Page 166 of Burn

Hissing, the jester manacled my wrists and hefted me into him. Books rattled on the shelves, one of them in danger of slipping. In the ambient light, his powerful fingers fastened my wrists on either side of his head.

Sweeping in, Poet pared his mouth across my trembling lips. “Kiss me, Briar.”

Tears of rapture stung my eyes. “Fuck me, Poet.”

Give yourself to me. Make love to me.

Trick me. Ruin me. Burn me.

We paused. Then we unraveled.

Poet captured my thighs and vaulted me off the ground. Instinctively, I bent my knees and hooked them over his waist. Snatching my laurel crown, I pulled it from my head and whisked it aside. My hair cascaded over my shoulders, the leaf braid falling down my back.

Anchored above him, I grabbed his face and burrowed down on his mouth, flinging myself into the kiss, taking the brunt of his tongue as it whipped into me.

The noises rumbling from Poet’s chest bordered on savage. Bracing himself against the bookcase, the jester clasped my ass and splayed me wide, tacking me against him until I felt the broad, hot ridge of his cock.

Our gazes held fast. Pausing suddenly, he ghosted his fingers through my loose hair, combing out the strands with tender ferocity. His pupils smoldered—awestruck, covetous, and starved. As if in ceremony, I coasted my own digits across his jaw, then his cheekbones, the motions carefully precious.

At the same time, his touch scalded my flesh, and mine caused his orbs to flare. Pinning our foreheads together, we locked hips, with the crest of Poet’s cock nocked at my wet opening. It never failed to stun my senses, the size and shape of him, and how it rose and thickened purely from need of me.

And then. Seasons, andthen.

Poet gently lashed his backside upward. The broad head of his erection spread the pleats of my cunt, casting his full length into me.

Our mouths hung open, my devastated cry tangling with his ragged groan. The feel of his cock primed so completely, rooted so deeply into me, melted my body. My heart shattered, and my eyes prickled. I felt it everywhere, felt his firm heat encased to the brink, felt the tip anchored in a spot that threw sparks up my vertebrae.

Poet sucked in a fractured breath, then ran the sinful point of his tongue across my tremulous mouth. “Now fuck with me.”

Nodding profusely, I braced my toes on the bookshelf behind him and used the leverage to vent my thighs wider. The instant I did, Poet’s strong body hoisted upward, his buttocks snapping and his cock whisking into me. In tandem, the jester bobbed my frame up and down in a sinuous pace, my folds pumping over his length. Pleasure fired up my veins and doused my pussy in fluid, so that I wept aloud.

Swatting my hips with his, I moved in sync. Each pass withdrew him to the roof, then pivoted his erection high, enabling me to take every glorious inch. We bound our gazes to another one, my parted lips unleashing shrill noises, while Poet growled in cadence to his thrusts.

Like this, I fucked him into the bookcase. And he took me in mid-air, my frame hunching into him, my breasts jostling. We bowed steeply into one another, putting every part of our bodies into it, the point where my knees pitched against the tomes, and my fingernails dug into the shelf.

Perspiration lathered the jester’s torso, the grid of his abdomen clenching with effort. He kept a measured pace, his stamina notorious for lasting until dawn. My lover tested and teased my limits, his cock hitting at one angle, then striking into me at another slope. I whined against his mouth and rowed my waist over his pelvis, determined to keep pace.

“How’s that, Sweet Thorn?” Poet panted. “Do you like how my body makes you feel? Does my cock please you?”

“Yes,” I keened. “Do you enjoy being claimed?”

In reply, a wolfish smile blasted through his moan. He circled his hips, lancing his cock into me at yet another angle, the stem of his flesh rubbing my clit.

“Oh!” I belted to the ceiling. “Poet!”

“That’s right,” he purred, pounding leisurely. “Praise your jester. Ride him into this shelf. And do it loudly.”

My moans split through the library. Out of my mind with desire, I charged into Poet, galloping on his pelvis, hurling my cunt at him. A collection of books slipped from their perch and smacked the floor. The case shook against the wall.

My jester seethed, and his head thumped against the facade. He braced my bottom, encouraging every beat of my hips, my pussy clasping his cock, tightening him in a wet grip.

Those magnificent eyes scorched mine, the diamond painted over his eye creasing in blissful anguish. “Every time I couldn’t touch you,” he stressed, on the brink of another groan. “Every time it was forbidden. Every waking moment.” His tongue swathed my mouth, then dropped a tender kiss there. “Every second. Every look.”

I whimpered against his lips. “Every word you said.”

“Every response you gave,” he crooned.

“Every day,” I implored.

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