I'm shaking now, shaking from fullness, shaking from endorphins and adrenaline, and I feel feverish—hot and cold and sweaty and covered in goose bumps, and the men are the same way, just long, lean expanses of sweaty, shivering muscles, and when Ash finds my hand and drags it to his mouth to kiss my wedding ring, I know it's almost all over for me. I know that the feverish pleasure is about to surge past every lingering ache and doubt and drown me as I lie.
"Ash," Embry groans. "God, Ash, your cock. And she's so tight, Jesus fuck, so fucking tight…"
"I know," Ash grunts, shoving into me, sweat dripping from his face. "Believe me, I know."
"I'm—" I can't find my breath or my words or my thoughts, all there is inside me is the wave, the shuddering, tangy, metallic threat of an orgasm too strong to withstand.
"I know, princess," Ash says. "We'll follow you. Be brave and go first, and we'll follow you."
I want to respond, I should respond, but I can't because I don't exist any longer. I'm nothing but electricity and chemicals and fuel, I'm nothing but a barely held together collection of molecules about to fly apart. Embry is sweating and desperate behind me, Ash all forceful grace and strength in front, and then both of them shove up at the same time, both perfect, flared tips kissing against my womb at the same time, and once again I'm being split apart like an atom, once again I burn down the world, but this time when I cry out, it's from pure, helpless joy, it's from pleasure and love and perfection and eternity and marriage, this very real marriage happening between the three of us.
They keep their word and they follow me, Embry first with a series of grunts that send my bones vibrating with an aftershock orgasm, and Ash with a pant and a moan that hits me square in the chest, cracking my ribs and puncturing my heart with the heavenly music of it. They keep fucking through their orgasms, masculine grunts and curse words as their semen spills inside of me, as everything inside of me is slippery and warm and intimate.
Minutes pass, minutes where it's just the rain and the pounding of our pulses, and everything is wet and sticky but we just can't bear to unspool this moment, to pull apart what we've just shared, to separate what we've just joined together.
I stare up into Ash's eyes, which are clearer and happier than I've ever seen them, and then I start laughing, not because there's anything funny, but because I'm so happy that I’ll cry if I don’t laugh, except I've already started to cry again too.
My laughing forces both softening cocks to slip out and Embry groans, but he's laughing too, and Ash joins in as warmth spills out of me.
"We need a shower," I say in between laughs.
"We need a nap," Embry says, rolling onto his back and yawning boyishly.
"Shower first," Ash insists. "Our poor princess needs a little aftercare."
Except that once we get into the shower, the aftercare somehow turns into more sex, Ash and Embry together, and then me and Embry, and then the three of us again, and Ash makes me swallow double the recommended dose of Advil for my poor cunt before we strip the bed of the ruined sheets and curl up together on the bare mattress, my prince on one side of me, and my king on the other.
Embry falls asleep immediately, and I turn to face Ash, who's blinking slowly and worshipfully at me. "Happy getting married day," I tell him.
"Happy getting married day," he says back.
"What happens next?" I ask, knowing he has to be sick of that question from me, but he just smiles.
"I was wondering when you were going to ask that," he grins.
"I don't know why I ask…you always say you don't know."
"Except I do know this time." Ash wraps his arms around both me and the sleeping Embry, gathering us close to him. I press my face against his neck and hear the gentle rumble of his throat as he speaks. "What happens next is we all live happily ever after."
30
I wake up sore, sweaty, and happy.
Embry has flopped over onto his stomach, one leg bent, snoring loudly, and Ash is still wrapped around me, although his arms are slack and he’s hooked a leg around the cover to cool off. His breathing is even and steady, and I know if I could see his face in the dark, it would be that rare expression of vulnerability that squeezes my chest every time I see it.
I blink in the dark for a few minutes, content and safe and transformed. I feel like a different person. A realer person. Like a fairy tale princess awakened from slumber. But this fairy tale also comes with an aching pussy and a powerful thirst, so I carefully wriggle out of bed to go find some more Advil and a glass of water.
It’s only been a couple of hours since we collapsed onto the bed, and it’s a deep dark outside the windows, even with the city glowing around us. Plenty of time to snuggle back in, I think as I use the restroom and swallow the pills. A perfect way to end a perfect night.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and since I’m up, I go check it.
Abilene: I know it’s the middle of the nite but I need to talk. can u come down to the lobby? It’s important.
I’m already grabbing my robe and putting it on, searching for hotel slippers to go with it.
Me: omg, are you okay? I’m coming down now.
Abilene: I’m okay, I just need to see u.
With my hand on the door, I think about waking up one of the men and telling them I’m going downstairs, but they both look so perfect and boyish stretched out on the bed that I hate to wake them. I’ll tell Luc or one of the other agents waiting in the hallway, I decide. And if Ash wakes up, then he’ll be able to find me right away.
But when I open the door and step out into the hallway, I don’t see Luc. Or any of the other agents. I slip my phone into my robe pocket and walk further down the hallway, puzzled. Even while we sleep, there’s usually perimeters of agents guarding the room. We’re never really alone.
I turn the corner to the see the elevator, and again—no one. Even though I know for sure there’s always an agent at the elevator.
Something’s wrong, I think, and the moment I think that, I know I need to get back to the room, back to Ash. It was stupid of me to come this far down the hallway in the first place, but the best thing to do now would be to—
Oh shit.
There’s a man standing in front of me wearing a hotel employee uniform and blue latex gloves, a cleaning cart at rest behind him. His uniform says Daryl, but I know he’s not a hotel employee. Because I’ve seen him before.
At the Carpathian diplomatic dinner.
I take a deep breath, preparing to run. And he steps towards me with a cold smile.
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Also by Sierra Simone
The Priest Series:
Priest
Midnight Mass: A Priest Novella
Sinner (2017)
Co-Written with Laurelin Paige
Porn Star
The Markham Hall Series:
The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
The Education of Ivy Leavold
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold
The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold
The London Lovers:
The Seduction of Molly O’Flaherty
The Persuasion of Molly O’Flaherty
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty
Acknowledgments
To every author who wrote a book about King Arthur, to my mother for giving me a copy of The Once and Future King when I was only eight, and to my AP English teacher, who let me make my senior project a book about how sexy Mordred was.
To Laurelin Paige, who held my hand, read countless drafts, quoted Rob Bell to me, and finally got me back for that time I made her change the beginning of Fixed on You. You were right about the beginning, you were right about everything. Of course.
To Nancy Smay of Evident Ink, The Editor From Heaven, who corrected my tenses and patiently explained to me exactly why a president c
an’t talk about drone strikes in front of his new girlfriend. I don’t deserve you NEVER LEAVE ME.
To the No Shadow Bitches, I won’t out you here, and I solemnly swear not to get *one* of you worked up about biting necks again.
To Melanie Harlow and Kayti McGee, my sNAtches, my confidantes. And at Target prices!
To Ashley Lindemann, who pets my head and keeps the lights on while I transmorgify into a hermit crab. Everyone should know by now we’re a package deal.
To Jenn Watson, who tells me what to do and has zillions of great ideas and has never once complained about the lecherous way I look at her.
To Rebecca Friedman, you are possibly the smartest, most energetic woman I know, and sometimes when you’re trying to talk to me about agent stuff, I space out and just think about how pretty you are.
To my Lambs—you guys are the best readers a girl could ask for, and I promise to keep writing the most depraved smut possible for all you very depraved ladies. And especially you sexy ladies I met in Birmingham and LA and Virginia Beach, let’s just all go on vacation together someday, k?
To the bloggers, all you amazing wizard women who read faster than I can shoot a glass of whiskey and still find the time to be online and cheerful and helpful. As always, the Dirty Laundry girls and Literary Gossip girls make my days brighter. Amie and Martha, there are some times where your kindnesses have been the things that gave me the strength to keep wrestling with this book. Candi, you are the oil in my engine (yes I want that to sound dirty) and Ang Oh, someday I want to come canvassing with you and your wife and learn all your secrets to having such pretty hair.
To my fellow authors who have propped me up with a drink or a hug or have let me chug champagne in their backyard while I had hand, foot and mouth disease (it’s a long story), thank you. Especially CD Reiss, Becca Hensley Mysoor, JR Gray, Stacy Kestwick, Sarah MacLean, and a bunch of young adult authors who I won’t embarrass by putting their names in the back of a book about double vaginal penetration, but you know who you are. Or at least you remember drinking with me in Illinois or in Texas or at the Lake of the Ozarks or in Fort Morgan or in Tennessee.
And finally to Josh, my once and future king. You’ll always be my King Arthur (and scotch will always be my Lancelot. Or Tom Hiddleston if he’s free. I love you!)
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today Bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
@thesierrasimone
TheSierraSimone
www.authorsierrasimone.com
[email protected]
American Queen Page 36