Page 66 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
My pain deflates a little, replaced by the sharper pain of loving that man so fucking much. Of course he would want to be with Lyr right now, of course he’d be sacrificing anything he could for his son.
Greer bites her lip as she watches me process this. “It’s been two years,” she says in a quiet voice. “If you want me to leave, say the word.”
“And if I don’t want you to leave?” My blood is thrumming hot through my body, and my cock pushes against my zipper like it’s trying to split the metal teeth apart.
Greer releases her lip from her teeth with a small lick and big smile. “Then my safe word is Maxen.”
And I’m on her. It takes me several long strides to eat up the distance between us, but I’m there, I’m against her, I’m slamming her against the wall and sealing my mouth over hers.
“I can’t wait,” I mumble against her lips.
“Then don’t,” she says, and I spin her and push her back on the bed, and I don’t even give her time to move up to the pillows, I don’t give her time to catch her breath. I curve my body right over hers and fumble with my zipper between us, and the back of my hand touches bare wet skin as I do.
“You’re not wearing anything under that dress,” I growl, pausing work on my zipper to shove her dress up and see for myself. “You needed to be fucked that badly?”
She’s arching now, trying to roll her hips against me, but I pin her to the bed with a hard hand on her hip and just look. Just look at the sleek rift between her legs, the tiny parabola of her mound silhouetted against the chunky knit fabric of her dress, the bevels and curves where her cunt meets her thigh, where her thigh meets her ass. The tiny pink rosebud of her ass and the plump little berry of her clit peeking out between her lips. And she’s wet already, so wet that it’s on the outside of her, and all of her private skin is so flushed and so needy.
“Embry,” she moans. “Put it inside me. Please. I can’t wait any longer.”
Fuck, I can’t either. “It’s going to be fast, sweetheart,” I mutter apologetically, bracing my hand on the bed, my other hand digging my cock out of my pants. It’s going to be pointlessly fast, but I’m too ashamed to tell her that. Embry Moore, once known up and down the West Coast for his god-like prowess in bed, is going to come after a single thrust…if that. It’s been more than a year since I’ve had anything other than my hand and a silicone toy I bought in a fit of frustration while my eyes burned with stupid tears and my room was illuminated by the blue glow of my laptop screen. I’ve only had that one night with Belvedere to disrupt my celibacy, which means I’m practically a fucking monk now, and in the face of a willing, spread-open woman, I don’t even know how to make myself last. My balls are already drawn up so fucking tight, ready to pump her full.
I push the head of my cock against her and suck in a breath. Even Greer’s slick heat at my tip feels like too much, far too much.
“Can I go in bare?” I manage to say through gritted teeth, and the little minx laughs at my desperation, her fingers wrapping around my tie and tugging playfully.
But then she gets serious as sin. “Make me messy,” she says, in that haughty little voice she uses sometimes, her queen voice. “I want all the cum you’ve been saving for me. I’ve been thinking about it all day, how it would feel to be full of you. Dripping with you.”
Shit yes. None of the I just want to feel all of you stuff that lovers sometimes say about going bare, none of the pretense of delicacy. Just the raw, crude biology of it, the physical release and natural purpose of it.
The angle is fucked, with her legs still half off the bed and my upper thighs still cinched with my flat-fronted suit pants, but I don’t even care. I yank her hips to mine, breach her wet split with the first inch of me, and then give her the other seven in a rough, grunting shove. She’s so wet that it takes almost nothing to push inside, and I press a forbidding hand to her lower belly to keep her still as I reach underneath us and tug down on my balls to stop the orgasm already strangling every muscle and vein and pipe of me.
Despite my hand hard on her belly, she’s still arching, the raw contact after two years so fucking incredible, and she’s saying, “God, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you,” as I finally let go of myself and pull out to the tip.
“I missed you more,” I breathe as I push inside, and holy fuck, there are stars crowding the edges of my sight, actual fucking stars—supernovas and white dwarfs and goddamn pulsars shooting beams of pure energy across my field of vision—and then I’m fully inside her, hunched over her like a fucking teenager, tangled in my clothes, marveling at the press of my balls against her ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.
Every muscle in my body is clenched so hard that I might snap in two, but I’d rather snap in two than miss this, than rush this gift that I didn’t expect but that I need so, so badly. I love her, I love her—
“I love you,” I mumble, kissing her roughly on the mouth, biting at her jaw. “I love you.”
“Embry,” she murmurs, “there’s going to be more. I’ll be here al
l night. Use me quick, and then I’ll use you slow, but don’t hold back. You don’t ever get to hold back with me.”
My hands grab everywhere even as my hips and dick are so still that I could be a photograph, a sculpture. The slightest twitch will throw me over the edge, and I don’t want it yet, except I do want it, I want it to last forever at the same time that I want to blow all this pent-up pressure inside her and show her exactly how chaste I’ve been. Exactly how much I’ve missed her.
I have to touch every part of her, press and squeeze every inch that has only known her husband’s touch over the last two years. Her slender waist, her pert breasts, even her fucking shoulders I have to clutch and rough up and clasp.
Her shoulders.
And then my hands are on her head, threading through her hair as I cradle her face and kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. And it’s not even her sweet pussy that sends me over the edge, it’s the slide of her tongue silky and wet against my own, just so fucking intimate and naked.
“I’m gonna come,” I grunt into her mouth.
She kisses me back even harder in answer, and then fuck it, it’s coming, my first real orgasm since I fucked a Presidential Aide a year ago; and it’s a hard, angry throb jabbing deep into my balls and then I’m groaning low in my throat as I spill into Greer’s warm cunt. It feels like it’s being yanked out of me, tugged, forced even, and my forehead rolls against hers as the entire lower half of my body is caught in a merciless, vicious storm. I come, and I come, and I’m almost embarrassed to feel how much is leaking out around us, but she’s not embarrassed at all, she’s reaching down to smear her fingers around where we’re joined, and it’s too much to take on top of everything else. I collapse fully on top of her, finishing out the painfully sweet emptying with our stomachs and chests pressed hard together and my hips pumping as worthlessly as any green boy’s.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I’m done and drained. I grab Greer’s hand where it wanders in bawdy curiosity between us, and then I feed it back into her mouth and make her lick off the mess. Her eyes glow like molten silver when I do it, and it spikes heat through me all over again.
“You like that, dirty girl?” I ask breathlessly.
