American Prince (American Queen #2)

by Sierra Simone

  Embry’s mouth presses against mine. His kiss is sweet and gentle and soothing—a stark contrast to the needy cock stretching my sensitive flesh—and I find myself captivated by it, the loving, tender motions of his mouth drawing me away from my pain and into something else. Something that feels like pain, a shimmering clench at my solar plexus, a catch in my breath, but that my body turns into something different.

  “Keep breathing, sweetheart,” Ash says. “You’re doing so well.”

  I feel him breach me, finally, finally, that flared head now past my gates and pushing deep inside.

  “Oh fuck,” I whisper into Embry’s lips, but my voice is different from before, no longer panicked but filled with wonder. There is a part of it that still hurts, if hurt is even the right word for it. There’s still a part of it that feels wrong. But the clench in my chest is pulling on the clench low in my belly from Embry’s expert fucking earlier, and my body responds before my head can make sense of it, squirming and wriggling onto the thick cock between my cheeks, trying to take him deeper.

  I’m rewarded for my efforts with a hard spank, and then he pulls out to the tip, pushing back in all the way now, so deeply that I can feel his testicles against my pussy. Embry has propped himself up to watch, pretty mouth parted ever so slightly, his breathing fast and uneven.

  “Look at this, Embry,” my husband says, and Embry obediently crawls over to look. Ash palms my ass cheeks and spreads them as far apart as they’ll go, exposing the place where we’re joined. “Look how big she’s stretched around me. Look how tight her ass is around my cock.”

  I can’t see Embry, but I hear the quiet need in his voice when he asks, “Does it feel good?”

  “There aren’t words for how fucking good it feels.”

  A finger—Embry’s I presume—traces the place where I’m stretched around Ash’s erection. I shiver, Ash shivers. I hear a murmured question from Embry followed by a murmured assent from Ash, and I look back over my shoulder to see Embry biting his lip, reaching a hand out towards my husband. He seems hesitant, nervous, as if touching Ash this way isn’t something he gets to do very often and he wants to remember every second of it. And instead of reaching for his chest or hips, Embry slides his hand against Ash’s jaw, his thumb stroking his lover’s silver-flecked hairline.

  The moment Embry touches him, Ash goes still, his cock still inside me, his hands still on my hips. His eyes flutter closed as Embry cradles his face, and his lips part. For a long moment, no one moves, nothing moves, frozen in a moment I don’t understand but that still rends my heart in two. The pain between them is palpable, as real as our sweat and our flesh, palpable and alive. And if I ever thought Ash held all the power in their relationship, I see it clearly now: Embry holds my husband’s heart in his hands and he doesn’t even know it. He’s too busy looking at the details of Ash’s face to see Ash’s expression, too busy being in love to see how loved he is.

  It breaks my heart.

  “Kiss me,” Ash says quietly. “Please.”

  Hesitating for only a second, Embry leans in and brushes his lips against Ash’s, an electric shudder running through his body as their mouths touch. Ash sighs, those long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, a hand leaving my hip to wrap around Embry’s waist and pull him tight against his side. Then with some reluctance, he pulls away and gives me a rueful smile. “We’re ignoring our princess.”

  “It’s hard to feel ignored when you’re inside me,” I say with an answering smile.

  “Nevertheless, if you’re still smiling, we have work to do,” he growls, mostly playfully, although something dark lingers in his words. I remember why we’re doing this—what we both wanted out of the scene—and I know Ash won’t stop until he gets it.

  He whispers something into Embry’s ear, and Embry nods, shooting me a mischievous look and scooting back a bit to give Ash room to help me up to my hands and knees. Still buried deep in me, he wraps an arm around my stomach and turns us over, so that he’s lying on his back with me on top of him. My back is to his chest, and he reaches around me to make sure that my head is settled comfortably and my hair is brushed out of my face. And then Embry crawls between us and I know what’s going to happen next.

  “I don’t know if I can,” I breathe.

  “You will,” Ash says into my ear. He finds my ankles with his feet and opens me, completely exposing my wet cunt to Embry, who’s now kneeling between our legs, his chest heaving with excitement. “You will and you’ll like it.”

  He has one hand flat on my belly and the other wrapped around my throat, forcing my pelvis down and my head back over his shoulder, making my body into one long, taut arch, both holes easily accessible for my men.

  “Shit, that’s hot,” Embry says, taking it all in, running fingertips along the wet petals now opened up for him, around the tender place where Ash and I are joined.

  “It’s yours to fuck,” Ash says, sounding for all the world like a gracious host, like a king distributing a reward. “Yours to enjoy.”

  Embry settles over us, one hand at the base of his cock and the other planted by Ash’s head. “Can I come inside her?”

  I squirm in abject lust at the way they talk around me, at the way Embry asks permission of Ash but not of me; the sheer humiliation of it is almost as potent as their bodies in stirring me to climax.

  “Would you like that?”

  “God, yes,” Embry groans.

  “Do it,” Ash orders, and Embry finally guides the huge head of his cock to my entrance, which is so wet now that I can hear the sound of him moving against me. But as he pushes inside, there’s an immediate difference from our earlier fucking, and I suck in a deep breath.

  “I’ll go slow,” Embry promises. “I know it’s tight.” His voice breaks on the last word, as if even the thought of it is too much to handle, and from the way Ash’s chest moves with fast, shallow breaths beneath me, I’m guessing he feels the same.

  He keeps his word, easing in, although with one thick cock already inside me, I wouldn’t exactly use the word ease for the entry of another. Rather, it’s more a slow invasion; for all that I’m wet, it’s forceful and not a little unkind, and with every cruel inch, the real Embry seems to disappear and the shadow Embry takes over. The Embry that thrives in chaos and violence, the Embry so consumed with his need that he can barely see anyone else around him.

  He’s halfway in, driving waves of knifing pleasure up through my belly and into my chest. I can feel the sweat gathering under Ash’s hand on my neck, cool and damp on my forehead, misting the bare skin of my stomach. “I don’t know if I can,” I pant again.

  Ash’s teeth capture my earlobe. “You’re going to,” he says in his Sir-voice. “Take it. Take all of him.”

  Embry pushes in farther and I cry out, half deep pain, half rapture, and Ash’s chest rumbles with pleasure beneath me, every movement of Embry’s compressing and massaging him. And then Embry’s all the way in, looking down at me with lost eyes. I look up at him with my own lost eyes, pleading.

  For mercy maybe, or for cruelty. I don’t even know what.

  Embry gives an experimental thrust, and I cry out again, the pleasure-pain like hot iron in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry,” he manages to say through gritted teeth. “I’m so fucking sorry, but Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking tight, it’s so good—” Another thrust, and he gives a low, closed-eyes groan and I know I can expect no mercy from him. It feels too good, it’s too tight and hot and wet, too dirty.

  “How are you, princess?” Ash checks in, as Embry pulls out and shoves into my tiny channel once again.

  Words are beginning to slip from my mind, thoughts. Memories, intentions—I can’t even remember why I’m here now, how I ended up pinned like a butterfly between my husband and my lover. “Full,” is the only word I can summon to mind. “I feel full.”

  “Full of whom?” Ash asks. The hand he kept on my stomach is now sliding to my clit, massaging it expertly.

  “
My Sir,” I say. “And my Embry.”

  “Our Embry,” Ash corrects me, and Embry’s head drops down, as if he doesn’t want us to see what Ash’s words do to him.

  I slide one hand behind me to rest under Ash’s neck, and then I reach up to cradle the back of Embry’s neck in my other hand. I pull Embry down for a kiss, and he obliges me with a groan, still forcing himself in and out of my cunt. His mouth is warm and sweet, eager and no longer gentle, and then Ash’s hand leaves my throat to fist Embry’s hair and yank him down for a kiss of his own until I impatiently pull Embry back to me. Soon, the two of us are engaged in a heaving, writhing battle for Embry’s mouth, all panting chests and rolling hips and muffled moans. Embry kisses Ash, then kisses me, then Ash kisses me, then the three of us find ourselves in a joined kiss, a breathless, teasing exercise. I begin to forget whose lips are whose, which tongue is which, which cock is taking its pleasure in my ass and which cock is taking its pleasure in my cunt.

  It’s like my wedding night—our separate pairings have dissolved and there’s only the three of us, the three of us moving and kissing and breathing as one. There’s no division, no suspicion or jealousy in this moment—there’s only unity. Ecstasy. The primal need to fuck joined with the sacred soul-deep need to love another soul as fiercely as possible.

  Mating. That’s what it is. A word that means both: the fucking and the sharing of one’s life.

  “Give it over,” Ash murmurs. “It belongs to me, and I want it. Right now.”

  I don’t have to ask what he means; he can feel just as well as I can the clench in my muscles, the fluttering pulls around the cocks inside me. I’m going to come, and when I do, it will be for him, for his pleasure.

  “That’s it,” Ash says, “there it is.” He presses down on my stomach, just above my pubic bone, and the whimper I give is obscene because it feels so fucking obscene, like he’s pushing down to make things tighter for him and Embry, pushing down to see if he can feel the fullness for himself, and the effect is to press my G-spot hard against Embry’s merciless thrusts. “Yeah,” Ash says to himself as I start to implode, as he presses down harder, “there it is, princess. Make it good so we come hard inside you. Make us give you more than you can take.”

  My husband is so depraved and consequently irresistible to me, and I whimper again as the final wind-up finishes winding. As the tension between those two cocks rubbing inside me hovers at a point right behind my clit for one shimmering minute. I can’t catch my breath, not quite, and the pressure is going to crush me, melt me, murder me, and I don’t realize that I’m scratching at arms and backs and bucking my hips until Embry says, “Ash, hold her still,” and I’m being restrained. And then Embry lets loose with his hips as Ash presses even harder against my stomach, and it’s as much the sight of his bunching stomach muscles and flexing hips as it is the deep, fast drag of his cock against my G-spot.

  The winding stops, the shimmering tension burns, and then I’m fully imploding, contracting down on those cocks so hard it hurts, so hard I can feel my own stomach muscles bunching and jerking, electricity sparking along my scalp, sizzling across my skin.

  “Fuck, I can’t stop,” Embry says as I writhe and moan underneath him. “I gotta—I have to—”

  “Do it,” Ash says roughly. “Show me how much you like using my wife. Show me how grateful you are.”

  Embry obliges, every muscle standing out in sharp, tense lines as he mumbles a shit holy shit and begins filling me full of his cum. “Oh Greer, oh fuck, baby, that feels so good.” He fucks through his climax, drawing it out with more deep strokes, throbbing hard enough I can feel it even as my own orgasm lingers on.

  “Yeah,” he groans, pulling up a little and using the new angle to milk the last of his climax into me. “That is so good, baby. So fucking good.”

  He withdraws with a noise that can only be described as wounded wonder, and then I feel what he’s left in me, the warm wet of his seed as it slowly drips out. Embry watches it with hungry eyes, watches as Ash reaches down to see what Embry was able to give me. Ash makes a growl of approval, the evidence that his friend has used me to his completion stirring up some deep animal lust in him.

  “My turn,” he rasps into my ear. He moves his hips underneath me, his powerful torso and thighs hard at work to drive his cock in and out of my ass, and I’m surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt at all now. It only feels, a different kind of feel from my pussy, but just as intense, just as powerful. Maybe even more so for how much vulnerability and surrender are needed for it. With a hand on my cum-wet pussy and another hand on my arched throat, it only takes my husband ten or fifteen strokes to reach his tipping point. His body is a solid slab of sweaty, grunting muscle underneath me, his hands like the best kind of chains, and his erection so big and wedged so deep. I feel that big cock get impossibly bigger, those hard muscles even harder, and then he says in a tight voice, “Here it comes, princess. Here it comes.”

  There are no words for feeling my husband come inside me. After everything I’ve been through: my abduction, fucking his prince, his discipline, his pleasure, the harmony the three of us reached together, so like our wedding night. The vulnerable and delicious noises he makes now, and the hot pulse of his ejaculating in a place no one else has been, and the close and sweaty embrace—I realize I’m crying, and it’s more than the release a good scene can give me, it’s deeper and more important than that. It’s the reassurance that nothing can rupture the love this man feels for me, no matter how far I am taken or how far I run, no matter what I’ve done with Embry. It’s the reassurance that no amount of violence or cruelty can rupture my faith in myself, my agency and ability to choose and to love.

  This is marriage, I think dizzily. Joy and pain, exposed and exchanged.

  Joy and pain, shared.

  And as I cry, as Ash drains himself into me with long, vicious exhales, as Embry watches us both with his curious prince’s mix of torture and desire, I can still faintly taste apples in my mouth, no longer bitter but sweet. And I know that what happened won’t ever leave me—not really. Not in the way I’d like for it to. But it won’t define me, it won’t spoil me for marriage or fucking or love or forgiveness.

  Ash was right—I thought I was weak. Even if I hadn’t articulated it to myself, the fear was there, that I was guilty or complicit somehow, and if not those things, then fear that I wouldn’t have strength to endure pain or roughness from the man I’d married—the man I married precisely because I wanted pain and roughness from him. Ash proved me wrong on every front.

  That man.

  That smart, cruel, kingly man.

  And there’s a moment, after the shower, after he and Embry spend a delicious hour between my legs eating me and making out with each other, after Embry falls asleep. Ash rolls me over and slides into my pussy without preamble or permission—because when we’re in private, I’m his and he requires neither of those things. And he looks into my face and asks, “Whose pain is it?”

  The answer comes without thought, without struggle.

  “Yours, Mr. President. It’s all yours.”

  18

  Embry

  after

  Two days later and I’m in Vivienne Moore’s mansion, drinking gin and looking out over the lake. The summer wind in Washington is still cool, still accompanied by clouds and drizzle, and I’m thankful for the roofed balcony and my light jacket as I watch rain dimple the lake. I check my phone, fire off a couple short emails. I’m technically on a family trip, a vacation, and so my chief of staff has been limiting how much she sends my way, but I crave work more than I crave leisure. It’s a welcome distraction after the rescue and the reunion. The forced separation.

  But Merlin was clear on that, and as much as I resent it, I agree with him.

  “This,” he said at Camp David the second day after we rescued Greer, “can’t be obvious.”

  Ash had set the tone when Merlin walked in, tucking Greer into his side and clasping my hand un
abashedly in his own. I clasped tightly back. After the abduction, everything felt so fragile, so tenuous, that we needed to cling to each other. More than that, it felt strangely nice to stand together so openly in front of someone, to face someone with honesty, to say I love two people and they love me.

  Besides, Merlin knew the history between Ash and me. It wasn’t paranoia to think he’d deduce our unconventional arrangement eventually.

  Merlin, somewhat predictably, wasn’t fazed by the sight of the three of us. He nodded once, and then started in on his usual litany about public perception, which always began with If you want to be re-elected to this office…

  We had to be careful, he said. We had to be more than discreet, in fact we had to make discretion itself seem audacious in comparison. Not a word, not a whisper. No rumors about me and Greer, none about Ash and me. The world had to keep believing Greer was America’s Sweetheart, me America’s unrepentant playboy, and it was up to us to craft that perception, cultivate it like a crop. Trieste the Press Secretary would have to be brought into the loop, that Kay and Belvedere would know was inevitable, but absolutely no one else could learn about our triad.

  Ever.

  Not if Ash wanted another four years in office, at least.

  I saw Ash bite his lip at Merlin’s words, and I yanked my hand out of his. “Don’t you dare,” I warned him.

  He looked at me with a mild expression. “Don’t I dare what?”

  “You know,” I said irritably. “You know exactly what. You gave up everything to be here and so did I—and you’re not finished yet.”

  “He’s right,” Greer added quietly. “Think of all the things you’re still working on. Renewable energy, overhauling veteran support, public education—not to mention Carpathia. You won’t be finished after another two years, Ash. You need more time, and this country deserves it from you.”

  “But it’s something to think about,” Ash said carefully, looking at each of our faces. “Another…what, six years of hiding?”