Page 76 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
And then he is astride my chest, his hands resting large and demanding over mine on Greer’s hips, and there’s almost no warning when he wedges his cock at her entrance and pushes inside his wife. Greer cries out from being filled, and Ash lets out a vicious exhale as my tongue traces along his shaft, as I gently suck on his sac.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah.”
That’s how we move, with me flat on my back, cock bound and leaking, and Ash and Greer astride me, my mouth searching to service them both.
“Lick me, Embry,” Greer begs in a whisper. “Lick me, lick me. Make me come, oh please, oh please—”
She comes on Ash’s cock and my tongue at the same time, all while I’m mindlessly writhing against the air myself, my ass and thighs and cock one continuous clench and ache, and then as she comes down, she looks over her shoulder to Ash, whose eyes are gazing down at where he and his wife join, at where I’m running the flat of my tongue along the underside of his cock every time he pulls out.
“You said he didn’t deserve his mouth getting fucked,” she says, voice still honeyed with arousal. “But maybe he’s done enough to earn your cum.”
Ash’s hand drops underneath Greer’s ass to cup the back of my neck. “Would you like that?”
Where’s the shame in admitting it now?
He’s won.
He’s won, he’s won.
In response I open my mouth, tongue over my bottom teeth, my cock threatening to split open merely at the idea of being used like this.
“Fuck,” Ash groans, unravelled by the sight of my mouth waiting for his cock, and he lets loose into Greer with a flurry of hard, brutish thrusts, and from down here, I can see how powerful he really is, how sculpted those thighs and how tight that stomach, how wide and hard his cock. I can see the intimate, practical biology: the stretch of her cunt around his erection, the sway of his balls, the wet glisten of aroused skin.
“Open wide, little prince,” Ash grunts, and then he pulls of out Greer’s tight pussy and into my open mouth, shoving down into my throat and erupting with a groan that I can feel everywhere in my body, the kind of groan I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Primal and male and triumphant.
Hot semen pours down my throat, and he’s coming so hard I can actually feel the pulse and throb of his organ as my lips stretch around him and I can feel the contractions that clench all the inner workings of this cock I love so much.
“Oh, you have such a pretty mouth,” he growls, his thumb running along the corner of my lips to gather up a pearl of leaked cum, and then he licks it off his thumb as he keeps pumping his hips and fucking through the last spurts of his orgasm. “So fucking pretty. I want to fuck it every day.”
He leaves my mouth with a faint pop noise, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he uses his fingers to guide his cock back into my mouth and to rub it around my lips.
“Greer,” he says. “I know what you want, and you can have it. And as for you,” he says, fingers pressing down on the top of his cock to push it between my lips again. “Clean me off.”
Greer is scampering down to my cock like a happy little bunny, and then she’s moving, and oh, fuck, oh fuck, she’s on top of me, she’s touching me, she’s sinking down onto my aching, abused penis and taking it inside her body. I can’t help but to arch and buck and whimper around Ash’s cock, and he loves it, his eyes are glowing with heat and amusement—and goddammit, even with love—and Greer rides me hard and fast, her fingers at her clit, and her wetness everywhere, ruining Ash’s tie, but who cares, who fucking cares—
“Suck it,” Ash says darkly, shoving his cock into my throat again, and then it’s as I’m choking on his cock and Greer is shaking in a fresh orgasm that I come, and it’s the worst and best thing ever to happen, so fucking painful and so fucking brilliant that I’m sure I lose consciousness, just as I’m sure that Ash keeps fucking my mouth for the half second that I fade out, and then he pulls out as Greer and I both shudder to stillness and completion. And with a massive hand around that brutal organ, he jerks off hard and angry, fists a hand in my hair, and marks my face with his cum.
THE SHOWER IS SILENT.
What is there to say?
But even with the stain of the election, we can’t stop touching, can’t stop wanting, and in silence Greer sets her foot up on the shower bench and reaches for me, and in silence, Ash and I share her. He takes her ass, I take her cunt, and she takes both of us, both our devotions and both our hearts. These two people I love so much that I’m dead with it, and a disconsolate voice inside my head wonders if it would have been better if we’d never met at all. If I’d never had to feel surrender and union and real marriage of souls—because then I wouldn’t have to feel its absence or live inside the hollow of what might have been.
Once more is not enough—when it is it ever?—so then there’s twice more, three times more, the final time a joining of such excruciating sweetness that when the three of us meet mouths to kiss and to taste and to simply breathe together, I do cry.
Ash wins.
I cry and Ash tastes my tears and Greer nuzzles into me with her own face tear-soaked, and he tastes her tears too. And it’s a strange thing to orgasm as tears drip down your face, but it’s beautiful too. To climax in joy is such a common, ordinary thing—but to come in anguish, in torment and in sorrow, what a rare jewel indeed. Faceted and flashing. Unforgettable.
Just like two years ago, we cradle Greer between us, and I fall asleep with the gentle swell of her chest against mine, the cool kiss of her hair twined through my fingers, the steady, metronomic sound of Ash’s breathing. And like last night, I fall asleep dreaming of a different place, a different life. It’s us and Galahad and all the other children we can grow, and a puppy maybe, why not a puppy?—and every betrayal, every tragic misunderstanding and missed opportunity is gone forever. There’s only what should have been from the beginning, which is this love the three of us have found like a city in the desert, strange and holy. Empty and waiting just for us.
My sleep is light and troubled, and when I surface to Ash’s voice, it almost feels like I haven’t been asleep at all, save for the lingering memories of a place that doesn’t exist and children that haven’t been born, and an easy joy that could never, ever be mine. Greer wakes too, but like a cat stirring when someone leaves the room. She stretches, yawns with an apathetic glance around her, and then falls right back asleep.
I don’t.
Ash is at the other end of the suite, speaking German in a low voice, and I only catch a few words in my hazy state. Berlin is one, gipfelkonferenz is another—a word
my high school German skills weakly translate to a summit or meeting—and then nachste woche. Next week.
