American Queen

We reach the bed, and Ash turns me to face Embry.

“Kiss her,” he orders his friend softly.

And Embry, looking like a sinner already in hell, cups my face in his hands and does as the President asks. When his lips brush against mine, I taste scotch and need, but he’s too eager to stay on the surface for long, parting my lips with his own and licking into my mouth with searing intensity, making me stumble back.

Ash catches me, positioning me so I can rest against his chest as Embry kisses me like he’ll never be able to kiss me again. I feel a tugging in my hair and I understand why Ash had me face Embry: he wanted to pull the elegant ballet bun loose and have my hair down and available for him. It spills over my shoulders in silky waves as Embry continues to ravish my mouth, his tongue firm and seeking, his breaths in between kisses fast and desperate.

We didn’t kiss earlier today, I realize. This is our first kiss since Chicago.

I’ve waited five years for this man, and he kisses me like he’s waited one hundred and five years to kiss me.

There must be a signal I don’t see, because then Embry pulls away and Ash is coaxing me onto the bed, onto my back. The men lay on either side of me, propped up on their elbows, stretched out in long lines of muscle and expensive fabric.

And I forget to breathe again.

Ash reaches over me and takes Embry’s hand, and Embry lets out a low groan as Ash guides his hand to my leg and presses it against my calf. Slowly—so slowly that I think I might perish—Ash moves Embry’s hand higher and higher and higher, lingering at the lacy tops of my stockings, and then moving up to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The sight of both of them reaching under my skirt, my husband forcing his best friend to touch my pussy, threatens to rip the breath right from me, and when I feel the tangle of warm, blunt fingertips against my quivering flesh, I come to life, gasping in a breath and spreading my legs.

Ash smiles down at me. “What do you want, angel?”

“We’ll give it to you,” Embry whispers. “We’ll give you anything you want.”

I chew on my lip a moment, hoping he means that. Because I want to be finger-fucked and eaten, I really do, but there’s something I want even more than that. Something I haven’t had before. “I want to see what happens when you two do more than kiss.”

“Oh really?” Ash asks, and two thick fingers slide inside me. I sigh happily. “Would that turn you on?”

“You have no idea.”

“I might have some idea. Feel how wet she is, Embry. Feel it.” A third finger, this one from a different hand, slides in and my hips lift off the bed at the sensation.

Embry nuzzles his face into my neck, I think at first to kiss me. But as the seconds pass with his lips lingering on my neck, I begin to wonder if it’s because he’s nervous about kissing Ash.

“Embry,” I murmur. “Let me see you and Ash together. Let me have that.”

And when he lifts his head, I see his eyes are glassy again, like melting glacier ice. His hand leaves me and he gets to a kneeling position. Ash mirrors him, and I’m the luckiest woman in the whole goddamn world to be witnessing the President of the United States deliberately palming his cock through his pants as the Vice President watches with his lip between his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Embry finally says. His voice is throttled, his eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I’m sorry I said no. I never stopped loving you. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

“You’re here now,” Ash answers gruffly, one hand still on his erection as his other reaches for Embry’s shirt. “You’re here now.”

I think they’re going to kiss, that they’re going to come crashing together over me in a tangle of muscle and long-stifled desire, but they don’t. Instead, Embry traces Ash’s mouth with his forefinger—the finger that was just inside me. And then he pushes it past Ash’s lips.

Ash sucks on the finger, shoving two of his own in Embry’s mouth, the two that he felt my wetness with, and I watch them as they lick the taste of my cunt from each other’s fingers the same way I’d lick melted chocolate from my own. Ash’s eyelids are hooded as Embry takes his fingers deep into his mouth, and Embry is breathing hard at the sight of his own finger between Ash’s lips. He lets his hand fall free, and then suddenly the kiss happens, fast and hard like a clap of lightning.

“Ash,” Embry breathes. “Oh, Ash.”

Ash grunts in response, leaning into Embry’s neck and biting the mark he made earlier. Embry practically buckles in response, and then Ash is off the bed and hauling Embry off too. Ash kisses him again, this time pressing the length of his body against Embry’s. They are thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and I can tell the moment their cocks brush against each other’s because they both let out identical noises, twin unfs of helpless pleasure. Embry’s hands are all over Ash—fumbling with his vest buttons and shirt buttons—while Ash is the one holding Embry’s neck, his other hand running possessive lines up and down Embry’s back that make Embry shiver.

Ash moves his attention to Embry’s throat again, and Embry’s eyes close. And then fly open in near-agony as Ash presses his wide palm to Embry’s cock.

“Jesus,” Embry moans, pushing against Ash’s hand. “Jesus, that feels good.”

“You like that?” growls Ash. “You like having my hand on you?”