American King

by Sierra Simone

  “Give it to me,” she pleads quietly. “Please. One more time.”

  “One more time,” I say, and pierce her deep and full with my cock.

  God, her pussy. Flushed and hot from her busy night, still wet inside from when I took my guest-right earlier and spent inside her. The best combination of slippery and tight, and it has my stomach clenching to feel my dick inside. Has my hand fisting in the pillow underneath her and my thighs trembling with restraint.

  She arches and wiggles underneath me, her stomach once again pressing flat against mine and driving me mad. I unleash a wicked flurry of thrusts out of sheer reaction, my weight driving her into the bed, my hips moving hard and fast.

  “Ohhh,” she breathes, staring up at me. “Oh God.”

  I do it again. I hug her tight to my chest and burrow my face in her neck, and then I pump into her over and over and over, static crowding at the edges of my vision, my mouth open and kissing against her neck and shoulder. Her hand catches mine, and I slow my thrusts as I feel her fingers run across the new metal of my wedding band.

  I freeze, lifting my head and staring down at her as she turns her head to see the glint of it in the dark.

  “Greer…”

  “It’s not real,” she whispers. And then she puts my hand with its traitorous ring flat against her chest, so I can feel the gentle slope of her breast and the hammer of her heart. “This,” she says, looking up at me and holding my hand against her heart, “this is what’s real. Us. What we have.”

  I close my eyes a moment because it’s too much, her grace and her forgiveness and her understanding. Her generosity. I’m not worthy of it, and it eats me up inside that I can never be. Maybe…maybe if I win against Ash, and maybe if I can finally smother the Carpathian flames once and for all and guarantee that she’ll be safe from Melwas always—maybe then I’ll earn it. Maybe then I’ll deserve this gift she’s giving me.

  I open my eyes after I can breathe normally and then I give her a long, ardent kiss. I claim her lips and tongue and teeth, tracing them with my tongue and stealing her breath and replacing it with mine. I fuck into her with slow, deep rolls that have her whimpering against my mouth. And all the while, my hateful wedding ring rests warm and solid between us, and after several minutes of kissing and unhurried coupling, it doesn’t feel so evil on my finger anymore. It’s nothing more than a hammered ring of inert metal, a thing, and it can never compare to the hammered ring our hearts make. To the fragile band that encircles the three of us and anchors us to one another.

  This is real.

  In my haste to fuck the queen, I’d forgotten about the king prowling around the room—and also that king’s bottle of lube resting next to where my hips move against his wife’s. It looks so innocuous there, smallish and white, and I remember how some of the most depraved and debauched nights of my life have begun with similar innocent-looking bottles. And then of course, there were the even more depraved nights—vicious and violating—when we made do without the real stuff. Olive oil or conditioner or aloe vera—or just spit and a prayer. Some of the best nights of my life.

  I look up, expecting to see Ash ready to crawl on the bed behind me, but instead I find him kneeling on the floor beside us, his arms on the bed and his head pillowed on his arms. He’s watching me and Greer, and his face.

  His face.

  I’ve never wondered before what it would look like for someone to have their whole world in their eyes, never even thought to wonder. But Ash right now, kneeling and gazing at Greer and me—

  His whole world is in his eyes.

  And it’s incredible to see.

  Holy, almost. Sacred.

  That kind of awe and vulnerability and bloody, heart-beating love—it’s like being offered something on an altar, and realizing the person offering it thinks you’re a god. Ash is staring at us like he could forgo food and water and air as long as he had us, and suddenly my chest is cracking wide open and my heart is falling out and there was never any other way for me to end up than caught between them. With her arching underneath me and Ash beside me, I almost feel like I am a god, like I could conquer the entire world, and I dare anyone not to fall in love with her, not to kneel to him, I dare anyone to resist the undertow of Maxen Colchester and Greer Galloway.

  Anyone.

  Greer reaches over for Ash, and he takes her hand and rubs her fingers against his stubbled jaw as he watches us move in sweaty, lazy intimacy. “Join us,” she says to him.

  “In a minute,” he answers. “I want to look at you both.”

  “Looking can’t be as much fun as fucking,” Greer points out, with a little pout that would make any other man weep with lust.

  “You underestimate what I’m looking at,” Ash says, unmoved, still rubbing her fingers against his face.

  I know better than anyone the crude appetites he keeps behind all that honor and Catholic morality, and I know how to get him on the bed with us. I purposefully move Greer’s leg to the side and angle her hips so that he can see the stretch of her cunt around my erection, the indolent thresh of my hips against hers. The wet gleam of her on my cock as I pull out and slowly plunge back in.

  Ash goes completely still, his hand frozen with Greer’s fingers against his jaw, his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. And with the low light of the room outlining the rigid muscles of his shoulders and arms, the tense set of his jaw, and the hunger and thirst expressed by that brutal mouth—I have a moment when I wonder if it was actually wise to provoke him. To stir the beast from his watchful pose. My stomach tightens in both fear and excitement.

  With a growl, Ash stands up and puts a knee on the bed. Everything is brutal and beautiful about him right now, not just his mouth, it’s his vicious body and merciless cock and the way he prowls and crawls towards us, like no predator I’ve even dreamed of.

  And then one sadistic hand is in my hair and his male organ is filling my mouth, invading it, no care or time for me to move my tongue and teeth to accommodate him. Just a rough shove in until he hits the back of my throat, and I know he must have felt the unprepared score of my teeth, the plush resistance of my tongue and the unwelcoming squeeze of my closed throat, but it only seems to inflame him further, a low groan of pleasure coming from somewhere deep in his chest as he pulls out and shoves back in again, ruthless and seeking and finally, finally it’s him, the dark master from my best and most delicious nightmares.

  “Take it,” he says. “Open your goddamn throat and take it.”

  I try, I do, but he’s too big, moving too fast, using me too hard, and there’s the distracting glance of Greer’s fingertips tracing my lips where they suck her husband’s cock, and it’s all too much for me to give, which seems to be fine by Ash because he forces his way down my throat with a harsh noise anyway. I choke around him and he tightens his hand in my hair.

  “That’s it,” he murmurs, pushing in even deeper, until my nose is pressed against the close-trimmed hair stretching down from his navel. “That’s it. All the way. All the way.”

  And then he is all the way in and I’m trying to suck air through my nose as water streams from my eyes and the cruel hand leaves my hair to cradle my face.

  “You’re so fucking handsome like this,” he says to me. He pulls out, leaving me sputtering for air and then he bends down and seals his mouth over mine. Greer whimpers underneath us, her hands going to trace our chests and arms, her eyes big and silver and glued to the sight of us kissing.

  Ash pulls back, his mouth wet, his cock wet, and his expression satisfied. “I’ve been looking forward to that all night.”

  I’m too busy gasping for air to say me too, but he reads it in my face anyway and gives me a darkly knowing smirk. And then he’s crawling behind me, hair-rough legs moving against my own, his presence like a sun on my back, hot and life giving.

  “Keep fucking,” he orders, giving my ass a smack, and so I look back down to Greer and start moving again.

  She gives me a smile tha
t I can’t describe, except to say that it conveys that hammered ring of love between the three of us and also the common bond that she and I share—which is the communion of being loved by a man like Ash. In her smile I see the understanding and amused sympathy and lust and jealousy that I feel when I watch her and Ash together, and I’m reminded forcefully of why I love her so much. We’re beaten from the same metal, she and I, cut from the same fucked-up cloth, and the ways that we love each other will always, always be tangled up in the ways we love Ash and the ways he loves us back.

  Love you, she mouths as I trace the shape of her smile with a finger.

  Love you too, I mouth back, angling my hips to catch her clit on the next thrust forward. Love you forever.

  Her eyes glow up at me with renewed heat as I continue working against her most precious spots, as I dip my head to suck at the furled nipples grazing against my chest.

  Behind me, I hear the click and flip of the lube bottle, and then two cold and slippery fingers probe impatiently between my legs. I still my hips, my breath shuddering in and out as the fingers find my hole and tease at the rim, circling once before pushing inside, both at once. I hiss at the pressure, at the sharp flare of pain, and that earns me another slap on the flank from the man behind me.

  And then the fingers are gone, replaced by the hot crown of his cock. And it’s so blunt and so round pressing in against me, and I’ve forgotten how fucking big he is, because there’s a difference between big in your mouth and big in your ass, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had him inside me, and oh God, what I am I doing? What game do I think I’m playing? It’s not one I can win, even if it’s just for tonight, and if he fucks me right now, I’m going to walk out of here tomorrow morning without my heart, I’m going to walk out of here having given him everything when I had vowed not to give him anything.

  I panic. “Wait,” I blurt out. “Wait!”

  Ash waits.

  “I—” I’m breathing so hard that I can feel my sides heaving, and I can’t gather my thoughts and my words and everything is just a messy storm of terror and lust. “This doesn’t change anything, okay? This isn’t a symbol or a surrender or a—”

  “I know,” Ash says.

  “I mean, it is kind of a surrender because that’s what I want it to be, but that’s what I’m choosing, okay? And I’m only choosing for tonight, and it’s not like a real surrender anyway, it’s just sex, and just because I want it doesn’t mean I want anything else—”

  “Embry,” says Ash. “I know.”

  “And this doesn’t mean I’m yours again, it doesn’t mean that I’m choosing anything different outside of this bedroom, it doesn’t mean anything at all, it doesn’t change how—”

  “Embry, shut up,” Ash says and shoves his cock up my ass.

  Holy fucking God.

  The invasion is so brutal that it steals my breath and blinds my vision. It’s raw and piercing and animalistic, and I’m speared on Ash’s cock like a fish on a gaff, my heartbeat dropping down to my cock, which is still throbbing inside Greer.

  “Is he inside you right now?” she asks with indecent curiosity.

  “I—fuck—yes,” I wheeze. Behind me, Ash’s cock is unpitying and cruel, stretching me and searching out my deepest depths, and shit shit shit, I’m so fucking hard I can feel it in my teeth. I’d forgotten, but how could I ever forget? That having Ash inside of me, merciless and lewd, is the most alive, the most turned on, the most myself I can ever be? Ash leans forward, pressing me deeper into Greer, and instructs, “When I fuck, you fuck, got it?”

  I nod hazily, not surprised to feel sweat already misting along my skin, and then Ash starts, a deep thrust that makes me grunt and push into Greer. The dual sensations of being filled and filling someone else have me dizzy, have me giddy and out of my mind with endorphins and lust and I want to fuck and fuck and fuck forever.

  One of Ash’s hands roams over my tight stomach, the fingers strumming along the tensed furrows of my abdomen, the hard planes of my chest. And then he’s cupping my throat to arch me back to him.

  “You think I don’t know,” he growls in my ear, “that this changes nothing? You think I don’t know, every time I look at you, that you aren’t mine anymore?”

  I pant in response, because his fucking is still merciless, wedging into me with deliciously thorough strokes I can feel down to my toes. And because every thrust has me thrusting into Greer, and she is writhing like a mad woman underneath me, pulling on my hair and reaching up to squeeze my biceps and reaching behind me to touch her husband.

  “God, if I could fuck you back to me,” grunts Ash. “If I could fuck you hard enough to make you stay with me forever, I’d do it, you know I would do it.”

  Fuck if it doesn’t feel like he’s already trying, and I don’t know if I can even attempt an answer, because all my words are gone. Just gone. Between Ash’s cock and Greer’s pussy, my body is threatening to dissolve into nothing, into pure bliss, into an orgasm so massive and titanic that I don’t know that I’ll survive it.

  “You like me fucking you through him?” Ash asks his wife. “You like knowing my cock is inside him while his is inside you?”

  “Yes,” she moans. Her hands drop to my hips and reach around to palm my ass cheeks. And then she pulls them wide apart, just like we made her do to herself in the shower tonight, and I’m stretched open, visible and exposed and on display. Ash stills his hips for a moment and I just know he’s staring down at where his wife holds me open for him, and Greer is staring at him staring at me, and all of sudden, I’m completely and entirely peeled open. Everything is pulped and raw and bleeding out of my soul, because they are all of me, and fucking them is the ritual that makes it manifest, and it’s as if Ash realizes the same thing at the same moment, because he becomes unglued. Insane. Feral. He shoves me down onto Greer and follows me, his stomach against my back and his hips driving his dick in and in and in, deeper, deeper, deeper, and I can feel his entire body working for the sole purpose of fucking the life right out of me. His feet sliding for traction on the bed, his knees pushing my thighs and Greer’s thighs wider apart. His hands fisting at covers and hair and flesh. He is in rut now, an animal bent only on mating, mindless with the sheer need to come inside someone, and he’s grunting and I’m barely breathing and Greer is giving delighted, grinning squeaks as my cock pummels into her from the force of Ash’s strokes.

  This. This is what he was saving his orgasm for. This moment when the three of us are thoughtless, reflexive beasts, joined so elementally that there’s no separating us. We are one, we are one, and my body burns and sings with the truth. With Ash’s kingship over me, with the secret fire he is forging at the base of my spine, and with the holy devotion we both have for the electric and otherworldly woman underneath us, who’s now murmuring words both goading and coaxing.

  Fuck him, Ash, fuck the cum right out of him

  I want to see your face when you come inside him, I want you to fill him up

  Oh I can feel it when you fuck him, it feels so fucking good

  Despite her earlier request not to orgasm, Greer is the first to snap, her mouth parting in an O of surprise and her body going so tight around my cock that she squeezes my climax from almost there to there there there, and then Ash gives a final toe-curling thrust against my prostate and I hear him mutter to himself, that’s it, fuck yes, that’s it, and I’m falling, detonating with a two-ton bomb at the bottom and erupting with what feels like all the cum my body has every held, spurting into Greer so hard and thick that I can feel it against my shaft and leaking out around my balls. Behind me Ash says, “Shit, Embry, I’m going to—” and then his hips shudder and jerk as his cock throbs palpably and fills me with heat. He lets out a strangled groan.

  “Little prince,” is all he says as he empties himself into me and I empty myself into Greer and Greer still quavers out her pleasure underneath it all, and the moment whirls on for an eternity, seething pressure and wet friction a
nd pounding hearts. And the rhythmic contractions of our joining for an impossible moment sync and align, and I would swear to every god I can name that we are actually coming together, that we are actually sharing the same orgasm, and that we are shivering through each and every wave together, joined as we should be, bound as we should be, together, together, as one flesh.

  Man and man and wife.

  IT’S four in the morning, and a soft October chill fogs the corners of the windowpanes. Outside, the sky is an inky gloom backlit by the tired blare of the city lights, and the wind is tugging at every crack in the building, blowing brittle leaves noisily by.

  Inside, however, is warm and the kind of cozy dark that makes a man want to sleep forever, but I’m not asleep because I don’t want to miss a single second of this, I want all of it etched onto the metal of my mind, indelible and permanent.

  After our intense scene, Ash spent a long, intimate hour with aftercare. He cleaned us with warm rags, he gave us cold water, he rubbed our legs and backs and kissed along every inch of Greer and me as we lay tangled and spent underneath him. And after he finished tending to every bruise and sticky spot, after he finished murmuring words of pride and affection to us—that we made him so proud, that we made him so happy, that we were so precious to him—he also stretched out on the bed next to me. And without preamble, Greer poured herself into the narrow space between us, threw a leg over my hip, hugged Ash’s hand to her heart, and fell immediately asleep, her rosebud mouth slightly parted and her hair—freshly brushed by Ash—gleaming on the pillow.

  But I stayed awake to watch her, and Ash did too, and now we’re staring at each other over Greer’s head. He moves his hand from her chest and runs it over the muscles of my bicep and shoulder. And then he takes my hand. Not to bite or bind, not to use on his cock. He takes it to hold it, and that simple touch undoes me, breaks open whatever little armor I have left.

  “Tonight,” I say.

  “Tonight,” he agrees.