Page 164 of Burn

Rasping, the jester swooped in and burrowed his teeth into the crook of my neck. Sparks danced over my flesh where that warm, possessive mouth drew on me. I flung my head backward while he ushered us deeper, deeper, deeper into the isolated castle. He flayed my skin with his tongue, caressing me while dragging open the bodice, pushing the gown over my hips, and chucking the frock to the floor.

This left me in the sheer camisole, matching drawers, and a bronze lace garter harnessing a single thorn quill. Poet groaned as he slipped one strong palm into the neckline and seized a breast, my pointed nipple ruching against his skin. The other hand slithered into the front of my drawers and cupped my folds.

A savage noise rumbled from behind me when the jester discovered what I’d done. The hair that usually thatched my pussy was gone, leaving me bare and soft and wet. The ladies had assisted earlier, and while it had been unpleasant, I rather enjoyed Poet’s feral reaction.

“Fuck,” he uttered against the pulse point of my throat. “You will burn me.”

“I think we’ll burn each other,” I uttered, feeling the high bridge of his cock against my backside. “Forever, I hope.”

He made a noise of agreement, then curled his digit over my naked crease, flicking lightly atop my inflated clit. “Such a warm and willing pussy.”

My stomach fluttered. Until him, I’d never felt more sexy, desired, worshiped.

When I stalled in place and uttered a plaintive sound, begging for him to trace me, Poet murmured, “Shhh” against my temple, then brushed a kiss there. “Keep going, love.”

I struggled to walk, to let the jester guide me while he probed the slender cleft of my thighs, sketching the damp flesh and toying with the peg of skin, his ministrations igniting my body like kindling. Those dexterous fingers rubbed and skimmed each delicate fold yet never sank into my opening.

My knees shook, and my cries shivered down the complex. Poet’s hoarse grunts followed closely behind, the sounds of us flooding the castle.

Finally, he showed mercy and released me. The instant he did, I whipped around and tugged Poet into me. Now I dragged him backward, with a trail of stripped clothes following in our wake. My corset disappeared, peeled from my body and landing on the rug, and my breasts popped into view.

Belting one arm around my waist, Poet focused on me while circling his thumb over one nipple, spreading my arousal over the budding skin. My mouth opened, a small cry escaping.

Baring down, the jester seized my lips and ate up the sound. At last, we blasted into the library wing, the doors whisking apart and striking the walls. With our mouths still clamped and our restless hands groping, we pitched past desks and study rooms. The giant mouth of the fireplace roared with heat and light, a great combustion of flames plating the space in metallic shades.

Among the whiffs of amber and vetiver, I inhaled woodsmoke and parchment. Suddenly, nervous anticipation gripped my chest.

Poet must have sensed this, because he pried his lips from mine. And that was when he finally registered the setting. We’d come here instinctively, without needing to verbalize our destination.

Yet hundreds of scarlet candles glimmered from every flat surface, highlighting the gold leaf spines, and the statuesque fireplace blazed like its own bonfire. In a facing indentation, niched between two built-in bookshelves, a pile of blankets and pillows awaited us.

I shifted, hopeful as Poet riveted on the atmosphere. That ardent gaze brimmed with recognition, then swung toward me. This man was so accustomed to furnishing the ambience, however he also knew his princess liked having control as much as she liked submitting. In his awestruck expression, I sensed him remembering the library reading, when we’d been ensconced in the stacks.

Are you thinking about the last time we christened a bookshelf?

No. I’m thinking about when the next time will be.

The captivated jester went still, the flames brushing that sensual jaw as he gazed at me, wonder deepening his timbre. “You planned this.”

“Only the part where I fuck you until dawn,” I confessed shyly, then pressed my bare breasts against his torso, my fervent words coasting across his lips. “The rest is our choice.”

Our choice. Because whenever the ancients got married, they chose a special place to be alone. And while this wasn’t the wildflower forest where we first shifted from enemies to allies, nor the meadow where we first kissed, nor the forest bower where the jester first made love to me, our life together had also been forged of written words.

The lines he’d recited in that mirrored hall where we first spoke, then the poetry he composed in a jail cell after we rescued Nicu. The decrees and documents we set out to challenge. Secret notes to meet one another. A book in my beloved series. The bathtub in my suite, where Poet had whispered verse as he made love to me, on the night before I was banished. An archive library in Spring, where his voice had wrought an orgasm from me as I fondled myself. And this Autumn repository, where we’d translated an ancient story to one another about enemies who became lovers.

Someplace meaningful for us. Someplace to make a vow and consummate until dawn.

Reading my thoughts, the jester stalked forward, his gaze penetrating me to the core. “Say it, sweeting.”

He’d asked after we returned from the treehouse enclave. Now it was my turn.

My throat bobbed, my eyes stung, and my heart spilled off my tongue. “Marry me.”

Slowly, Poet nodded. That devilish mouth slinked into a grin, and he husked between his teeth, “Aye.”

Barely getting the reply out, the jester snared my hips and hoisted me against him. That wicked mouth snatched mine, his lips hauling on my own. That mischievous tongue pitched into me, stroking my palate and tasting my moan. I stood on my tiptoes, clung to his face, and yanked him down. Yielding beneath the strength of his mouth, I spread my lips and rocked them with his, urging the jester to deepen his entrance.

My breasts ground into the cliff of his chest, and my toughened nipples brushed his flesh. The jester’s ragged groan vibrated from his tongue to mine. I savored the texture of his response, the gritty sound of his desire, then I pulled back to slant my own tongue across the seam of his lips.

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