American Queen

“Greer,” comes Ash’s voice through the receiver. “I want to be there so badly right now. I want to touch you and taste you and tell you how beautiful you are. I want to make you feel good.”

While Ash speaks, Embry tilts his face up to mine. Something pulls at the edges of his calm mask now, but I can't tell if it's pleasure or pain, joy or contrition. And then his elegant hands with their long fingers reach for the skirt of my wedding dress.

I freeze.

“Embry…?” My voice is no louder than a raindrop coursing down a window, but both men hear it. Embry bites his lip but starts lifting the hem of my dress.

Ash, on the other hand, says, “Stand still, Greer. Are you standing still?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away from Embry’s, unable to move away from this terrible, terrible, delicious thing. I tremble with a molten heat low in my belly as Embry’s able hands slowly gather up all of the layers of petticoat under my dress.

Ash continues talking. “I kept thinking about what I wanted to give you today, and honestly, Greer, there isn’t really anything I couldn’t give you. Jewelry or exotic vacations or rare editions of the books you love, anything I could have dreamed of, I could get for you—but they were just things. I didn’t want to get you a thing for a curio cabinet or a jewelry box. I wanted to give you something that you could carry with you through our new life together. Something that would make you a promise.”

Embry’s hand brushes up against my stocking-covered ankle and I gasp.

“What is it, princess?” Ash asks in a low voice.

“Embry…I mean, Ash, I—" I can't find the words just then, because Embry’s hand slides up my calf and everything stops. My thoughts, my feelings, my guilt—my world shrinks to Ash’s voice on the phone and the fingers moving past my knee and Embry’s face, so controlled. But lust and anger and determination are fissuring across that control, and I can see his wide pupils and the pulse pounding in his neck and the trembling of his lips.

What is happening? I think distantly to myself. What am I letting happen…and all while I’m on the phone with my soon-to-be husband?

And then the world slams back into motion, and I make a strangled noise, stumbling backwards, away from Embry. He starts to stand and come toward me, and I hold out one of my hands, moving backwards until my back is pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the skyline.

Embry looks down at my shaking hand and then back up to me, those fissures in his control now full-on fractures, and he says, “Greer…”

“Don’t test me,” I whisper, not sure if I'm whispering to the groom or the best man. “Don’t test me like this.”

Ash’s voice comes into my ear. “Relax, Greer. I want to give you this. I want to give you something you want…something you deserve.”

This isn't happening. I missed a connection somewhere, misunderstood something vital, because there is no way, no fucking way, that Ash is offering his best friend to me as some sort of wedding present, not when we agreed that Embry was off-limits until we figured everything out. This is my wishful thinking turned toxic, this is my darkest fantasies turning into delusion—

“I want you to let Embry give you my gift,” Ash tells me. “While I listen. That’s what you’ll give me in exchange: every single moan, pant and cry will be for me.”

“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying,” I say. "We agreed…you know what we agreed to. This isn't it!"

"I know, but I can't wait any longer," Ash says with a growl. "Today is hard enough without denying ourselves."

"But what about you—"

"Oh, don't worry, angel. I'll have something out of this for me too."

I hear the dark roughness in his voice and I realize I'm so very, very wet.

As if he knows, Ash asks, “Are you wet right now? Are you wet from Embry reaching under your dress?”

I lick my lips. I can't lie—Ash would know. But how can I admit the truth? Yes, I am wet. Yes, I want Embry’s mouth on me. Yes, yes, yes to all of it.

“Close your eyes,” Ash orders.

I do, my panting somehow louder in my head when I can't see anything. The glass window against my back is cool and strong, just like Ash’s words in my ear.

“I know you’re wet. I know it like I know Embry is hard right now, just from the mere thought of touching you. You want it, don’t you? You want it so much that you’re shaking with the effort it’s taking to hold yourself back.”

I feel the hem of my skirt lift again. Embry is back in front of me, but this time I don't try to move away. I keep my eyes shut, wishing I had the strength to open them and tell Embry to stop. The strength to flee temptation.

“Answer me,” Ash demands. “Are you wet right now? Do you want it?”

“Yes.” The word comes out strangled and hopeless.

“I knew you did,” Ash says. “I knew you wanted it. Spread your legs, sweetheart, and let Embry make you feel good.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you.” It's my final plea, my final argument, my final grasp at some semblance of sanity. My skirts are almost up at my waist now, and I know the moment Embry catches sight of my delicate, hand-embroidered French panties because he takes in a sharp breath, as if punched in the gut.

“It all hurts,” Ash says. “It hurts watching you two watching each other. It hurts watching him with other people. It hurts knowing that I've asked him to walk down the aisle to me twice and he's refused me both times. There’s no part about this that doesn’t hurt, but what’s the alternative? Living without the pain means living without each other.”