Page 45 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“Well,” Ash explains, again with that cool, polite voice, as if he’s explaining something ordinary and mundane. “I wanted you to come here tonight after your wedding, and when I told Greer, she reminded me of certain ancient customs regarding hospitality.”
With an expert flick, he flips the hem of her skirt up and over, so that the heart-shape of her ass is completely exposed. As is the welcoming split between her legs.
I’m back to not being able to breathe.
Ash lets go of my hand, the air unpleasantly cool and vacant against my fingers after he does, and then he smooths his hands over his wife’s bottom.
“She tells me that in biblical times, the custom began with a man leading the guest to a private tent. The man’s wife or sister or daughter was inside, waiting.” Ash’s fingers dent her skin ever so slightly and he pulls her cheeks apart, opening up her cunt for my inspection. She’s already wet, and the sight of it is like a punch to the chest.
“Then the woman would rub the guest’s feet and legs with butter. I did say no to that, you understand. Some of the rugs in here are antiques.”
One of his thumbs rubs across Greer’s inviting slit, smearing her arousal across the outer labia. “But after that part, the guest had the right to relieve his needs with the woman the host had provided.”
He lets go of her ass and her wetness is again hidden. He gives her flank a fond slap and straightens. “It sounded…” he trails off as if searching for the right word, and then he shakes his head with a smile as he fails to find it. “Well, I wanted it, is all. I just wanted it.”
He makes it sound as if offering up his wife is a favor to him and not to me, a pleasure he wants for him, and all I can do is stare. At this woman, who I want above all women, at this man, who I want above all men.
“Ash, Greer, I can’t say yes to this. We…we’re not—”
Even now, it hurts too much to say aloud what we’re not, so I say instead, “This isn’t something we can do anymore.”
“Things are different now,” Ash acknowledges, “which is why Greer suggested giving this to you as a guest-right, and not as something that belongs to you already. Even though—” he closes his eyes for a minute “—even though it does belong to you. My wife’s body and my body. My wife’s heart and my heart. Still belong to you.”
The back of my eyelids burn and I blink fast, trying to keep the keep the tears back, trying to keep the pain fisting in my throat from choking me.
Greer goes up on her knees and turns, so she can slide her arms around my waist and pull herself tight to me. “I know all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this,” she says quietly, her face tilted up to mine. “Which is why it’s easier if it’s a game, you see. I don’t expect anything to be different when you leave here later, I don’t expect you to change anything. Ash and I—we knew you had a separate room at the Four Seasons. Ash wanted to see you, and I wanted to touch you, and together we wanted to give you this as a…well, the word gift sounds high-handed, considering how selfish it is, but a night then. A night when we could play and pretend, and make the hurt feel good, at least for a few hours.”
My lips are already in her hair, and I’m holding her so tightly she might break from it, but I don’t care.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Both of you? God knows I want it, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be treated like a guest.”
“Embry, we’d treat you like a prince if you’d let us,” Greer says against my chest. “Please, please. Just for tonight. Just for pretend.”
And then, as the coup de grace, she takes my hand and guides it under her skirt, where she is wet and willing, and from the way she rocks against my hand, I can tell it won’t be long after I’m inside her that she’ll be tightening and coming on my dick.
I pulse in response to the thought.
“Okay,” I say. “I trust—” The word is too revealing, and I interrupt myself. “I mean, I understand. I want my guest-right. Please.”
Ash takes a deep breath, and at first I think it’s to settle his nerves, but then I realize from his straining erection and his blown-pupil eyes that it’s because he’s struggling for control. And Ash at the edge of his control is beyond dangerous, beyond arousing, dosing up my blood with all sorts of fevered hormones.
Greer rearranges herself back on the table, flipping over her own skirt with a saucy look, and then facing forward, once again Ash’s perfect submissive, still and obedient.
“May I?” Ash asks, his hands dropping to run along the waistband of my tuxedo pants. His fingers scald my skin through the fabric, and my voice is shaky when I answer, yes, you may.
And then I realize his hands are shaky like my voice, trembling as they slowly work open the front of my pants, exposing the silk jersey of my boxer briefs and the dark wet spot made by my leaking, neglected cock.
My former king handles me with infinite care, pulling my boxers down far enough to reveal the fat head of my cock with its wet slit, then the thick, veined shaft. I’m so hard that I actually bob right into his hand once I’m freed, and the feeling is like nothing else. I moan. Then his other hand cradles my balls, cupping them with the perfect amount of pressure, and my eyes flutter closed.
“Feel good?” Ash asks.
“Yes,” I manage, my voice as tight as my sac, which has drawn up high to my body, ready to release at any moment.
“How long has it been since you’ve fucked someone?” Ash asks, his voice as tempered and mild as a doctor’s, like this is a check-up, like this is a routine procedure.
“Camp David,” I say hazily. A wide, warm fingertip is probing the delicate flesh behind my balls, and I can’t remember any moment before this, can’t remember any words that aren’t about skin and touch and heat.
“That’s a long time for a man to go without,” Ash says, and I can’t tell if there’s reproach or sympathy in his words. He gives me a loose and lazy stroke, looking pleased as I nearly buckle from the feeling. “I think you really need this, Embry. Let us make you more comfortable.”
