Modern Fairy Tale

by Proby, Kristen

  When I flip myself around so I’m facing Embry, a change comes over the room. It’s no longer Embry as the outsider. Now Embry and I are looking at each other, my breasts and my cunt on display for him, my pleasure a performance for his pleasure. And underneath me, I feel waves of power and desire rolling off Ash, as if controlling Embry as well as me arouses a different side of his dominance. As if watching me perform for Embry is more erotic than when I perform for him alone.

  The phone rings again, and Ash tells me, “Get to work,” before he answers the phone. And then he picks up, and he’s talking and Embry is talking too—albeit in a choked, forced voice—and I start grinding against Ash’s leg, my eyes on Ash’s friend the entire time. As he watches and attempts to talk along with Ash, I slide my hands up my stomach to my breasts, squeezing them hard, the way he squeezed them that night in Chicago. The way he touched me like he’d never get to touch a woman again. His eyes follow my hands, his teeth digging deep into his lip, and when I start fucking Ash’s thigh again, his hand curls into a fist on his knee.

  I imagine I’m fucking him, I imagine I’m fucking Ash, I imagine I’m fucking both of them. I imagine them fucking each other, I imagine all three of us in a tangle of sweat and thrusting, all barriers stripped away, every hot inch and sweet hole available without question.

  And it’s this final image that sets the gears of my climax whirring, spinning tighter and tighter until I can feel it poised in front of my womb, a ticking thing ready to explode. My hands drop down to Ash’s knee for balance as I lean forward, drop my head, and chase the orgasm I’ve been waiting for all week. I hear the phone call end, and through the tendrils of hair hanging down around my face, I see Embry sitting on the edge of the sofa, that fist unclenching and clenching over and over again.

  “Give it to me,” Ash says. “To us.”

  And so I do. I press hard against Ash and ride the swell as I rub against him, crying out as I feel the wick light and the bomb detonate deep inside my womb. Shudders radiate out, pulsing quakes as I tremble on top of Ash’s thigh, as I pant and gasp and continue rubbing myself against him to milk every last ounce of pleasure out of this. It goes on and on, all the pent-up longing from this week, all the angst over Embry, just adding fuel to the fire. And when I do finally stop moving, my body wrung out, I become aware of Ash’s hands in my hair, tugging my head back.

  “That was beautiful, angel, but we’re not done yet,” he informs me. With his hands moving to my waist, he lifts me and sets me on the ground, so that I’m kneeling in front of him. There’s a large wet stain on his tuxedo pants where I sat. A stain that I left.

  “Look at what you did.”

  I cast my eyes around for something to clean him with, but he stops me with a hand fisted in my hair. He guides my mouth to his leg. “Lick it clean.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the deliberate humiliation, the dehumanization of it, overwhelmed by the way I respond to it like it’s a warm blanket on a cold night. I want to wrap myself in it, burrow into it and never leave. Nothing is more natural than this, nothing has ever been as close to what I dreamed about as a teenage girl. Whatever happens between Embry, Ash, and me after tonight will just have to happen, because I don’t want to stop.

  I open my eyes and begin licking at his pants, feeling like a cat and even more like one when Ash puts a firm hand between my shoulder blades and presses me down so that I’m on all fours. The air is cool on my swollen cunt, revealing every single fold and curve where I’m wet, and with a tremor, I realize Ash has posed me like this so Embry can see my sex on display. I wish I could see his face or hear his voice. I wish I could tell if he liked what he saw, if he also remembers that night in Chicago when he crawled down the bed and ate me like a starving man at a feast.

  As I’m licking up the traces of myself, Ash says to Embry, “You’re hard.”

  Embry doesn’t speak, but he must nod, because then Ash says, “Pull it out. Show Greer what she’s done to you.”

  Ash doesn’t have to tell me to look or force me to turn my head. My heart pounds a beat so strong I feel it in my cunt as I turn to see Embry with his shaking hands on his fly. I recognize the misery in his face immediately. The misery of wanting something so badly even though you know it’s wrong. Even though you think it might be a trap. Yet here we are, unwilling to stop, however dangerous it might be.

  There’s a furrow in Embry’s elegant forehead, as if he’s concentrating as he slowly unfastens his pants and reaches inside. Then I see the tip of him—the dusky, flared cap with a bead of moisture at the slit—and I lick my lips, thinking of Chicago. Remembering the way that cock invaded me and claimed me. Tore me and fucked me.

  Embry sees me lick my lips, and his head drops back against the sofa with a moan.

  “All of it, Embry,” Ash admonishes. “You show us all of it.”

  With a couple of quick, jerky movements, Embry shoves his pants farther down his hips so that all eight hard inches are exposed. His balls are high and tight, like he’s already close to losing it, and when he puts his thumb at his root and slowly pushes his cock towards us so that it points straight to the ceiling, I see the muscles tensing in his stomach and thighs.

  He’s breathing fast, his eyes on Ash as he keeps himself displayed for us. “Like that?”

  I’m surprised at the huskiness in Ash’s voice as he answers. “Yeah. Just like that.”

  But by the time I’ve swiveled my head back to Ash to study his face, his control has returned and his attention is on me again. He looks at my face as he addresses Embry. “Wasn’t I so nice to let Greer come like that?”

  “Yes,” Embry responds after a pained second.

  “Shouldn’t she thank me?” Ash runs a finger along my jaw as he stares at me. I shiver under his caress. “Wouldn’t that be polite?”

  A breath. “Yes.”

  “How should she thank me, Embry? With her mouth? With her hands?”

  “I—” A heavy breath. “With her mouth. She should thank you with her mouth.”

  “I like that idea very much,” Ash agrees. “Put my dick inside your mouth, angel. Show me your gratitude.”

  Oh, thank God. I attack his groin with so much enthusiasm that he chuckles, but the laughter dies in his throat the minute I get my hands on the erection I’ve been craving all night. I waste no time in sucking him; I pull him into my mouth right away, taking him as deep as I can go, swallowing against his crown as it brushes the back of my throat.

  “Oh, fuck me,” Ash groans, his large hand sliding through my hair and resting on the back of my head. “Yes, angel, just like that. Holy shit.”

  “What…what does it feel like?” Embry asks.

  “Hot. Wet. Her lipstick is smearing around my base. Shit,” he swears as I start sucking up and down as fast as I can. “She’s so fucking eager. Look at this.”

  “I am,” Embry answers softly.

  I brace my hands on Ash’s thighs, loving the hard feel of the muscle under my hands, the tensing and straining that reveals what his stoic face doesn’t. I’m oblivious to everything—my tits bouncing and my hair coming undone—as I focus on my one goal: thanking Ash. I go back to the deep, long pulls, letting him fuck my throat, and that unravels him. Within only two or three minutes, he’s taken control from me, gripping my head with both his hands and fucking up into my mouth, letting me breathe on every other thrust. I’m gasping, tears smudging my cheeks, and there’s drool, but Ash doesn’t care.

  “That’s right,” he hisses, his head falling back once more. “Drain me. Take it, take it all. Oh fuck, angel. Here it comes.”

  Hot spurts hit the back of my throat, thick and long pulses of him, a deep animal grunt leaving his mouth at the apex of his climax. He holds my head over him as he thrusts through the rest of his orgasm, making sure I’ve had every last drop of his milk, before he finally loosens his grip and lets me go. Without being asked, I lick him from root to tip, cleaning his satisfied flesh, until I feel
a finger under my chin. I lift my face to his, and his face is filled with so much warmth and pride that fresh tears prick at my eyelids.

  “Well done, my little princess,” the President says. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Only in this world, only in this context, only with this man, does this wreck me. I have my own life and my own goals and my own power, and yet here in this room, none of that applies. Tonight was hard, tonight did seem impossible, and so Ash’s praise and the emotional fallout of having a scene in front of my former lover triggers a wave of tears I can’t fight off. I bury my face in Ash’s lap so the men won’t see me cry.

  I want Ash to be proud of me in these scenes. So much.

  He strokes my hair but then abruptly stops, gently but quickly moving me aside so he can jump to his feet. I look up, confused and vision blurred, and I realize that Embry has stood up and is walking to the door, fumbling his fly closed as he does. Ash strides across the room and slams his hand against the door as Embry tries to open it, closing the door again and effectively pinning Embry between his body and the wood.

  Embry turns to face Ash. “Please let me go,” he says wretchedly. “Please.”

  “You’re still hard,” Ash tells him. “Aren’t you?”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “I’ll let you leave if you can show me you’re not erect,” Ash says, and I’ve never heard anything so soft and menacing and filthy. “Pull it out and show me. Prove to me you don’t want this and you can go.”

  Embry’s handsome face is twisted with delicious torment, his stubbled jaw tense with suffering. “I know what game you’re playing, and I know that I’m going to lose.”

  Does he know because he’s played a game like this with Ash before? What history do the two of them share?

  Embry asks again, his suffering turning into anger. “Please, Ash.”

  “You and I don’t have a safe word,” Ash says. “And if we did, it wouldn’t be please. Do I need to have Greer come over here and help?”

  “No!” Embry bursts out. “No. I…okay.”

  There’s complete silence in the room as Embry bends to Ash’s will and unfastens his pants and slowly withdraws his penis. It’s harder than ever, swollen and dark and angry, throbbing with every beat of his heart. Even though I just came moments earlier, my pussy gives a whiny little throb of its own.

  “Happy?” Embry demands.

  Ash doesn’t answer him but turns to me. “Go get your dress. The one you wore tonight. Bring it to me.”

  I scurry up from the floor to obey, hurrying into the dressing room and returning with the pile of blue silk. Embry and Ash haven’t moved, but there’s so much precum at the tip of Embry’s cock that it glistens in the ambient light of the bedroom, and Ash has kept his hand against the door, splayed against the wood right next to Embry’s head. The posture is intimate somehow, even though they aren’t touching, and the way they’re looking at each other is suffused with the kind violence that only comes from real anger.

  I hand the dress to Ash and he hands it to Embry. “Relieve yourself.”

  “What?” Embry’s voice is a study in breathless incredulity.

  Ash nods towards the dress. “It’s soft, isn’t it? The dress? And Greer looked so beautiful in it, didn’t she? Like a fucking princess, you said when you saw her. Did you think about fucking her in it tonight?”

  I freeze. Embry’s blue eyes flare with torment.

  Ash goes on. “Did you think about what it would be like to rub your bare cock against all that silk before you finally shoved inside her little pussy? About how the silk would feel fisted in your hands while you pinned her to the ground and fucked her?”

  “Ash,” I choke out.

  He ignores me. “She would have liked it, I think. Watching you defile that expensive dress as you defiled her. And it would have felt so good, wouldn’t it? All that blue silk and that sweet pussy. The most beautiful woman in the room a slave to your cock.”

  Embry stares at him. “I know why you’re doing this.”

  “I know.”

  And that’s all there is to it. There’s no explanations, no defenses, no logic. It’s what Ash wants, and therefore in this scene, it’s law.

  “Now wrap that dress around your cock and relieve yourself.” Ash’s voice turns seductive. Dark and tempting. “I bet it would only take a couple of pulls, don’t you? And it will feel so good, fucking that dress you’ve been obsessed with all night. Marking it. It will feel so good to have Greer see how big your cock gets as you pretend to fuck her, how much cum you could fill her with if she’d only let you.”

  “Jesus,” Embry pants, the muscle in his arm bunching as he slowly fists his erection with the skirt of my dress. The silk slides easily over his straining flesh, whispering softly on his cock. “Oh, Jesus.” The last word breaks into a moan. His head falls back against the door as he’s lost to himself, but he can’t resist seeing his cock on my dress, and he looks back down. All three of us watch as it moves in and out of the silk, rude and male against the pretty blue flutters of fabric.

  Ash was right, it doesn’t take long, and with a shuddering exhale, Embry releases. Thick ropes of cum spray my dress, spurt after spurt after thick spurt, each pulse accompanied by a savage jerk of his hips and a ragged groan. My nipples are so tight it hurts, same with my cunt, and oh God, how I wish Embry’s cock were inside me now. That those savage jerks were plowing into me. That all that cum was mine.

  After a few more thrusts into the silk, he slows, slumping back against the door, dropping the dress to the floor.

  “Don’t you feel better now?” Ash asks. “Didn’t it feel good to get rid of that ache?”

  Embry nods wordlessly, eyes still closed, pulse still hammering in his throat.

  “Greer liked it too. Didn’t you, Greer?”

  My cheeks flush red with shame but I answer honestly. “Yes, Sir.”

  Embry tucks himself into his pants and fastens them up, running a hand over his jaw. He looks dazed, as if he’s just woken from a long sleep, his blue eyes unfocused and his voice uncertain when he says, “I’m going home now.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Embry looks at me and then looks at Ash, that dazed expression more pronounced than ever. “Good night.”

  Ash moves his hand so Embry can open the door, and then Embry leaves, closing the door behind him. Ash stares at the door for a minute and then faces me, his face apologetic. “I’m sorry, angel. But I need your mouth again.” His hand is already on my head, forcing me to my knees, and his other hand digging out his cock, and he’s so hard already, viciously, violently hard.

  Watching Embry made him hard, I realize. And the jolt of jealousy comes concurrent with the jolt of arousal.

  Ash doesn’t go easy on my mouth, but before he comes, he pulls out and reaches down for me, picking me up easily in his arms and carrying me to the bed. He spreads my legs and drapes them over his shoulders, pressing his hot, skillful mouth against my pussy and devouring me. I come with his dark head and wide shoulders between my thighs, and then he’s straddling my chest, fucking my mouth to get his cock wet and then fucking my tits. When he finally comes, his hands savage and bruising as he pushes my breasts around his cock, it’s with something almost like a roar, like the orgasm is torn from him.

  And later that night, I wake out of a deep sleep to find Ash wrapping my small hand around his throbbing erection. He closes his large hand over mine, guiding me to jack him off with short, hard pulls, the way men do it to themselves. The way men do it to other men. He comes with a quiet grunt, and after I clean him with a warm washcloth from the bathroom, he folds me into his arms and drifts off to sleep immediately, whatever monster he awoke within himself tonight finally, finally sated.

  Chapter Twenty

  Six Weeks Later

  The snow is falling thick and fast outside as Embry walks into the room with a bowl of fresh popcorn. “Can you explain this to me again?” he asks, setting the b
owl down on the coffee table in front of Ash and me. “Is this like a Martha Stewart thing? Is this because cranberries are disgusting and serve no other purpose?”

  Ash looks up from the cranberry and popcorn garland spilling out of his lap and around his feet, a needle poised in one hand. “Did your family really never do this?” he asks skeptically.

  Embry arches an eyebrow at the mess of popcorn and cranberries and thread. “No.”

  Ash goes back to his work, reaching into the bowl of warm popcorn to thread another piece onto his garland. “I suppose you and Morgan had servants to decorate your family Christmas tree.”

  “Actually,” Embry says, “we did. The trees were too big for us to put up ourselves, and the one in the main hall had to be decorated using scaffolding.”

  “Sounds like it would have taken a lot of popcorn,” I comment, not looking up from my own garland.

  “The hidden costs of wealth,” Ash remarks drily.

  “We did have the mistletoe, though,” Embry says. I glance up at the doorway where our own bunch of mistletoe hangs; Ash insisted on putting it up there the minute we got to the lodge, and then kissed me for several long, sweet minutes underneath it as Embry watched with a troubled expression and his hands in his pockets.

  “We need someone to kiss you under the mistletoe, Embry,” I say.

  “I agree,” he replies. “Maybe one of the Secret Service agents will be lonely later tonight.”

  We all laugh, but a wave of sadness goes through me for Embry. The perennial third wheel.

  I’d kiss you if I could, I wish I could say. Maybe he already knows.

  Embry grabs a handful of popcorn for himself and throws his body onto a low sofa nearby, and for a few minutes, there’s only the sound of the fire in the fireplace and the snow against the windows and the rustle of popcorn in the bowl. Then I ask Ash, “Have you heard from Kay about the Carpathian treaty yet?”