Page 67 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
She nods, cum-covered fingers in her mouth, her eyes so wide and innocent and fuck me—
“You’re fucking filthy,” I tell her, pulling out and then dropping to my knees in front of the bed without bothering to pull up my pants. I take her ass in my hands and raise her up to my mouth, feeling the leather kiss of her booted calves slide against my shoulders. I give her one long, dirty lick from her ass to her clit, tasting the mix of the two of us—bitter and sweet—and it’s so damn fitting that we should taste this way together. Bittersweet, messy and mingled, just like our lives and just like our love.
Her thighs squeeze tight around my head, and I can feel the heels of her boots on my back as I kiss and suckle at her, as I lick and dart my tongue and taste everything, all of it, all of her and me, and it’s not long before her hands are fisting at the hotel bed covers, her wedding ring winking in the light of the bedside lamp as she writhes and squeals. I can’t stop staring at it, at the gold and diamond flash of it as she chases her orgasm, and then at my own ring as I wrap my arm over the top of her thigh and press on her pubic bone to keep her still. Twin glints of dull gold, visible stamps of other people’s ownership. She is somebody else’s wife and I am somebody else’s husband, and God, that thought shouldn’t be so fucking wrong and thrilling that I’m getting hard all over again.
But it is.
And I am.
Her hand tangles through my hair and holds me hard to her cunt, and with my tongue and teeth working like I’d never get to eat a woman again, she comes so fucking hard that her thighs tremble and shake against my cheeks and her boots gouge and scrape at me, and I know I’ll have bruises and ruptured blood vessels dusted across my back in decoration.
The thought is like a cold drink on a hot day. A relief. Thank God, let her mark me, let her mark me, let there be proof that tonight is real.
Please.
Slowly, the flutters and contractions subside against my mouth and the hand in my hair loosens. I lift my face from between her legs, loving how I can feel her wet on my lips and chin, and even my cheeks, and she whimpers at the sight, her booted feet falling to the floor with twin, carpeted thumps.
“Holy shit,” she pants. “Holy fuck.”
“Yeah.”
She gives a breathless laugh, and then I’m on top of her again, hauling her up to the pillows and yanking her tight into my chest, our legs tangled and our clothes tangled and her hair tangled all around us.
“God, I missed you,” I say, my lips against her head and my words coming out muffled and faint. “So fucking much.”
“I know,” she sighs, her arms sliding around my waist. Her face is buried in my chest and it feels so perfect, all of it so perfect, that I wonder how I’ve been alive so long without it. I wonder what the fuck kind of love this is that it can survive two years of starvation and then still devour me alive the first chance it gets.
Greer must be thinking the same thing because she says, “I kept thinking that maybe I had started to invent how you made me feel, like I was embellishing it in my memory, but…” She tilts her head and looks up at me with a smile that could make stone sing. “It’s just like it was in Chicago, just like it was on my wedding night and in Carpathia. I’ll always be that girl in falling too hard for her knight in shining armor.”
“Shit yes, you will be,” I growl, bending my head to kiss her. “I’ll fucking make sure of it.”
WE FUCK AGAIN in the shower, and this time—God and his saints be praised—I last long enough to make her come first and to be able to look at myself in the mirror after. And then I fuck her against the window, watching the city lights kiss at her still-wet skin, and then she uses me like she promised she would, shoving me into an armchair and riding me until we both glisten with sweat and we can barely breathe. She comes as my toes dig into the carpet, as her fingers scratch at the arms of the chair, and then I hold her hips over mine and fuck up into her until she screams with another climax and I empty whatever I have left into her.
Which necessitates a final shower—no sex this time, just the gentle wash and touch of contented lovers—and then we slide in between the sheets, tucked in close in the dark.
“I’m glad Ash sent you,” I say, my arms tight around her and my chin on the top of her head. “I can’t—it…I’m just glad, is all. Grateful.”
Greer draws idle circles on my back. “How long has it been? Since you’ve been with anyone?”
“Belvedere,” I confess, and I feel her surprise.
It makes me a little…well, maybe resentful isn’t the right word, but weary. That anything other than rank promiscuity on my part is counted as a shock. “Is that so surprising?” I ask her, unable to smother all the irritation I feel at her response.
She moves to look up at me. “It’s painful,” she says quietly. “To think of you alone so much. I knew you wouldn’t sleep with Abilene, but I thought…had hoped…that you weren’t lonely.”
I sigh, my defensiveness settling back into my bones and going quiet. “The old me wouldn’t have stayed lonely. And at first, with the campaign and with Galahad—it just seemed like the smart thing for the time being. Lie low, keep my pants zipped. I didn’t need another skeleton in my closet when election time came around.”
“And then?”
I trace the arches of her eyebrows, the line of her nose. “And then, there were times when I could have fucked someone subtly, safely, and I found I couldn’t. Not even just that I didn’t want to, but that I actually couldn’t. My body would turn cold at the very thought, and eventually I realized that you and Ash had ruined me for anyone else. Once we became a three, I didn’t—I can’t be anything else with anyone else. The night Belvedere came to me was the only time I was able to take someone to bed, because it felt like I was taking you and Ash to bed.”
“Did you have to pretend it was Ash?” she asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s hard to describe…like the whole time I was fucking him, I wasn’t pretending it was anyone other than Ryan Belvedere, but that was because I didn’t need to. Because it had been you and Ash acting through Ryan, so fucking him was like fucking you.” I pause, remembering that night. Sweaty and rough and long. “Did Ryan tell you about it later?”
“He did,” Greer answers with a smile. “Ash was so eager to mount me after Belvedere described it for us that he didn’t even wait for the door to close.”
My tired cock gives an instinctive jolt against her thigh as I imagine it.
