Page 13 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“What are you thinking about?” he asks. “What are you going to imagine as you unload?” His words are curious, his voice hungry, and I’m hungry for his hunger, jealous for his attention. I want all of him, always, mine and mine and mine forever.
“I’m going to imagine fucking you again. Greer is there, and she’s out of her mind watching us, her fingers buried deep in her cunt. You beg me to let you inside her, and you promise to be a good boy for me. The best boy.”
Embry groans. “God, Ash. You’re making me hard again.”
“And that’s how we finish, all three of us. You inside Greer’s tight pussy and me inside your ass.”
A wet sound tells me Embry is jacking off again, using his own ejaculate like lube. That image on top of everything else makes my stomach clench, my dick flare with sudden, heavy heat. It all flashes fast and dirty through my mind: Embry’s thick organ, smeared and wet with himself; the feeling of his hole so fucking tight around me; the firm rounds of his ass against my hips every time I push into him; Greer’s pussy so wet I can see her thighs glistening; her nipples rosy and needy and erect; Embry’s back rumbling against my bare chest as he groans out his release; the three of us in one sweaty, needy, forceful tangle, stealing pleasure and rubbing friction.
My boy and my girl, my prince and my princess. Mine and mine and mine forever.
“Yeah,” Embry says. “I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna—” he bites off his own words and gasps, and it’s the image of cum spurting all over his hand and pants and tie that does me in. Yanking my pocket square from my suit just in time, I hold it in front of my cock, and I release with a grunt, ejaculating into the silk with heavy, unending spurts.
“Embry,” I manage. “Fuck. Embry.”
“Yeah?” he breathes. “Yeah?”
“God, it feels—wish you were here to see—fuck.” It’s like I can’t stop coming, and I feel each contraction at the base of my spine with unabashed pleasure, watching my thick length judder and jerk as I spill my seed. So much, so much, and I want it to keep going forever, to share this sticky, dirty moment with Embry forever, just the two of us with our needy cocks and even needier hearts.
But all too soon it’s over, my cock slowly going still, my pocket square ruined, Embry still breathing hard on the other end of the line. It comes faster than I thought it would—the unsatisfied restlessness, the emptiness, the heat pooling deep in my groin letting me know that I’ll be hard up for it until I can slake my thirst. I close my eyes and lean back in my chair, trying to breathe through it. It’s okay that it’s not enough, I tell myself. It was about what Embry needed, not me, and God knows few things are enough for me.
“I’m still hard,” Embry says, bringing me back into the present. “It’s like you’re some kind of cock-magician.”
“I’m not a magician,” I say softly. “I’m the king of your body, and your body knows it. It won’t rest until it’s mine again.”
And mine won’t rest either.
A long-suffering sigh. “The reason I didn’t meet you face to face is because I didn’t want to end up ashamed and covered in my own semen,” Embry replies. “And yet.”
“And yet.”
“I know I’m doing the right thing, Ash, and I’m doing it for the right reasons. I can want you and fight you at the same time.”
“I know that,” I say heavily. “You’ve been doing it since the day we met.”
“Are you furious with me?” he asks.
I finish cleaning myself off and drop the pocket square into the trashcan. I tuck my still-hard cock into my pants and zip up, and I buckle my belt, and I check my tie for stains. And then I finally answer. “I’m lots of things right now.”
“But furious is one of them.”
“Yes. But I’m also guilty and worried and hurt, and hurt is the biggest one by far. I love you, and you’re leaving me. You’re leaving me because you think I’m a coward, and that I don’t love my wife enough to keep her safe. And by extension, you think you must love her more because you’re willing to put innocents at risk to protect her.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says. His voice is surly when he answers, and it almost makes me smile. Still the same petulant, pretty lieutenant I pinned against a wall all those years ago. “You think you’re so noble and so fucking stoic, but it just means that you choose honor over emotion every time you start to feel something.?
??
“I just confessed to an entire list of things I do feel, Embry.”
He sighs. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that you’re never vulnerable; I mean that you never bend, you never break, sometimes you’re as inaccessible as the sun, and I used to worship you for it. I still want to.”
“Then don’t leave,” I say. Beg. I’m not above begging, if that’s what he wants. If he wants to see his king on his knees, weeping and tearing his clothes, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. “Stay. I can’t do this without you.” I take a deep breath. “I never could, you know. You are my strength. My courage. And I need you.”
“I can’t,” Embry says joylessly. “It’s what I have to do in order to live with myself. It’s what I believe in.”
“You used to believe in me,” I say, and just saying those words out loud rips open something new underneath my ribs. I didn’t know how much I relied on that belief until it was gone. How much I craved his trust and his faith. It makes me want to do anything to be worthy of it again, anything, but then I remember that I can’t. Remember that I can’t say fuck everything and make winning Embry back my sole aim. I’m in charge of keeping an entire nation safe, the people who believe in me and the people who don’t, and I can’t risk war and death for just one.
As much as that seems like a good idea right now.
