American Prince

Ash’s eyes flare. “Is that what you want, little prince? To be punished?”

“I—” The words freeze as Ash dips his head to my neck, running the tip of his nose along my jaw.

“It occurs to me that there are still things we haven’t done, you and I,” he breathes into my neck, into my everywhere. “Things I’ve promised you.”

“Oh?” I say, like I’m so casual, but the word comes out choked with desire.

“Yeah,” he whispers against my ear, and then I feel rather than hear the pop of his trouser button through its hole. I feel the metal teeth of his zipper whirring. I feel his sigh as his heavy erection nudges free of his pants.

He grabs my hand, presses it against his heart. “Do you remember?” he asks casually, moving our hands from his solid, warm chest to his solid, warm stomach. “Do you remember what I promised?”

“I…maybe…”

“Let me refresh you, then.” His parted lips met the lobe of my ear just as he moves our hands underneath his waistband and around the side of his hip. All the way until I’m palming his bare ass.

I’m shaking.

I’ve grabbed his ass before, of course, as I’ve sucked him off or as he’s plowed into me with my knees bracketing his chest. But it’s never been like this, him guiding me there and consciously, carefully letting me explore on my own. And explore I do, before I can stop myself, kneading the firm swell of his ass, moving my other hand to mirror the first so that both of them are full of warm, muscled flesh.

Ash brings his own hands back to my face and then they drop to my neck as my explorations get deeper, rougher. He holds himself so still that I almost wonder if he doesn’t like it, me touching him like this. If it’s something he’s doing because he knows I want it, but that he won’t actually get any pleasure from himself.

Then I gently stroke my middle fingertip against the hot, pleated skin of his entrance and he lets out a noise so helpless and ragged I feel it in my teeth. He slumps against me, his hands sliding down to my chest where they fist in the lapels of my suit jacket, and his head drops even deeper into the hollow of my neck. I press my fingertip harder against that spot, the cinched heat of it opening against the calloused pad of flesh, and he rewards me with a shudder and a moan muffled by the collar of my shirt.

Never in my life did I think I’d get to have this, President Maxen Colchester shirtless and sagged against me, panting as I explored his ass.

“It’s hard not to…” he breathes and trails off, unable to make the words, but somehow I know what he means. It’s hard for him not to take control. It’s hard to keep himself still and let another person give him pleasure when he’s so used to taking it on his own terms.

But he manages, letting my finger work in soft, undemanding presses, until I’m knuckle deep and I finally graze the place deep inside that makes him cry out and push against me, and holy shit, hearing those whimpers in his gravel voice and feeling that ass like a furnace around my finger is almost too much, especially when he starts grinding his erection against my hip.

“I want you to fuck me,” he mumbles, his fists still in my jacket. “Now. Tonight.”

How long have I waited for this fucking moment? And tonight is when he chooses it, the night it can no longer be mine? I briefly consider doing it anyway as I massage his prostate and rub my own clothed cock against his groin—but I don’t even have to remind myself of how wrong it would be. I already know.

I already know.

“Ash, we can’t,” I say, regret making my voice tight as I slide my finger out of him. “Greer.”

He nods against my neck, but I can tell he’s still half gone with lust. “Can’t we though? Just a little bit?”

I almost smile at that, at the begging, because it’s so sweetly novel to see him like this, my strong king willing to make himself vulnerable for me. And by almost smile, I mean I feel tears burning at the backs of my eyes, deep in my throat. Why did tonight have to be the night I walked in on him listening to a waltz? The night he decided he wanted to give me something like this?

Why did tonight have to be the night when he reminded me of how much he loved me? Made me remember how much I loved him?

“Ash,” I say again, hoping he can’t hear the tears in my voice. “You know we can’t.”

For one testing moment, I think he’s going to push back, and if he does, then I’m gone. I’m barely able to hang on to reason and morality as it is, and if he begs for it, I’ll cave. I can’t deny myself the long lines of Ash’s thighs, the hard clench of his stomach, the whimpers and moans and the thought of him coming all over his stomach as I drive my cock deep into his welcoming ass…

“You’re right,” he says finally, heavily, and the very air seems to droop around us. “You’re right. I said we couldn’t earlier, and we shouldn’t. It would hurt Greer.” He lifts his head to look at my face, his beautiful mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “Can’t you get this thing sorted out with Abilene so you can beg forgiveness from Greer and we can all be together again?”

I don’t want to be honest.

I don’t want anything other than flesh and love and the smell of sex in the air around us.

But I do it anyway, I choose the moral path. It’s time to start being a good man. “I’m going to marry Abilene, Ash.”

He lets go of my jacket.