Page 11 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“Thank you,” I tell Kay. “You’re my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister,” she says dryly as I pull away from the hug.
I’m about to tell her that’s not technically the truth when there’s a knock at the door. I straighten up as Belvedere pokes his head inside, looking abashed.
“I’m sorry sir, but it’s the Vice President on the line. He’s asked to speak with you.”
Something twists inside my chest. Excitement or pain, I don’t know.
“To formally tender his resignation, I imagine,” Merlin says, standing up. “Let’s give the President the room.”
My staff bustles up to leave, Kay giving my hand a quick squeeze and Merlin sending me an inscrutable look. Then I’m alone in the Oval Office with a ringing phone.
My hand shakes as I pick it up.
“Colchester.”
“You know it’s me,” comes Embry’s irritated voice. I soak up every sharp consonant, every drawling vowel. It’s only been twelve hours and yet I miss him with the whining pangs of a starving dog.
Embry goes on. “Answer the phone like an actual human.”
“Come over here and I’ll talk to you like a man.”
Embry laughs and as always, the sound unlocks every door to my heart. He and Greer, they laugh so much, and the sound of it is like joy itself. “Ash, we both know what would happen if I was in that office alone with you.”
“And what would that be?”
“We’d fight. You’d ask me not to leave. I’d tell you I had no choice. We’d find new ways to hurt each other. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“But finding new ways to hurt you is always so pretty to me, little prince.”
A short inhale is my only answer. I picture those ice blue eyes going hooded with desire, those firm lips pouting ever so slightly with need.
I sit down behind my desk, running a palm along the smooth wood as if it were my lover’s back. “Let me tell you exactly what would happen if you were here. You’d walk in here and try to stay standing, because you would think it put us on equal footing. Because you wouldn’t allow yourself to relax around me. And I’d let you stand, because it wouldn’t matter.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Do I have any less power when I’m sitting than when I’m standing? Am I a different man?”
“It wouldn’t be about you,” Embry says impatiently. “The standing would be for me. To demonstrate that we are different now, that I am different.”
“But you’re not, my Patroclus. How many times have you been ready to fight me, ready to struggle and bruise to prove to yourself that you don’t want me, only to end up begging for my cock?”
“And you think that’s what would happen this time?”
“I know it’s what would happen,” I say in a low voice. My cock lengthens down the leg of my pants as I imagine it. “I’d let you stand long enough to prove my point, that I still own you, sitting or standing, and then I’d make you get on y
our knees and apologize to me for breaking my heart.”
Embry’s voice is silky when he responds. “Apologize how?”
“By taking my cum down your throat.”
“It wouldn’t be enough. Not to earn your forgiveness.”
“You’re right,” I say, rubbing a palm over my erection. I’m hard enough that I can feel the heavy flare of my crown through the fabric. “After I fucked your mouth, I’d haul you up by the back of your neck and bend you over the desk. I’d take off my belt and stripe your ass red for every time you’ve left me.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Embry says, and the breathlessness in his voice gives him away. He’d like to see me try as much as I’d like to see me try—which is quite a lot.
