Page 126 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
I have two fingers covered in lube, one hand on his ass, and a cock that’s so ready to fuck it’s a miracle I haven’t fucked them both twice over already. But at the word wait, I immediately settle back on my heels and drop my hand. “What is it, Embry?”
“I don’t want you to stop,” he says quickly. “I just…I wanted a minute to savor this. So I can remember what it felt like the first time you fucked us when we were all yours again.”
“Oh.” His words burn a happy glow in my chest.
“Embry and I have loved our time together,” Greer adds, looking up at me with those moon-sea eyes. “But this is where we belong. Under your care. At your feet.”
“Yes,” I say, because it’s the simple truth. It’s where they belong, and in return for their love, I’ll give them everything of me forever. I already have. I always will.
Embry looks over his shoulder at me. “Are you going to fuck me or what?” And I have to laugh because he might as well be twenty-one again, petulant and impatient. Spoiled.
And I might as well be twenty-two again, consumed with all the ways I’d like to fuck the petulance right out of him.
I prepare him with all the humiliating and examining probes and presses that he likes so much, and then I press my thighs to the backs of his. His asshole is a ring of taut heat at the head of my cock, and it feels like I’m being swallowed whole as I slick and shove my way inside.
“Don’t I get a reward too?” I say into his ear as I fuck him with slow pushes and pulls. “For being so patient?”
“Yes,” he moans. “Yes. Anything.”
“How about everything?”
“Everything.”
And then the three of us fuck for a long time in silence, my every thrust pushing his cock deeper into Greer, our every moan reverberating through each other’s flesh and filling the room.
“Come inside our princess, Embry. Show her how much you can give her.”
I highlight my words with a wicked roll of my hips and then Embry is shuddering and gasping, his ass clenching around my cock as he drains his body into Greer’s, and then I come with a sharp grunt and an agonizingly delicious clench low in my groin, spilling deep, deep into his most secret place.
We stay in a heap for a minute, all of us breathing hard and relishing the trickles and flutters of post-sex bliss, and then in tandem, we all turn our heads to the baby monitor, unable to believe our luck.
The lumps are all still curled and cuddled and fast asleep.
“More?” I ask my spouses.
“More,” they agree.
I untie Greer, we shower quickly, and then we spend the night celebrating the rest of forever. Embry and I share Greer between us, we make her crawl, we make her suck on our cocks until we can’t stand it anymore and then we share her again. At the end, I let Embry have my ass as Greer and I kiss in languorous, tender kisses and she traces the jagged scar on my stomach, and eventually Greer begs to ride me as I’m being fucked. We turn into a tangled mess of limbs and cocks and hair, and it’s perfect, it’s everything, and when we come, we come together. One heart. One life.
The snow is still blowing in reckless swirls past the windows when we climb sated and spent upstairs, as we shower and brush our teeth and contemplate the limited room on the bed—a bed I even had custom made to accommodate three adults and some children smashed between.
“Oh,” Greer says suddenly, looking pale. “I don’t feel well.” And then she turns and walks back to the bathroom. A few seconds later, we hear the unmistakable sounds of retching.
Embry and I look at each other.
Then we’re both bolting to the bathroom.
“There are tests somewhere in here,” Embry mutters, rifling though the bathroom drawer
s. “We ought to start buying them in bulk, really.”
I smile at that, kneeling behind Greer so I can sweep her hair up off her neck while she’s sick. “Are you late, princess?”
“Just by a couple of days,” she whines. “And maybe it was just some bad seafood or something.”
I hear a phone ding from the bedroom, and Embry trots back to get it—force of habit from being the President, I suppose, there’s no call or text that goes unlooked at—and then I hear him laughing.
“Who would be texting at this hour?” our wife grouses.
