Page 124 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“I did. Mom stayed here last night before she went on to D.C. too.”
Both Kay and my mother know I’m alive, as do Lyr and Morgan and Vivienne and Nimue. I told them all after Greer and Embry found me again, and my mother in particular was furious with me, but when I explained to her why I did it—not just for the two people I loved but because I hadn’t known if I would live or not, and it seemed the best way to save my legacy in light of that uncertainty, she began to understand. Even now, four years later, she is still working on forgiving me, but I can handle being unforgiven so long as I am allowed to love her anyway.
There are boxes all over the normally neat room—the movers came from the White House earlier today while I made myself scarce on a long, snowy hike. The price of being dead is that I have to stay dead, which means I don’t get to leave New Camelot very much, but thanks to Merlin’s modern magic and documents of dubiously legal origin, I’ve been able to go some places, provided I’ve grown a beard and I’m wearing contacts to hide the distinctive green of my eyes. But mostly I don’t want to leave. Merlin chose this place for its proximity to the capital, and at least twice or thrice a week, Embry and Greer and our children are able to come to me. All of them have only ever known New Camelot as their other home, and me as Daddy.
And now this is their real home. Our real home. Embry declined a second term, and Kay has taken his place, and now there’s nothing ahead of us but the rest of our lives.
“I think they’re asleep,” I whisper. “Should we go downstairs?”
Greer and Embry nod, and we all get up—I move Jana the kitten, who gives a protesting squeak as I do—and nestle her close to Imogen. Then we tiptoe out of the room and go downstairs; I grab a baby monitor on the way out.
“I can’t believe it’s finally over,” Embry murmurs as we walk down the curved staircase to the main floor.
“I can,” says Greer. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever.”
I privately agree, although I don’t say so as I pull a plain silver key from my pocket, a twin to the one I gave Greer and Embry four years ago. Both my husband and my wife change as I unlock the door to the basement. They grow quieter, more excited, even the sound of the key in the lock getting their blood hot.
I gesture for them to go first so I can lock the door behind us and give the doorknob a sound shake to make sure it will hold. The children seem to accept having three parents as a matter of course, but I think it’s best to wait on explaining the kink to them. Maybe when they’re thirty. Or never.
The other reason I make them go first is so that I can have the private pleasure of watching them walk in front of me, Embry’s head near to Greer’s, his strong, elegant hand at her back to guide her safely down. It’s been agony living apart from them; I’ve had to remind myself often that I might have died that night—that I get to see them at all is a blessing, and that I get to have tonight and every night for the rest of our lives is more than a blessing, it’s the touch of God.
But even though I’ve missed them like air itself when they can’t be with me, watching their marriage grow and solidify has been worth every night in a cold bed, every day with an empty nursery. It may have taken them a long time to forgive me, but there’s no way I can regret it now, when the three of us are stronger for the past four years they’ve spent together. Each side of our triangle is now tempered with time and trust and wisdom, each point where the triangle meets is fused watertight.
And I’m a patient man. I knew that I would have all the time in the world to demand back every kiss and touch and stroke that I missed. I plan to start demanding right now, actually.
When we reach the foot of the stairs, I snap my fingers and feel the familiar heat in my blood as Greer drops to her knees. My cock, already lazily stirring, thickens and swells at the sight of her. Embry makes it worse by dropping his gaze to where the thin wool reveals the shape of my erection and he licks his lips.
“Ready to kneel, little prince?”
“Never,” he says, in a voice that means always.
We walk through another doorway into our private playroom, Greer crawling behind me and Embry walking a few steps behind her, admiring the view.
“Undress,” I command them both, and they hurry to obey as I look on with crossed arms and my cock tenting my pants.
I spend a few quiet moments taking in their bodies, which are now exposed and offered up. I met and loved both of them when they were young, but all these years later, I find their bodies more perfect and dear to me than ever. The faint stretch marks on Greer’s belly, the silver salting through Embry’s hair. She’s in her thirties now, both Embry and I are brushing up against forty-five, but like Embry said once to me, we make each other feel young.
And down here, where I am Sir and king, we make each other feel alive.
“I think Embry deserves a little reward after today,” I say, stroking the crown of Greer’s head after she drops back to kneeling. “Don’t you think so, pet?”
She nods.
“Then up on the bench.”
Embry groans as our wife stretches out along the length of the bench, her hands going over her head in anticipation of being tied and her legs spreading wide in anticipation of being used. Her pussy gleams pink and wet in the soft light of the playroom.
“Can I touch myself?” Embry asks in a needy voice as I take a set of silk ropes off a nearby hook. “Please?”
“No, you may not,” I answer, starting on Greer’s wrists.
He gives a plaintive groan, his hands flexing wildly at his sides, which only serves to amuse me and harden my cock even further. Denying him is so very sweet, especially when the thing I’m denying him is already wet and arching under my ropes. With the ease of years of practice, I secure her to the bench with wraps under her breasts and around her waist; with a simple frog tie, I have her legs bent and bound, her cunt opened up for me and Embry like a blown flower.
“Oh, God,” Embry says in a strangled voice. “Jesus fuck.”
“Yes?”
“Please,” he begs. “Please let me fuck her.”
