American King (New Camelot #3)

by Sierra Simone

  He runs a finger along the hem of Greer’s skirt, nudging it up ever so slightly and then letting it drop back down, over and over again. Our hands are still clasped tight, but neither of us lets go.

  How good it feels simply to hold his hand. How electrifying to stand here with him behind the woman we both love.

  “It was Greer’s idea,” he says, in a voice still full of the play-dark and the mock-polite. “And I rather like it. Don’t you?”

  “I—” My mouth is so dry that it takes more than one attempt to get the words out. “I still don’t know what the idea is.”

  His finger runs along her hem again, lifting it higher this time, and even standing above her as we are, there’s a tease of folded flesh and a narrow glimpse of pink. And I’m hard for it, so fucking hard. I haven’t felt anything other than my own hand for so long—no soft and slick cunts, no clever and wet tongues, no masculine fists full of Vaseline and cruelty. Not even the hair-rough thrusts against a lover’s thighs, like I used to have once upon a time.

  “Well,” Ash explains, again with that cool, polite voice, as if he’s explaining something ordinary and mundane. “I wanted you to come here tonight after your wedding, and when I told Greer, she reminded me of certain ancient customs regarding hospitality.”

  With an expert flick, he flips the hem of her skirt up and over, so that the heart-shape of her ass is completely exposed. As is the welcoming split between her legs.

  I’m back to not being able to breathe.

  Ash lets go of my hand, the air unpleasantly cool and vacant against my fingers after he does, and then he smooths his hands over his wife’s bottom.

  “She tells me that in biblical times, the custom began with a man leading the guest to a private tent. The man’s wife or sister or daughter was inside, waiting.” Ash’s fingers dent her skin ever so slightly and he pulls her cheeks apart, opening up her cunt for my inspection. She’s already wet, and the sight of it is like a punch to the chest.

  “Then the woman would rub the guest’s feet and legs with butter. I did say no to that, you understand. Some of the rugs in here are antiques.”

  One of his thumbs rubs across Greer’s inviting slit, smearing her arousal across the outer labia. “But after that part, the guest had the right to relieve his needs with the woman the host had provided.”

  He lets go of her ass and her wetness is again hidden. He gives her flank a fond slap and straightens. “It sounded…” he trails off as if searching for the right word, and then he shakes his head with a smile as he fails to find it. “Well, I wanted it, is all. I just wanted it.”

  He makes it sound as if offering up his wife is a favor to him and not to me, a pleasure he wants for him, and all I can do is stare. At this woman, who I want above all women, at this man, who I want above all men.

  “Ash, Greer, I can’t say yes to this. We…we’re not—”

  Even now, it hurts too much to say aloud what we’re not, so I say instead, “This isn’t something we can do anymore.”

  “Things are different now,” Ash acknowledges, “which is why Greer suggested giving this to you as a guest-right, and not as something that belongs to you already. Even though—” he closes his eyes for a minute “—even though it does belong to you. My wife’s body and my body. My wife’s heart and my heart. Still belong to you.”

  The back of my eyelids burn and I blink fast, trying to keep the keep the tears back, trying to keep the pain fisting in my throat from choking me.

  Greer goes up on her knees and turns, so she can slide her arms around my waist and pull herself tight to me. “I know all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this,” she says quietly, her face tilted up to mine. “Which is why it’s easier if it’s a game, you see. I don’t expect anything to be different when you leave here later, I don’t expect you to change anything. Ash and I—we knew you had a separate room at the Four Seasons. Ash wanted to see you, and I wanted to touch you, and together we wanted to give you this as a…well, the word gift sounds high-handed, considering how selfish it is, but a night then. A night when we could play and pretend, and make the hurt feel good, at least for a few hours.”

  My lips are already in her hair, and I’m holding her so tightly she might break from it, but I don’t care.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Both of you? God knows I want it, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be treated like a guest.”

  “Embry, we’d treat you like a prince if you’d let us,” Greer says against my chest. “Please, please. Just for tonight. Just for pretend.”

  And then, as the coup de grace, she takes my hand and guides it under her skirt, where she is wet and willing, and from the way she rocks against my hand, I can tell it won’t be long after I’m inside her that she’ll be tightening and coming on my dick.

  I pulse in response to the thought.

  “Okay,” I say. “I trust—” The word is too revealing, and I interrupt myself. “I mean, I understand. I want my guest-right. Please.”

  Ash takes a deep breath, and at first I think it’s to settle his nerves, but then I realize from his straining erection and his blown-pupil eyes that it’s because he’s struggling for control. And Ash at the edge of his control is beyond dangerous, beyond arousing, dosing up my blood with all sorts of fevered hormones.

  Greer rearranges herself back on the table, flipping over her own skirt with a saucy look, and then facing forward, once again Ash’s perfect submissive, still and obedient.

  “May I?” Ash asks, his hands dropping to run along the waistband of my tuxedo pants. His fingers scald my skin through the fabric, and my voice is shaky when I answer, yes, you may.

  And then I realize his hands are shaky like my voice, trembling as they slowly work open the front of my pants, exposing the silk jersey of my boxer briefs and the dark wet spot made by my leaking, neglected cock.

  My former king handles me with infinite care, pulling my boxers down far enough to reveal the fat head of my cock with its wet slit, then the thick, veined shaft. I’m so hard that I actually bob right into his hand once I’m freed, and the feeling is like nothing else. I moan. Then his other hand cradles my balls, cupping them with the perfect amount of pressure, and my eyes flutter closed.

  “Feel good?” Ash asks.

  “Yes,” I manage, my voice as tight as my sac, which has drawn up high to my body, ready to release at any moment.

  “How long has it been since you’ve fucked someone?” Ash asks, his voice as tempered and mild as a doctor’s, like this is a check-up, like this is a routine procedure.

  “Camp David,” I say hazily. A wide, warm fingertip is probing the delicate flesh behind my balls, and I can’t remember any moment before this, can’t remember any words that aren’t about skin and touch and heat.

  “That’s a long time for a man to go without,” Ash says, and I can’t tell if there’s reproach or sympathy in his words. He gives me a loose and lazy stroke, looking pleased as I nearly buckle from the feeling. “I think you really need this, Embry. Let us make you more comfortable.”

  “Yes.” I don’t know which part of it I’m saying yes to, but it doesn’t matter. Yes to all of it. Yes to everything. Yes until I die or until morning comes, whichever happens first.

  Ash’s hands leave my penis, which is the worst feeling in the world, but then he puts them back on Greer’s ass and pulls her cheeks apart to show me the best sight in the world. “She’s got an amazing cunt,” he says conversationally, as if I really am a guest, as if I really don’t know for myself exactly how Greer feels underneath me. Impaled, squirming, wet.

  “Would you like to sample for yourself? Have a taste?” Ash asks, again in that polite, gracious voice like he’s merely inviting me to taste a prized scotch or enjoy the city view out of a certain window.

  I nod, and then his hand is on the back of my neck, and it is the most natural thing in the world to let him push me to my knees, to have him guide my mouth to his wife’s pussy. It’s inde
cent, I recognize that, obscene and maybe even sinful, but it is the way the three of us were made, and in this moment, I’m ready to forsake everything else I believe just to have this forever.

  I can feel Ash’s breathing change the moment my lips touch the peach-like split between Greer’s legs, and I can feel his hand tighten against my neck, his fingers splaying across the back of my head and pushing me harder into her. Greer lets out a low whimper as I open my mouth and kiss her with an eager tongue, determined to re-explore and re-conquer every soft fold, every wet secret. My hands go to her thighs, one of them tangling with one of Ash’s, our fingers sliding through each other’s and gripping tightly, holding on to each other as he holds my face to his woman’s cunt.

  Greer is all delicious give and tension, her pussy soft and opening to my mouth and her lissome legs and arms shuddering tight as I eat her. And beside me, Ash is volcanic, about to rupture with heat, his entire body as hard and sharp as obsidian glass. I wish he would rupture, I wish he would explode. I want him naked and demanding and greedy, I want him lost to himself, his control gone, his eyes gone with lust, his desperation incinerating everything that’s not the three of us. I want to provoke him past the edge of his restraint and then lap up all the misery he wants to unleash on me, breathe in all his violent delights and drink up all his violent ends.

  But before I can figure out how to make this happen, he’s pulling me away from Greer, hauling me back up to my feet by the back of my jacket. “That’s enough tasting,” he says, his cool voice at odds with his storming eyes and his body wound tight and trembling. He comes around to stand behind me, one of his large hands wrapping around my shaft once again, his other hand sliding past my waist to hold tight to Greer’s hip.

  I stare down, fascinated at the pornographic sight of him fisting me and now slowly rubbing my tip against the private softness of his wife. The feeling of his fingers tight on my erection and Greer’s slick entrance at my head is pulling every bit of heat, every drop of blood, down to this one part of me, and then his hips behind nudge me forward and before I can really absorb what’s happening, he’s guiding me inside Greer, his hand giving me one last squeeze before he lets go and I’m fully enveloped.

  In front of me, Greer gasps, and I can feel her toes wiggling against my legs as she struggles to adjust. I know the feeling—my own toes are curling in my dress shoes and my chin is in my chest as I struggle to take deep breaths and not lose it right away. But I’m fighting against more than the months-long dry spell, more than the cinch of a woman around my member. I’m fighting against the press of Greer’s thighs against my own and the adorable scrunches of her toes, the dip and curve of her slender waist under her skirt and the golden light of the room making her white-gold hair glow like an angel’s halo. I’m fighting against Ash next to me, his voice husky and burning when he asks, “Does she feel good?”

  “Fuck yes, she does,” I breathe. I pull out the tiniest amount, push back in, not trusting myself to do more yet, barely trusting myself to even look at her or Ash.

  Ash steps back, sitting with graceful strength on the sofa behind him and keeping his gaze on us the entire time. He leans an elbow on the arm of the sofa and props his head against two fingers and his thumb in the pose of a man casually observing something interesting. His tented slacks and flashing eyes tell a different story, however, and I have no doubt that my favorite version of Ash, beastly and wild, will be uncaged before long.

  It’s a thrilling thought, and I have to work even harder to keep myself in check. With my eyes still on Ash, I finally start moving inside Greer, letting her inner walls kiss along my full length for the first time in so very long. I want to savor it…and I also don’t. I want to fuck her sweaty and fast until she’s gasping in between moans and squeezing around me in climax.

  Savor. I don’t know when I’ll get to do this again. If I ever will.

  I look down to Greer and run appreciative hands over her ass and hips and thighs, trying to imprint every single second of this, every inch of her, onto my memory. The night my king let me fuck his queen in front of him.

  “There’s no need to go slowly,” says Ash, reading my thoughts as always. “This is for you.”

  It is for me—but also for him and for Greer too, and I wonder if as much as I want to see Ash completely wild, they want to see me the same way. Do they fantasize about me being feral and mindless with lust? Does Greer ever get wet thinking about how rough and reckless I was with her in Carpathia? Does Ash miss the times he had me panting like a dog, shameless and blind with need?

  I finally manage to find my voice. “Do you like watching this?” I ask. “Watching me fuck your wife?”

  It’s not meant to be insulting or goading, and it doesn’t come out that way. It comes out like I mean it: is this how you wanted it? Are we pleasing you? Let us please you.

  Ash smiles against his fingers. “Oh, yes. I enjoy watching this very much.”

  Greer in front of me is voiceless, presumably as part of the choreography she mapped out for our night, but she wriggles and bucks back against me, and I remind myself of the game. I’m a guest and Ash is my host, and Greer is the prized scotch he’s letting me taste. His most cherished possession opened up for me and made available for my use, for my guest-right.

  It’s easy to sink into the fantasy now, easy to fuck into this gorgeous woman while her husband watches. Easy to let all those lonely days and bitter nights go, fuck them gone, fuck them right out of existence. There’s just Greer in front of me, her obedience fracturing along predictable lines as she glances over her shoulder to watch me and to watch her husband watch us, every part of this torrid scenario lighting her up. There’s just Ash, his stupidly handsome face still cradled against his fingers, his perfect jaw tense and his other hand slowly balling and flexing beside his thigh, as if he’s struggling not to touch something. Himself, maybe, or us. And right now it doesn’t matter, because there’s only an us. No matter the configuration, no matter how we tessellate limbs and join bodies, it’s all as a three. As an us. Even from three feet away, Ash is fucking Greer as surely as I am, and even from three feet away, I know he can feel every thrust and slide as if he were doing it himself. And I wonder, in the delirious corners of my mind, if he’s thinking about what it would be like to be Greer right now, bent over and shivering with sweat along his back as I moved behind him in a rumpled tuxedo.

  Fuck.

  “You should play with her clit,” says Ash from the couch. “When she comes on your cock, it’s quite something.”

  It is quite something, I know that from experience; in fact, I was the first person to feel that something ever on the planet Earth, but it doesn’t matter right now, because that’s not the game. The game is that I’m taking my guest-right, and beyond the game, if tonight is my last night with Greer, I need to her to come hard, I need her body sore and hungry with the memory of me.

  I slide a hand over her ass, following the curve to the supple line of her thigh, following that to where thigh meets body. The moment my fingers strum across her clit, her back arches up and she’s making this noise of hers that’s somewhere between a moan and kitten’s mewl. Every time I hear it, I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from coming right then and there.

  And you know what? If I were really a guest and this really were my right, I’d be able to fuck her any way I wanted, and right now I want more of her. All of her. I slide an arm high up on her waist, just below her breasts, and I wind her braid around my hand, and I pull her upright using both until her back is flush to my chest.

  My hands are greedy, fondling her breasts over her shirt with rough plumps, moving with pressing fingertips over her waist and hips and shoulders and collarbone. Everywhere, I want to touch her everywhere, and it’s not long before her shirt feels like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, a curse, a punishment, and I yank it off her body with impatient tugs. Then I’m dragging down the cups of her bra, rolling and plucking at her nipples
, which earns a low noise of approval from Ash.

  It earns me lots of squirms and gasps from Greer, and I need to see her, I need to see her face, so I pull us both down on a sofa, rearranging her so that she straddles me. I strip off her bra and skirt, so that all of her is available for my mouth and eyes and hands, and as I drink her in, she starts moving on top of me, lithe and undulating movements that have us both straining and sweating in a matter of moments. I lean forward and suck on the tips of her breasts while she cradles the back of my head; she wraps a hand around my throat to keep me still; eventually I lock her wrists behind her back, forcing her tits to jut forward and her hips to tilt toward mine. At some point, Ash comes to sit next to us, murmuring the most maddening things in my ear:

  I can tell you need to come, I see how much it’s killing you to hold back.

  Isn’t she sexy? Isn’t she beautiful? Doesn’t she feel good?

  Don’t you want to come inside her? I’d let you, you know, I’d let you come as much as you needed to.

  He takes over holding her wrists behind her back, which means I have a hand free to toy with her firm little clit, all full and needy for attention. It only takes a minute or two with my thumb, and the blush creeping up her stomach and down her chest ignites into a real, frenzied heat. And it only takes another minute for that heat to combust into a pure flaming delight that leaves her gasping and shuddering on top of me, and Ash says in my ear give it to her and I do, I give it all to her. I fuck up into her with three hard thrusts, and with a strangled cry and with a painful shudder deep inside my body, I throb and pulse and spill five months worth of waiting into the woman I love.

  Thirteen

  Embry

  now

  I might be dead.

  There’s a moment when my vision dims and my hearing muffles and all I’m aware of is the sweet weight of a person I love slumped against me and there’s nothing, not even a heartbeat, between us. For a handful of breathless, mindless moments, there is only her.