American Prince (American Queen #2)

by Sierra Simone

  There’s a poem like this, I think dizzily, as Embry’s hot mouth moves to the nipple Ash abused earlier, and then to the other, sucking every bit of juice right off my skin. His mouth traces wet lines to my sternum and collarbone, his tongue light and fluttering in the hollow below my neck. Every movement of his mouth goes straight to my clit.

  The Goblin Market, I remember. That’s the name of the poem. A Victorian poem about two sisters, Lizzie and Laura, who must resist the forbidden fruits of the otherworldly goblin men. I taught it to undergraduates at Cambridge, and as Embry seals his mouth over the thudding pulse point in my neck and sucks, I remember some of the lines:

  Did you miss me?

  come and kiss me.

  Never mind my bruises

  hug me, kiss me, suck my juices.

  …eat me, drink me, love me,

  Laura, make much of me.

  Embry licks the juice from my chin next, lips tickling along my jaw, which is tense from holding the fruit. He kisses around the apple, around the edges of my stretched lips. “All clean,” he whispers against my skin.

  “Thank you, Embry,” Ash says, his voice husky. I can feel how much watching Embry lick the juices from my skin has affected him, and then I feel it even more as Ash easily lifts me up and resettles me over his lap belly-down, ass-up. His erection is hot hard steel against my bare stomach, and my clit pulses at the new posture, the air wafting between my legs against my exposed cunt.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, after all we’ve done and gone through, but it still does—I’m wet. I’m so wet, with an apple in my mouth reminding me of my kidnapping, with my ass raised up for a spanking, with my body objectified by the only two people in the world I want to share it with.

  “Keep that apple in your pretty little mouth, princess.”

  Smack.

  Heat blooms under his hand as he lifts it to smack me again. This time it’s harder, faster, the crack resounding through the room. I flinch, and the apple starts to slip, forcing me to bite down deeper. Embry, still on his knees, moves to the side of Ash’s legs so he can face me and take my hands in his. He presses his forehead to mine.

  “Remember to breathe,” he advises, and I nod, even though it’s so hard with this fucking apple jammed between my teeth and—

  Crack crack.

  The apple muffles my cry, more juice spilling onto my tongue and running down my chin. I taste it, and taste Melwas, feel his breath on my neck—

  Crack crack crack.

  Embry squeezes my fingers. My teeth squeeze the apple.

  Crack. Crack.

  Crack.

  On it goes, on and on, blows hard and deep sprinkled with blows light and fast until it doesn’t matter which ones are hard and which ones are light, they all hurt, they all burn. My skin is fire, my ass and thighs are fire, and all the while I’m gagging on a fucking piece of fruit.

  My ass, Embry’s fingers, the apple. I don’t exist outside those three points, those three sensations. They are the points my existence is strung from, my only anchors to reality. It’s all I can do to keep breathing, to keep the apple in my mouth, the pain and fire of it driving out all thought. All memory. There’s only Ash’s punishing hands and Embry’s soothing ones, and the sweet juice on my tongue.

  Ash rubs an appreciative hand over my ass, even the gentle caress burning against my skin. I’m just on the verge of gone, truly lost to myself—any more pain and I’d plunge headlong into subspace, which I almost crave. But Ash keeps me just at the brink of awareness, slowing the pain and my pulse.

  A finger runs along my slit, teasing past the wet folds and sliding inside. “Who do you get wet for?”

  “You, Sir,” I try to say around the apple. It comes out as a muffled wet sound.

  “Mm. And who do you hurt for?”

  “You, Sir.” Every time I attempt to speak, the apple comes precariously close to falling and I have to bite it deeper.

  That finger, wet from the inside of me, traces up to tightly pleated entrance of my ass. It circles, not teasingly, but firmly, skillfully working the aperture open and then sliding inside. I arch, my hands squeezing Embry’s, trying to breathe. Ash’s fingers have been there before, several times, but every time feels new, just as elemental and dirty as the last.

  “And who is this for?” Ash asks finally, pushing in to the knuckle.

  “You, S—”

  It finally happens. The apple falls from my mouth, thumping to the floor and rolling down to Embry’s ankle where it lands with the bitten side up.

  “Oh, dear,” Ash tuts. “We dropped the apple.”

  Eyes wide, I twist to look back at him and start to beg, “Please, I’ll put the apple back in, I’ll carry it in my mouth as long as you want, please—”

  I stop. His silently arched eyebrow betrays nothing but mild amusement, the same amusement you might have picking up a squirming kitten or bunny, all the more adorable for its pointless thrashing. His hands and arms slide under me, and then I’m carried over to the bed, bent over it, and Embry lies on his stomach in front of me so he can hold my hands again. I don’t want the belt, I don’t want it, but I also do. I want to stop thinking, I want Ash’s ownership of me to be striped and branded on my body. I want the free fall of surrender, the stinging reminder of exactly how much I am able to choose and control. I can choose blinding pain for myself, I can choose blinding pleasure, I can choose sleep or kisses or space. My body belongs to me and me alone.

  And for the first time since we came back to America, I believe it.

  “Three’s the magic number,” Ash says, and I hear leather sliding through his fingers. “Count for her, little prince.”

  The belt comes like fire, a sting and a snap so fierce that I don’t feel the full pain of it until it’s over. My ass already glows from the spanking, the warm-up both helping and making the belt hurt even more.

  “One,” Embry whispers, holding my hands tighter. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

  I always forget to breathe. I take in a deep breath right as the second blow comes, welting deep and mean a little lower on my ass. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and Embry reaches out to rub my hair. “Two. One more, Greer. Last one.”

  The last one is always the worst somehow, and this time is no exception, the leather biting into the tender skin where my thighs meet my ass. I let out yelp of pain, kicking my legs and pressing my face into the bed, hearing Embry croon, “Breathe, breathe, breathe.”

  The belt is tossed up on the bed, and then Ash is kicking my legs apart and spearing me with his thick erection. Pleasure sings up my core, melody thrumming up to my fingertips and my scalp, my confused nerve endings converting everything into delicious sensation. “Jesus, you’re wet,” he grunts from behind me.

  Embry groans from in front of me, still on his stomach, and I look up to see that he’s reached a hand underneath himself and is rubbing his cock as he watches Ash push deeper into me. “How does he feel?” Embry asks me, his eyes still on where Ash’s hips move against my ass.

  “Big,” I say, squirming. That earns me a slap on the ass from Ash, and then he nudges my ankles together again, making it tighter for him.

  “Yeah,” Embry breathes, still rubbing himself. “He is.”

  I get another smack on the ass. “Up on the bed,” Ash says, the ragged edge to his voice sending a prideful thrill through me. I did that to him, to the leader of the free world. By doing nothing other than being me, nothing other than giving him what he needed and letting him give me what I needed in return. I expect him to keep fucking me on the bed, but instead he sits against the headboard next to me, his cock glistening in the warm light. “On your back,” he tells me. “Legs spread. Embry needs your cunt right now.”

  My breathing comes faster as I obey, my already tight nipples furling into painfully tight peaks as I settle onto my back, as Embry watches me with liquid blue eyes.

  “Can I?” Embry asks Ash in a shaking voice.

  “I’m not ask
ing either of you,” my husband answers sharply. “I expect you to mount her. I expect you to fuck her. I expect you to make her come. And I expect her to let you.”

  The rough words make me shiver hard. Almost as hard as the hot emerald gaze that settles on my face. “Look at me while he’s inside of you,” he commands. “I want to see your face.”

  “Oh, Ash,” I murmur. I’m nothing but hormones and electricity right now, nothing but what he makes me with his words. He knows it too, a pleased tilt to his mouth as he watches Embry crawl between my legs and penetrate me.

  My husband’s own cock is massive and dark, pointing straight up to the ceiling, but he ignores it, crossing his arms against his wide chest as he watches his best friend pump in and out of my pussy, slowly at first, then faster and faster as his eyes hood and he begins to lose control. Embry lowers himself completely over me, our bellies pressing together and his forearms under my shoulders, and with his face in my neck, he jabs into me with fast, selfish thrusts.

  Well, not entirely selfish. His base grazes my clit on every stroke, the tilt of his pelvis ensures that he hits that perfect spot every single time. And as my orgasm builds, I know what I want more than anything. I know what I need. And if Ash did this to remind himself how it felt to claim me, if I did this because I wanted to feel the full weight of my own agency again…not to mention it’s something I’ve wanted for years…

  Our eyes are still locked, and I reach out to him, sliding my hand under his crossed arms to rest against his chest. “I want to ask you for something.”

  Embry doesn’t slow his pace or lift his head from my neck, but I know he’s listening, waiting to hear what happens next.

  Ash captures my hand and moves it down the hard ridges of his stomach to pull on his waiting cock. He uses my hand the way he likes, with his larger one wrapped around my smaller one, guiding the pressure and pace. “How do you know I haven’t already planned on doing it?”

  “You don’t know what I was going to ask,” I say. I mean it to come out teasing and coy, but Embry’s body is a machine that drives out any feeling other than my growing climax, and so it comes out breathless. Panting.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ash says, in that casual way that’s beyond arrogance. It’s fact. “I’m going to do anything that I want to you, and you’re going to let me.”

  He’s still using my hand to stroke his cock, but he doesn’t even glance at it, his eyes still burning into mine. I think of the moment we first met in London all those years ago. “Anything,” I say, repeating the words I spoke to a young soldier in an unfamiliar library. “I’ll let you do anything to me.”

  I mean it even more than I did at sixteen—anything is such a large word now, as a woman. I’ve seen the horrors of anything, I’ve felt them, and yet in the deep green depths of my husband’s eyes, I rediscover what I always instinctively knew with him. That with him, anything is the delicious crevasse I longed to visit as a young woman, anything is a realm of things both pleasurable and frightening, anything is any depraved, bruising act transformed into something loving by consent and mutual pleasure.

  Ash’s lips twitch at my words—he remembers that moment in the library just as I do—and his Sir-face flickers for a moment, revealing the tired yet playful man behind. “And that’s what makes you so dangerous,” he murmurs, using his other hand to brush hair away from my sweaty face.

  “I’m going to come,” I whisper to him and Embry both.

  “Good,” Ash says at the same moment Embry bites my neck in acknowledgement. “Who do you come for, Greer?”

  “You, Sir,” I say, squirming underneath his friend.

  “Good girl. Let Embry feel you. He deserves that, don’t you think? After all he’s done to make you safe?”

  I’m beyond speech now, and I think Embry might be too, because he lets out a groan when Ash says, “Pull out after she comes, Embry, keep that cock hard for me,” but doesn’t protest beyond that one agonized noise.

  “Good boy. You’ve earned yourself some warm pussy after serving me so well, haven’t you? Some time between my wife’s legs. It’s good, isn’t it? It feels so good to take what you deserve.”

  Ash’s words are cruel and demeaning in the tastiest way, but even tastier is feeling the change they wreak on Embry. His strokes change—long and needy to rough and hard—and his fingers dig into my back and his teeth into my neck, all pure male animal. And as I watch Ash’s face, I know this is deliberate—he knew those words would do this to Embry, that those ideas are ideas that burn behind Embry’s thoughts when he thinks no one can see.

  But Ash can see. And when he whispers, “Fuck her hard, Embry, fuck her like you wish you could all the time,” I know what he’s doing. Both feeding and riling the hungry jealousy between them. It inflames the Vice President, it inflames me, and like a barrel plunging over a waterfall, I abruptly go from anticipation to incoherent feeling, clenching wildly around Embry’s cock, gasping as the contractions drive all thought and knowledge out of my body. There’s nothing but deep, biological release, pure, hormonal pleasure.

  Embry obeys Ash and pulls out, but I see from his clenched jaw and drawn-up balls that it’s a near thing. He comes to rest on his heels, his expression dazed. But it sharpens quite a bit when Ash says, “There should be lube in the end table. The usual place.”

  The usual place? I wonder, but then remember those months between Jenny’s death and me. I shiver with unadulterated lust as I wonder how many times the men in front of me have fucked in this bed—it stirs me to think about at the same time it fills me with a familiar sense of fear and dread. They have so much history between them, so much love and sex and heartbreak, I feel like an interloper between them. Like I’ll always be on the other side of a curtain too thick for me to draw back on my own.

  “Having you both in my bed is such a gift,” Ash says, as if sensing my thoughts. “I never could have imagined…” He trails off, shaking his head, and then extends his hand for the bottle Embry is handing him, all cold business once again. “On your stomach, Greer. Turn your head so Embry can use your mouth if he wants.”

  Embry does want, and he kneels next to me and pushes past my lips the moment I’m ready. Ash puts a pillow under my hips, pinching my ass for wiggling it at him as he does.

  “Don’t test me, Greer,” Ash warns. “You’ll want me patient for this.”

  But his voice, his hands as they move rough and eager over my thighs and hips—his patience is already shredded, destroyed by the chance to fuck my ass. And he wastes no time once he has me ready, sliding a slick finger into the tight rosebud, probing and pressing around, readying me, as if anything can ready me for his huge erection. He adds a second finger and I moan around Embry’s cock, which sends Embry clutching at the headboard and my hair, muttering curses to himself.

  “I can’t wait to fuck you here,” Ash says, those fingers beginning to thrust now in slow, twisting motions. “My little prince got to be the first inside you, but I’ll be the first man to come inside your ass, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about it. How hot it will be. How tight. How shameful.”

  I pull my mouth off Embry and give Ash a happy smile over my shoulder. “Yes, please.”

  “Dirty girl,” he breathes, working his fingers harder, sending frissons of delight scurrying across my skin. “Fucking dirty girl.”

  And then he positions himself between my legs, his fingers leaving me to ready his cock. I expect Embry to keep fucking my mouth, especially when I feel his hand curl around my jaw and turn my face back to him, but instead of his cock, my lips meet his lips and he gives me a long, lingering kiss. “I love you,” he whispers against my mouth. “I love you so much.”

  When he pulls back, I search his face. I’ll never understand him, I think, not even if I have a million years to try. I’ll never understand how he moves from selfish to selfless in the space of seconds, his inconstancy, his enormous capacity for both love and jealousy. Because why say those word
s now, with Ash about to fuck me, why say them so Ash can’t hear?

  Before I can glean any answers from that near-flawless, aristocratic face, he says a little louder, “Keep breathing while he presses into you, keep breathing and push against him. He’s prepared you well, but it will still be uncomfortable at first. Just breathe.”

  I nod, and Ash’s fingers trail up my back. I know without looking that it’s not to soothe me or comfort me; he’s stroking my flanks and spine like a buyer stroking a prize horse, like a collector running his hand along the hood of his new sports car. The touch is owning, possessive, appreciative but selfish. His hand rests at the back of my neck for a moment and the message is clear. I am his plaything, his pet, his wife. He will do with me whatever he wants.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He bends down over me, and I feel the first pass of his tip against my entrance, a grazing pass with almost no pressure. It passes again, pressing in this time against the prepared opening, then pulling back.

  “Relax,” Embry says, rubbing his nose against mine. “You’re tensing up.”

  I am, and I don’t even know why. I want this, I’ve wanted it for a long time, I’m so aroused that my cunt feels heavy and swollen, there’s even been plenty of lube and prep work…but it feels like such an invasion, deep and strange, almost wrong but not quite.

  On my next inhale, Ash presses against my hole and keeps pressing, the slick lube doing its work and making everything wet and gliding but oh God, oh fuck—

  “Christ,” Ash says through clenched teeth as his tip is squeezed relentlessly by my virgin hole. “Jesus, that’s so fucking good.” He pushes in deeper, past the initial resistance.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I mutter, pressing my eyes closed. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

  “Kiss her, Embry,” Ash says, stroking my thigh as if I’m a skittish horse, but his hand is shaking and I know he’s barely holding on to his self-control right now.