Page 93 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“God, Embry,” I moaned, rocking back into the toy, which was really an extension of his hand, which was really an extension of him. I could pretend right now, yes I could, and I told him that. “I’m imagining it’s you. All you.”
“Fuck,” Embry croaked, and I could hear his fist behind me beating his cock, the awkward tattoo of a left-handed jack as his right hand kept the dildo fucking my ass. “Are you going to come?”
“Yes, goddamn—” the orgasm was like nothing else, coming from somewhere in my body that I’d only barely known before, and it was Embry giving it to me, and I wanted to give him everything in return and I looked over my shoulder again. “Uncuff me, I want more, I want—shit.”
He uncuffed me, fumbling with the buckles long enough that both of us were swearing with dripping cocks by the end of it, and the moment he released me, I raised up to my knees and grabbed his hands. Somehow, despite the slide of the dildo and the tangle of his slacks and the length and width of muscled limbs, we ended up as I needed us to: his chest to my back, my legs folded outside and on top of his so that I almost sat in his lap, and both of his hands clenched tight on my cock, with my hands wrapped around his.
I fucked up into both his fists, each downstroke pushing the base of the dildo against him and back up into me, and so I was being fucked both ways, inside and out, and Embry’s face dropped onto my shoulder from behind. “I can’t,” he mumbled. “You’re going to kill me.”
“You’re going to kill me,” I gasped, because this orgasm was going to kill me, it was going to rip right through me, and then I gave a final thrust right into his tight double grip and slammed back into his lap, which shoved the dildo back into me hard.
And I ejaculated. Embarrassingly.
It erupted everywhere, huge thick spurts of it, all over Embry’s fists and all over Mark’s bed and all over my thighs and belly, rope after rope of cum, and Embry swore up a storm the whole time, as if I were personally torturing him by making him watch this, and it spurred me on, it spurred me on to think of his cock hard and aching behind me, of how it would feel to let him inside my ass.
But even in the heat of my clenching spurts, I remembered. He had to earn it.
So finally when my climax slowed, I rolled to my back. “You can come on me,” I offered. “You can rub yourself anywhere.”
Without hesitation, he rubbed himself everywhere. He bucked against my thighs, he used his cock to trace the place where the dildo still stretched my hole. And then finally he braced himself above me and rubbed his cock on my semen-wet abs and came in a few thrusts, surging a fresh wave of white over my stomach.
And then, like we were boys, we both started giggling. Not laughing, but giggling, high-pitched noises that had us both fighting for air and our faces hurting with giant smiles, and Embry collapsing on top of me and our stomachs sliding together in a sticky mess.
A few minutes later when our giggles had settled, I tangled my legs with his and guided his head to my chest. We laid there for a while after that, me stroking his hair, him pressing lazy kisses to my chest, our bodies still glowing with this pseudo-first of ours.
“Imagine,” I said gently, “how it will feel when it’s your body inside of me. I can’t wait.”
He looked up at me with the whole world in his eyes, and then he sighed. “You’re doing the dimple thing again. It’s evil.”
A FEW MONTHS LATER, Embry and I were walking around the edge of Vivienne Moore’s lake outside of Seattle. It was morning and chilly, despite only being September, and a low mist hung over the lake and threaded through pine trees. Above us, the same mist came down from the clouds, shrouding the mountains like a pale, gray cloak. It reminded me painfully of the day in that Carpathian valley when I’d proposed.
The lake water lapped quietly at the rocky shore, and Embry made a contented sigh.
“You’re happy here,” I observed.
“Of course. It’s home.”
“You know that anywhere you wanted to live, I would live.”
He stopped walking then, staring out over the fog-crowned water. “You don’t have a choice about where you live. Not for the next seven years.”
I stopped next to him and threaded my hand through his. He didn’t look over at me, but I felt his body respond to my nearness all the same. “I don’t have to run again, you know,” I told him. “And I wouldn’t, if that’s what you wanted.”
He made a noise. “And why would I want that?”
“Any reason. All reasons.”
He didn’t answer.
Despite his silence, a happy, nervous excitement was curling in my belly, and it had been all morning. Ever since we’d woken up and Embry had wanted to go on a walk, and we’d forced the Secret Service agents far enough back for some real privacy. The ring—the same one from all those years ago—burned a hole in my pocket, and I wanted to do it here, now, with his favorite lake at his feet and the fog wrapping us in an otherworldly blanket.
There was a large dry log set off from the shore a little, and I went to go sit on it, tugging Embry’s hand to make him join me. And after I sat, planting my feet wide enough to make space between them, I nodded my head at the rocky place I’d left between my shoes. Embry flashed me a hot look, but even with his evident grumpiness, he still settled on his knees in front of me.
“Such attitude,” I murmured as he finished kneeling and looked up.
“Maybe one day you’ll find someone who actually wants to be a sub,” he said in a surly voice.
I laughed a little at that, using the toe of my shoe to prod the hardening cock in Embry’s pants. “This looks an awful lot like you like it to me.”
