be monitoring my every move, as though I could destroy him, as though he desired and dreaded that.

What would it be like to turn the tables? How would it feel to rub against him until he melted? What would it feel like to have that ample erection surging right through the slit of my drawers and striking repeatedly into me?

The images cemented my nipples and wetted me anew. In response, Poet’s cock rose, thick and hot—and unmistakably my doing.

He wants more.

He wants me.

Triumph spurred me on. I curled myself into him, branding him with my own heat.

Then my mouth found his.

With the lightest brush, the jester’s lips quivered, tasting of spice, wine, and rain. Oxygen pumped out of him, erratic and heavy.

Then he moved in kind, meeting me halfway. We etched one other’s lips with more urgency.

My need jumped in response, and my core throbbed. I sprawled over the jester, winding myself around him.

And in my weakness, I found a new type of power—the means to shut him up.

19

Poet

I have no words for it. Remembering those days, I can’t think straight.

The princess, waking in my bed and pulling secrets from my lips.

The princess, working alongside Jinny in the dirt, unfazed by the prospect of filthy hands.

The princess with her hair flowing freely, the inflamed locks mussed as if she’d just been given a deep, dark orgasm.

The princess in that damn sheer nightgown, the crescents of her breasts pushing against the fabric as she stood in the kitchen, on the opposite side of a line that begged to be crossed.

The princess, interrogating me whilst refusing to expose herself, to let me in.

The princess, comforting my son and, hence, beating the shit out of my heart.

The princess’s thighs straddling me, rousing my blood and my body.

In my haven, the princess was no longer a princess. In my arms, she became the most painful of thorns. Against my mouth, she became Briar.

Briar, fucking kissing me …

*

She melted, pouring herself all over me and laying siege to my cursed mouth. Her lips parted. The delicate seam opened like a tease and made contact with my flesh, the slight press of skin a shock to the system. Like that, her mouth trembled against mine, brushing the contours with a tentative and unhurried pace.

I lay still, my pulse a battering ram. Our breaths wavered, suspended. My eyes threatened to seal shut, and a warning hiss got stuck in my throat. Every working part of me stalled, save for the instantaneous rise and thickening of my cock.

Briar’s ministrations grew in confidence. She skimmed her lower lip over the bow of my upper one, then slanted her damn mouth toward the crook. The path this woman took left a burning trail in her wake, sparks crackling under my skin. This barest of touches did more to ruin me than any plunge into a wet and waiting body ever had.

True, I had instigated this chaos. Even truer, she’d taken it farther.

At some point, the corrupter had become the corrupted. The seducer had become the seduced.

She dominated this now. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

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