Page 101 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
“Embry pulled me down to the floor,” I manage to say into the phone. “I’m riding his face, my knees are on either side of his head. His hands are groping my ass.”
Ash’s voice sounds scraped and scratched, as if he can barely talk. I imagine his massive hand moving up and down on his long, thick erection as he speaks. “You’re going to come this way, aren’t you? Like a queen, riding what’s yours. Fuck his face hard, baby, that’s what he wants. He’ll have your smell and taste still on his lips when he watches you put my ring on your finger. He’ll remember the feeling of your thighs cradling his jaw when he watches us dance our first dance at the reception.”
“Jesus,” I half moan, half pray, burning up from the inside. I happen to look up right at that moment and catch our reflection in the floor-length mirror on the wall. Me, flushed and panting, necklace and tiara flashing in the light, kneeling in a cloud of white silk and tulle. The fabric almost completely hides the strong, tall male beneath me, except the wandering hands that are now roaming up to my corseted breasts to squeeze and grab. The bride riding the best man’s face. The groom, alone as he rubs himself listening.
The fairy tale, gone up in flames.
I am gone up in flames too. There's nothing left but a burning silhouette of need, and I forget everything but the hot mouth I'm fucking and the thick breaths of my fiancé at my ear, peppered with his murmured commands—ride him hard and grind, sweetie, grind till it feels good and push your clit in, make him suck it.
Heat crackles, flames rise, buildings and civilizations collapse into blistering beds of coals as at last release snaps free from my womb.
“I’m—" I can't finish, can't speak, can't breathe, contractions so fierce they make my eyes water centering in my pussy.
“I know, angel," Ash rasps. "You don’t have to tell me.”
And then everything explodes outwards. The contractions multiply, the walls of my cunt pulse, my clit throbs against Embry’s tongue. I cry out and cry out again because it feels like a living thing has a hold of me, puncturing me in the best ways, sending tingling heat to the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes. My cries slowly turn into whimpers, and beneath me, Embry’s mouth goes from ravenous to tender, gently sucking and kissing my pussy.
“My cock wants you,” Ash says raggedly. “It’s getting thick now. Dark and shiny. It wants to be in that wet pussy, but I can’t have it right now. So I’m using one of your silk blouses to jack myself off with.”
I moan at his words, aft
ershocks still traveling through me.
“I’m going to come,” he tells me, “and when I do, I’m going to pretend I’m standing over you right now, while you look all messy and flushed and ashamed. I’m going to pretend you’re looking at me with those big, gray eyes, looking guilty and scared, as I shove my cock down your throat. I’m going to pretend that you’re licking me clean after I come.”
“Oh God,” I whisper. The image sends my cunt fluttering again, a second, milder climax now chasing through me as I imagine Ash, his tall frame looming over me, his face implacable and angry as he fucks my mouth. As he punishes me for accepting his own gift.
And maybe that's the most fucked-up part of all, that I find that follow-up scenario just as arousing as what just happened.
Ash grunts, an unashamed, male sound, and I know he's coming right now. Know long spurts of cum are erupting into the soft silk of my blouse, probably ruining it, but I don't care. The mental image of him defiling my clothes, all because he's so aroused by listening to Embry and me, is worth it.
A thousand times worth it.
But as his breathing returns to normal, as my orgasm subsides but I still allow Embry to kiss my cunt, I look up in the mirror at myself and panic.
What the hell will happen next? What will happen to the wedding and marriage that the press has already dubbed the second Camelot? Ash calls me his princess, and maybe I looked like one before I let the best man under my skirt, but this is no fairy tale.
Or if it is, it's the most fucked-up fairy tale I’ve ever heard of.
28
The Wedding Day
Love endures all things.
I marry Ash with Embry’s bite marks on my thighs, and Ash marries me with his bite marks on Embry’s neck. There’s something kind of beautiful about that, I think dazedly as the priest recites our wedding mass. Something kind of beautiful and fucked up. Who needs a ring when you have bite marks? Who needs vows when you’ve literally bled for one another?
Then there comes the moment where the priest asks for Embry to furnish the ring—my ring—the one that will mark me as Ash’s wife and bind me to him for the rest of my life, and my tears threaten to return. I’m not sad, I’m not afraid or overjoyed or angry or guilty or excited or jealous or suspicious, it’s that I’m all of them. Every single feeling, all at once, a carnival of flashing thoughts and emotional noise inside my head. And that it has to be Embry to hand Ash that dainty platinum band…
Embry pats his pockets dramatically, and the crowd ripples with laughter at the “best man lost the ring” gag. Father Jordan Brady—a handsome young blond with that unmistakable Christian hipster vibe—is too polite to roll his eyes, but I sense he goes somewhere deep inside himself to escape the threadbare frivolity of the old joke.
Embry finally removes the ring from his pocket and starts to hand it to Ash. And instead of holding out his palm to take it, Ash turns to Embry and slowly uncurls Embry’s fingers from the ring. To everyone else, it looks like Ash is simply being careful with the small piece of jewelry, but I see both the promise and the apology in the gentle way Ash touches Embry’s skin. What does it feel like to take a ring from a man who refused yours? And for Embry, what does it feel like to still be in love with a man you couldn’t bring yourself to marry?
Despite the circus of whirling questions and emotions, the moment Ash takes my hand, I feel everything go quiet and slow and right. His hand is warm and certain around my own, his fingers sure and careful as he slides the ring onto my finger, and when I look up to his eyes, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will do everything in his considerable power to keep me safe and loved.
And I know with the same certainty that I will do the same for him.
We exchange vows, we take communion, we sing the hymns and chant the chants. And at the end, when Ash lifts my veil and kisses me firmly on the lips, I feel the faintest flickering of the one emotion I haven’t been able to muster yet today:
