Page 50 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“Go at her hard,” he says one minute, and then the next, “Now give her the deep ones. Slow ones. Spank her when you do it.”
He’s taking charge again, and I don’t even think he realizes it—but I do realize it and I still accede because I love it when he’s like this. His power is his love, his command is his affection. And as much as I enjoy wrestling for freedom, as much as I savor the looser dynamic between Greer and me, this is what we all need. This is what we all want. Our king, making his little prince and his little princess kneel at his feet.
I become his proxy, his words directing me. Fast, slow, deep. Hands on her tits, hands on her weeping, needy cunt. Spank to the ass, yank to the hair. His words like a burned melody floating through it all, and Greer comes again, clenching hard around my dick and her cries reverberating off the glass.
And it’s when she comes down from her climax and looks up at him with wide, liquid eyes, blond hair streaked across her face and tits, that Ash growls wordlessly and surges towards us, all brawn and feral need. And it’s actually scary, actually thrilling, to have such a tall, broad-shouldered man move at you like that, and my heart is pounding, and the next minute I’m slammed against the wall, still inside Greer, and both Greer and I are caged in by his arms. I realize he’s shoved us here because it’s close to the bench, and at the same moment I register this, Greer’s leg is raised and opened and propped up on the edge of it, and Ash’s hard cock is pushing and nosing up against the base of mine. And with a cry from Greer that I’ll be thinking of every night for the rest of my life, he pushes roughly into her wet, empty cunt.
It’s insane. It’s actually insane, the feeling of his giant cock through the thin wall that separates us. I can feel him moving, and it’s so tight like this, so much tighter than I thought anything could ever be—and his balls rub shamelessly against mine as he fucks up into her, and holy shit, how do I even describe the sensation of his balls against mine under the furnace of Greer’s body? It’s hot and coarse and such a good feeling I could die from it, and we angle our hips to seek out more, to feel more of the press of each other as we alternate hard pumps into our queen.
Greer is coming apart between us, her hands scrabbling against Ash’s chest as she unleashes an orgasm that has us both groaning from the flutters around our cocks, and she is nothing but gold hair and soft, wet skin, and floating, helpless cries, and we end up supporting her between the two of us as her orgasm shreds away her ability to stand and she slumps, her head lolling back against my shoulder. We still work into her, two throbbing cocks, fucking in tandem.
“I’m going to come again,” she whimpers, with something almost like grief. “I can’t do it, I can’t—”
I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, sweeping my tongue across hers, and it’s her mouth so sweet and hungry against mine and her latest orgasm—a rolling thing that has her sobbing brokenly against my lips and bucking weakly in our arms—that delivers the killing blow. With Ash’s penis stroking against mine through the thin membrane of Greer’s walls and with her tight, slick ass—I come.
I rumble a low moan of agonized pleasure as I crest the point of no return and the muffled stroke of Ash’s cock sends me over the edge. And then the first contraction jerks delicious muscles deep in my groin. Another jerk rips a groan from my lips as I start pouring and spilling deep into Greer, hot spurts that fill her with wet heat, and I can feel the jetting throbs all the way in my thighs, all the way up in my stomach. On and on I pulse, the weight of a satisfied woman heavy against my chest, both of us caged in by her husband’s arms. I look at him as I’m still coming, and if I hadn’t already come, I would now. His face is a mask of raw, undisguised need—dark eyes, parted lips, jaw set.
And yet, somehow, as I finish my orgasm and slide with a sensitized groan from her ass, he manages to pull out of her pussy at the same time. Without coming. And if I thought he was hard before, it’s nothing like now. Every part of him sings of violent, filthy, frightening need—his cock, his posture, his face—and I can’t even imagine the tightness in his belly right now, the ache of his full balls.
But his eyes soften when he looks at Greer. I know it’s not that he’s got some complex about going easy on her—I’ve seen him fuck her mercilessly, beat her until she’s sobbing—but it’s that he’s got a plan for tonight, and part of that plan was getting Greer like this. His eyes are softening because he’s made her boneless with pleasure and joy, and that gentles the beast somewhat.
“Let’s rinse one more time,” he says, “and then we’ll dry off.”
“You haven’t come yet,” Greer murmurs, eyes all pupil-wide and cheeks flushed. She’s deep in subspace or endorphin-space or some kind of space, and maybe it’s the power of knowing I got her that way or maybe it’s the simple joy of seeing a lover fucked into sheer bliss, but it’s fucking seductive as hell. I can see why Ash is so addicted to being a Sir if this is what he gets out of it.
“Don’t worry,” he says to our queen. “The night isn’t over yet.”
FOURTEEN
EMBRY
now
A few minutes later, clean and dried with soft, fluffy towels, Ash wraps a fresh towel around Greer and scoops her easily into his arms. I expect that I’ll follow them into the bedroom, and I’m looking forward to the view—Ash’s tight ass and the muscled slopes of his back, the delicate lines of Greer’s lower legs and pointed toes as they hang over Ash’s arm…maybe even the silver glow of her eyes peering at me from around her husband’s shoulder.
But instead, Ash turns to me. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Greer is still in her glassy-eyed sex coma, giving me a drowsy smile from where her head is nestled against Ash’s chest, and I can’t resist. I step forward and take her into my arms, my chest going tight as she lets out a contented sigh and rests her head against me just like she had with Ash. She feels made to be in my arms—or my arms feel made to carry her—and there’s a tiny wail of grief inside my mind as I consider that I might never get to carry her like this again. That I could have had this every night, and now I never will.
I’m still grappling internally with this as we go into the bedroom (I did get that view of Ash’s perfect ass after all) and I lay Greer carefully on the bed.
She rolls to her side, eyes gazing all pearl-gray and languid up at us. “You’re hard again,” she murmurs, running a finger up my thigh and down my fresh erection to prove her point.
I am hard again. I can’t help it, I honestly can’t. It’s her and it’s him, and I love them, and my love for them has always come bound up in sex. That is to say, the way I love them is through my body and my soul, it’s with all parts of myself, every single part of Embry Moore. But I have the decency to be embarrassed about it. It’s not like I’ve gone without tonight, and even with the excuse of my celibacy, it’s still a little ridiculous. Like feasting all night at a banquet and then hearing your stomach rumble with hunger in front of your host.
And after five orgasms and two hours of vigorous play, it’s obvious that Greer is spent and sore. It feels selfish to want more. Graceless and greedy. But she doesn’t seem to think so, letting her legs fall open as she continues to tickle light fingers along my hard length.
“Greer, sweetheart.” I catch her hand, catch her eyes with my own. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve already done enough for me tonight. I can just jack it off real quick.” Or I could lie and tell her that it’ll go down on its own after a while, but I know that’s not true. Not with Ash still hard and full next to me. Not with Greer so heavy-limbed and well-used, spread across the bed in easy invitation.
“No,” she pouts, a little crease in her brow. “I want you to come inside me again. Please.”
My cock gives a little jump at her words. “I’d love that, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” she promises, spreading her legs even more. Her pussy is flushed and swollen and wet, tempting beyond belief—not the least because it’s flushed and wet from me. I’ve already come inside her tonight, and then I remember that Ash fucked her in the shower with my spend still in h
er pussy, and my semen must have been streaking and sliding all over his cock along with her arousal and his own, and I have to catch my breath. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. The messes the three of us make together.
And then there’s another hand on my cock—male, rough, big. There’s no may I? this time, no pretense, no game. There’s just his hand on me, where his hand belongs, and then I look up and my heart drops to his feet. Where it belongs.
