[ he hates when ash does that, uses those grand romantic overtures to describe his feelings and forces embry to pretend like they have no effect on him when they make his eyes prickle like a teenage boy. how fucking idiotic that he's caught in a tragedy that would make the brontës cream their granny panties.
he doesn't even realize they're still dancing until ash stops, their eyes meeting, his spine straightening at the feel of ash's hand at his neck. his dick, in its lazy hardness, gives a twitch, and he tries to communicate to his brain that he's not about to he dragged to a bedroom or a convenient closet to be fucked within an inch of his life. it's sobering when ash brings up jenny's name, guilt welling in his throat. cancer might've been the thing to kill her, but embry is positive all his jealous, ugly thoughts for seven years hadn't helped. the memory of ash's haunted grief still hurts him in a sharply impotent way.
then — greer. unwittingly, his eyes flicker away, far too obvious in their close, close proximity. he forces his steely gaze back, tries to muster his vice president persona, wanting to be the man that's calm and collected instead of the one that's a slave to his emotions. the realization of the choice before him abruptly splits his heart in two ragged pieces, his selfishness nearly choking him.
he could have this. he could say fuck you to merlin's wizened old ass, point out all the evidence that they're more or less safe here, and tell ash to find the ring that always belonged to him. his hand lifts, his fingers coming to rest on ash's strong jaw, thumb tracing the bow of his lips — lips he's kissed, lips that've been around his cock. lips that he's longed to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life until he dies.
they're morgan's lips, too. and lyr's. and just like that, he's reminded that it's not just about the scandal of ash fucking his vice president and best friend who just happens to be a man. it's about morgan too, who if pressed embry will admit that he does love, and lyr, who he actually loves so fucking much. he's already seen ash broken once over jenny — he can't, he won't be the reason it happens again, because he was too selfish to say no. it was him, after all, who pushed ash toward morgan all those years ago, and now it's on him to protect his family's secrets. and ash is a part of that. ]
You are exactly what she wants.
[ he drops his hand, fearful that ash will feel the tremor in his fingers. there's only one option in front of him now. the heady memory of greer's skin, her mouth, her pink wet cunt, her blood-slicked thighs, it makes his eyes go glassy and vacant. he feels like he's giving something away — no, like something is being forcefully taken from him, even as he offers it up willingly, just like everything he does for ash. ]
She's not looking for easy. [ that night they'd shared — it wasn't easy or tame or normal. the realization that she was like him had been like a door creaking open, a possibility that he could have a life outside of his own heartbreak. he swallows, his voice toneless. ] I'm sure. Or else I wouldn't be telling you. She's how you can get all the things you've wanted all these years. Your nasty shit in the bedroom and the ring. You don't have to choose.
[ it goes unsaid, the part that hurts the most: she's my replacement. ]
( decent social behaviors would probably dictate ash drop his hand away from embry's neck, but ash isn't especially bothered to be seen like this, so he doesn't. he's confident, now — the glance away was telling. at the very least embry wants her, which isn't surprising, but the amount that it's eating him up is. born from the centralized focus ash has had on her for the past decade, or maybe born from something not related to ash at all. why not? embry is a self proclaimed playboy with a smile that could convince a nun to take part in an orgy. greer is a well bred, educated woman from a political family.
it's a momentary lapse in confidence. briefly, ash feels the same as he did in prague, looking at embry carved from marble, so handsome that a museum sign saying do not touch would be at home around his neck. in designer clothes with designer feelings, so far out of ash's league it was a laugh he ever thought he could try. but — ash is not that unsure boy anymore. he's the widowed, war hero, president of the united state of america. he isn't thinking i don't fit but is instead thinking why wouldn't embry? why is he always taking a step outside the moment, instead of throwing himself into it? )
How are you so sure? ( the part he doesn't understand — attraction to greer is so expected it almost doesn't merit saying, but his confidence in her taste aligning with ash? ash knows that. because ash has been with her, has plied it out of her, has hand fingers buried in her cunt while he's made her confess. ash has had sex with her. the only way embry could know all that is if he has, too. ) The two of you must talk a lot, if you're that confident. ( warm smiles. maybe with the intention of forgiveness in his tone, ) I like the thought of you two together, like a pair. A little prince and a little princess. It's a nice image.
( he feels confident there's intention behind this conversation. some weight that embry is lifting off his shoulders, like putting greer on a gilded tray made up of winning lottery tickets just to say look, i'm giving her to you, be happy. the b-side of that is that embry seems to think ash would be happy to sit back and let embry get the girl, if he tried — patently untrue. what is the truth? ash has been in love with embry since he learned how to be a man. ash has been in love with greer since she was sixteen, lost in a room, cheeks tear stained, hand bloodied from glass. neither of those feelings are going anywhere, and if there is a connection between embry and greer, why not close off the triangle?
embry is right: ash doesn't have to choose. he will have it all.
almost brotherly, his hand drops from embry's neck, patting him once on the chest. )
I bet your feet are sore. Let's have a nightcap.
( he pulls out his phone while stepping back, to a series of booths along the perimeter of the wall, the lighting moody enough to be almost private. he texts greer. waits. )
[ he knew ash would ask, and he knew he should've had an answer ready, and yet everything that fumbles to his tongue sounds unbearably stupid. we do talk a lot. we do bible study together. we highlight all the passages where people fuck. he blinks, tensing like a horse about to bolt. everything coming from ash's mouth sounds wrong wrong wrong. the pair of them? a little prince and a little princess? he knew ash could be cruel — he encourages it with all his delinquency — but this hurts in a new way, ash giving voice to his ludicrous fantasies that obviously could never come true. like dangling meth in front of an addict.
his pain sharpens his tongue, instinctual. ] There was a lot of time you were preoccupied. Years. I didn't know I had to report my every move to a married man.
[ he doesn't know if he feels more surly or stupid about it, that he placed himself on the outside and they both know it, but only embry knows why. more annoying is how his frustration isn't wilting his erection but making him stiffer. he wants to shove ash into the wall now, since he's ceased being boyishly cute and now exudes all the powerfully domineering bullshit that makes embry hate him, every nerve ending firing with electric need. ]
You know what's a nice image? You, listening to me for once.
[ he stalks away when ash pulls back, going directly to the bar and ordering two drinks — gin, neat, for him, and a negroni for ash, because he doesn't actually hate him after all. once he skulks back and hands off ash's drink, he throws himself into one of the booths, scowling in ash's general direction. ]
You know who has your best interests at heart? Me. Now you can be pissed at me all you want for not bending to your fucking will, but I'm the one who has your back. When I say Greer is right for you, you could just listen, just like you should've listened when I told you Jenny wasn't. You could just fucking trust me.
[ and yes, as he swallows his gin, he also swallows the immense irony of demanding that ash trust him. ]
[ When the text comes through, Greer's half-debating an early bedtime; in fact, she's already dressed with the expectation of staying in, clad in one of the matching pajama sets that somehow has her initials embroidered on them. One look spared for her phone, however, and she nearly drops it on the floor. It'd be a lie to say she hasn't been waiting for Ash's message since her (admittedly spontaneous) decision to show up at his room wearing nothing but her swimsuit, since everything that had transpired once he'd dragged her in and shut the door behind them. She doesn't think she's reading into the tone of authority behind the words, and the way it sounds more like an order than a polite request.
By the time Greer finally makes up her mind about what to wear, hastily tugging a simple sundress over her head and swiping on a hint of lipstick, she realizes she hasn't even responded to Ash's text — and subsequently decides that she's better off just walking to the piano bar as quickly as possible. If he determines she's kept him waiting longer than is acceptable, he could very well decide to punish her, but even as she expects a sense of dread to settle over her, the only emotion that takes root, deep within, is a frisson of excitement working its way along her spine, prompting a shiver as she quickens her step in sandal-clad feet.
At least she doesn't get lost — an easy task in a house as confusing as this one — and the sight of the piano bar initially prompts a sigh of relief, then a smile when she recognizes the set of Ash's shoulders from across the dimly-lit room. Only a few other guests are scattered across the space, one or two slumped over the bar, but Greer bypasses them all, eyes only for the man who's summoned her here, and stops to stand in front of him, unconsciously reaching up to tuck some of her own hair behind one ear. ]
I hope I didn't keep you —
[ Then, and only then, does she notice who's sprawled into the closest booth, one hand curled around a drink, looking particularly surly; Greer can't completely school her expression into neutrality, blinking a few times in surprise before daring to venture a glance at Ash. ]
( there is something decidedly, hypnotically delicious about embry when he's mad. particularly when he's needlessly mad, which is often, because embry moore never met a bouquet he couldn't criticize. this is really no different. ash is delightfully pleased when embry fetches him a drink, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, swirling the liquid around. no, he's decidedly not the body warmed, lovesick guy embry was just upshowing on the dancefloor — there's a set to his posture now, a purpose there, intention and ambition the little devils sitting on his shoulders. he reaches over just for a second and squeezes embry's knee. a little too hard. a little too high up his thigh. )
I do trust you. And I hope you trust me.
( blessedly, greer makes her entrance then. ash pulls his hand away like it was never there to begin with, looking up at her with the sun in his eyes, albeit with a fairly cool expression. )
Greer. ( he stands up, steps into her, planting a chaste kiss on her mouth. he's wanted to kiss embry about a thousand times tonight — it's nice to press close to someone. ) You look beautiful. I hope you don't mind, me and Embry were just having a drink. ( when her gaze moves to embry, he instructs with a stern tone, ) Don't look at him, look at me.
( look at ash while he leaves her there, stepping back to the booth, taking a languid sit. his arm reaches out over the back of it, hand near enough to embry that he could stretch his fingers out from the lip of his glass and stroke his neck, though he doesn't. ash didn't wear a tie, but he uses his free hand to unbutton the top few buttons on his shirt, eyeing her down. suppose this is a punishment, for whatever the pair of them aren't telling him — they can just reveal in the discomfort ash doesn't feel, weirdly at peace with the two of them near him, two missing parts to make the machine in his chest work. briefly, ash looks around the nearby area, apparently coming up empty. )
I don't have anything to restrain you with, here. ( with intention, he looks at embry. unbothered. a little cruelly. ) Embry will be your restraints. Come lay over his lap, angel.
[ ash might as well have gotten down on one knee with the way embry's heart lurches at the sight of greer floating into the room, her moonlight eyes reserved solely for ash, willing and expectant. he called her here. the realization is a kick to the ribs, as is his mouth pressed to hers, and he's abruptly aware that ash never did answer if he fucked her yet.
of course he has, and embry was stupid to think that all this time he could have ever held any small part of this for himself.
he's furious, the blunt edge of his yawning desire like a sledgehammer to the chest. the glassy shards of his gaze blitz to greer, then to ash, his knuckles white around his glass as he fantasizes the motion of throwing it at ash's perfect fucking jaw. beyond his anger, a terrifying, anticipatory flush crests over him, the room suddenly ten degrees hotter, his crisp dress shirt clinging to his skin.
he has to leave. his muscles clench as he makes to push himself up, but ash speaks first, embry's breath hitching loud enough that he knows ash hears it. ]
Ash. [ he only looks at greer from his periphery — she's already starting to move toward him, fucking obeying his deranged command without complaint. his voice is pitched low, strangled in his throat, almost pleading for ash's attention in the paltry seconds he has before she touches him. ] What the fuck are you doing?
[ it's all he can manage before greer is there, a wash of silver and gold. he can't help but meet her eyes, misery and panic and strung-out lust sparkling in his icy gaze. he wants to tell her not to comply, that neither of them have to play this fucking game, but she's already moving again. lay over his lap, angel. she crawls into the spacious booth and drapes herself across his legs — he can feel the soft press of her breasts against his thighs, the skirt of her sundress riding up her legs to reveal the barest swell of her ass. more roughly than he intends, his hand snaps to her ankles, grasping them both to lock her feet together. his other hand clenches against the leather seat, staring at the curve of her spine, desperate to grasp a fistful of her hair and tug.
he has to swallow down his own ragged breaths, looking at ash with hatred in his eyes. ]
Tell her to get up. I'm getting the fuck out of here.
[ Ash’s voice doesn’t shift, not really, when he orders Greer’s gaze to stay on him, but the air changes, feels like it grows tighter, compressing against her skin, until she complies — and then she feels the relief of compliance, of obeying him without a real second thought. But even after that kiss, gentle and brief, he leaves her, settling into the booth and unbuttoning like he’s just spent a long day at the office and wants to unwind with a drink. Greer remains standing, somewhat awkwardly, helplessly aware of Embry’s presence even though her eyes remain solely on Ash.
And then his next order comes, and leaves her breathless.
Her safeword is there. She knows it. She could use it — right here, right now, in front of Embry even, and Ash would stop, wouldn’t even try to press her to change her mind. But as quickly as she could reach for that word, dangling on the tip of her tongue, she bites it back. She won’t use it, and they both know it — and what’s more is that Embry might suspect, even if he doesn’t fully understand, the manner in which they’ve already been intimate with each other.
So wordlessly, silently, she obeys, a flush already emerging over her cheeks as she arranges herself into the position she hopes she’s meant to take. It must be a punishment for being late, she thinks, or for not texting back right away; why else would he make her drape herself over Embry like this, conscious of where her breasts press into his thigh and her hips settle atop its twin, all too aware of how the skirt of her sundress is already threatening to lift and expose her in the back?
A hand grasps hold of her ankles, roughly maneuvering them into a crisscross, and Greer gasps, her first instinct to squirm, right there, until she realizes it’s Embry, holding her like she’s half-hogtied, his fingers calloused and warm against her skin. She stiffens, then, when he demands to be released, head rapidly turning to find his face as she whispers. ]
No, please. [ She wants to be here. She wouldn’t have listened if she didn’t. She can stop this at any point; she’s been given the word to use. It all reads in her gaze, the naked want for it, for whatever Ash wants her to do for him next, urging Embry to relent, to stay here with her. With them. ] Please, Embry.
( impassivity settles on his face in regards to both of them, his stony dom gaze that never manages to reach his eyes which are stormy and molten, fire so hot it melts the emeralds in his irises. ash was right, he decides — there's a symmetrical beauty to the pair of them, a barbie and ken doll in shared packaging, and he likes seeing them together so much it makes his heart beat like bird wings against his chest, a settling rightness to seeing them, pairing them off, owning them together. on the other hand, and ash imagines just because he was looking for it so intently, he also sees the shared history between them that they've tried to cover up — a knowledge of each other, an expression of longing he's seen so often on embry's face, it might as well be his default look. now, he's sure. now, he knows why embry's so intentional with naming greer, why he's so panicked about her across his lap.
and that makes ash very, very angry. jealous too, probably. definitely. he gives a lazy shrug, tossing back most of his negroni, before settling his glass on the floor. )
Now why would I do that.
( tell her to get up? ash wants her there. greer wants to be there. embry also wants her there, even if he's fuming — which, as mentioned before, only makes him more attractive to ash. in a position behind greer, he watches her skirt ride up her thighs intently, wanting to tell embry something like you have your words. tell her if you want her gone, expect that he knows better than to provide embry moore with a knife to gut himself with. instead, he slides the hem of greer's skirt further of her ass, and pinches the hard tip of embry's dick through his slacks secretively when he pulls away. it doesn't look like you want her gone, it seems to say.
greer also gets pinched, hard, on the sensitive bit of thigh meat under the curve of her ass. a reprimand. ) He's Mr. Vice President right now.
( ideally, he would not be in a public place doing this. looking over his shoulder, he sees the populace of the bar has dwindled to a few paired off couples, if not in kink scenes of their own, then definitely involved enough to look heartbeats away from fucking on the couches. ordinarily ash would be against public sex, but duplicity beat decorum out of him by necessity — he spent full meals with bucky on his knees between his legs, warming ash's cock in the back of his throat. he had work meetings with bucky about their used bookstore with natasha in his lap, fingers stuffed inside her. it sort of lost its exhibitionist sparkle.
that said, he's never done it with greer before, and he's not willing to risk letting other people see her. he gets up on his knees behind her, the hem of her dress now balanced on the peachy curve of her ass, blocking it from view of everyone else. possessively, he strokes a hand up her hip, petting her golden skin, thumb digging into her as if looking for pliancy — like he's a buyer testing the product. )
I think 15. ( he decides. greer is a painslut — but she's also theoretically new, which means he can't just beat her all night. it's a restrained number. sort of. he shrugs again. ) Oh, why not. 20 even.
( followed by five unflinching, impolite spanks on her ass. ash doesn't pull his strength — they're hard, mean, and by the end of five her skin is smarted and pink, detailing imprints of his five fingers, getting lost in the big, bruising ache.
ash's chest is also rising and falling, staring at her, prone and abused in embry's lap. leaning forward, he pushes a hand on the center of her back, until her cheek is in the cushions, letting embry sort out her hair from her eyes. to embry, his own eyes electric and alive, ) Do you still want to leave?
( nobody gets any free passes, ash decides. you're here because you want to be here. there's no ash made me, ash forced me, i had no choice. )
[ greer's begging sends a stricken look of betrayal careening across his face, his throat working uselessly. she's asked him for nearly nothing since their parting in chicago when she conceivably could have made his life miserable if she'd wanted. she could have told ash anytime she wanted, could have revealed the depths of embry's depravity — most of which ash knows, but he doesn't know that embry fucked her first and regrets it not because of how much it would hurt ash, but because he can never have her again.
his cock dampens the fabric of his slacks when ash pinches him, leaking hopelessly, harder than mount everest. fifteen what? but he already knows, staring down at the curve of greer's ass, because he's been right where she is now, bent over ash's knee, his hand bearing down on his neck to keep him down while he rained fire on his ass until embry's rabid thoughts emptied, sweat slicking his skin and tears staining his face.
greer doesn't move despite the tightness he can feel in her body, her quiet breath and the rapid flutter of her heart. there's no inclination that she wants to go, and he hates her for being so willing, and he hates ash for knowing her so well already, and he swells with desire and love and need for them both.
ash's hand cracks down, and embry feels every bit of power reverberating through his thighs, greer's skin reddening instantly, her muscles going taut in the most achingly familiar way. he keeps his grip locked around her ankles, secure, but his other hand glides to her hair, stroking it from her eyes, his thumb gliding gently across her cheek, cradling her. ]
Breathe. You're doing so good, princess. [ heat blooms at his thigh, a groan caught in his throat when he realizes she's wet, and he shifts his leg to offer her a solid force to grind against. his erection pushes painfully against the prison of his slacks. ] You look so fucking hot like this, like —
[ like five years ago, when he'd had her to himself. he chokes the words down, ash's jeweled gaze abruptly in his face, the force of his presence massive and overwhelming. if he wasn't already seated with a lapful of greer's quivering body, he'd want to sink to his knees and let ash ravage his mouth. ]
Fuck you. [ he has the grace to say it a little more quietly than usual. it's as solid a confirmation as any, his eyes glazed with hunger, color high in his cheeks. his hand travels tenderly down greer's spine, veering dangerously close to where ash's sits. ] You lied to me. You didn't tell me — you and her —
[ that they've gotten so fucking comfortable that they can do this, right in front of his fucking face. ]
[ There is a moment, brief at best, when the panic starts to set in — when Greer realizes, all too helplessly, that she's assumed a position solely to Ash's liking, where anyone who walks into this bar right now could see. No, not solely to Ash's liking, that's unfair to even so much as suggest; she's here because she wants to be, draped over Embry's lap serving as the makeshift table for this offering of flesh, and Ash's hands are warm, too, like Embry's holding her ankles together, and she realizes then, too, that Ash has positioned himself to mostly shield her from anyone who might even cast a casual glance in their direction.
It might still be obvious, in a moment, what they're doing, especially when Ash's hand comes down on her the first time, and Greer's heart practically leaps up into her throat — it stings, smarts, but then more heat blossoms in its wake, spreading out over her. She's tensing, even though she knows it's the good kind of pain, and after the first five of the twenty smacks he's deemed necessary for her, her breathing is already leaving her in sharper pants, her thighs reflexively tensing. Whether the pause is there for her or for Ash to collect himself, for Embry to decide whether he's in this too, she almost lifts her head to promise she's fine — and then finds herself pressed down against the cushion of the booth seating, only Embry fully in her view with her head turned to one side. When he reaches down to brush her hair out of her face, the gesture is so tender she wants to weep from it. Maybe she's already weeping, and she doesn't know it, doesn't feel the tears streaming down her cheeks; her ass is already throbbing, pulsing in an echo of her heartbeat, and between her thighs, the crotch of her panties is starting to grow damp. ]
That's five.
[ It feels important, somehow, to let Ash know she's been keeping track — that she'll count all of them, each one he's deemed to deliver to her tonight, whether as punishment or reward. She can't fully tell, and the rabbiting rhythm of her heart is a result of being made to squirm in Embry's lap while she's becoming more and more aroused. She thinks she might be able to feel his erection too, nudging against her stomach, whenever she arches just right, a move that brings her hips flush to the top of his thigh and has her tempted to relieve some of the pressure right then and there.
She could make herself come like this, humping Embry's leg out of sheer shamelessness and desperation, but she suspects that would only earn her more of Ash's bruising touch. She can already feel the outline of his hand burned into her, palm and five fingers, and when he brings his hand down again, she makes it to ten before the first real moan spills out of her, more beyond the whimpers she's been successfully stifling — a keening sound between pleasure and pain as she gulps for necessary air. You're doing so good, princess. But she can feel the tension in Embry's body, hear it in the words meant for Ash. ]
We only just — it's new. All of this, it's — [ Her and Ash, and safewords, and the bruises left behind into the plush softness of her thighs. But it's what she needs, has needed since long before she even had the words to describe it, could successfully understand it. Ash's hand settling like a makeshift collar around her throat, and the instinctive way she'd lifted her chin to offer herself for it — everything had clicked into place after that. Both of them have hands on her now, and her stomach is roiling with guilt, the truth of that night between her and Embry threatening to out itself, but she doesn't want them to stop touching her, to go back to the moment before she knew what it felt like to feel Embry's fingers strafing down to where Ash is making her tender and raw. ]
( the benefit of the position is while embry acts as greer's restraints, greer is doing the same back for him. keeping his little dolls locked in a little dance, watching them form and reform strategies, like ash can't see the connection between them sparking like the tail end of a pipe bomb. he doesn't mind embry offering her his leg — greer knows better than to let herself cum, and ash is rapt by the sight of it, her cunt wet enough that her underwear goes translucent on her mound, excessively wetting the dark material of embry's slacks. embry's slacks on embry's long, toned legs, hugging his firm thighs and tight ass. ash's teeth sink into his bottom lip, imagining his cock in embry, his cock in greer, laying a hand flat on his back and crushing the two of them together, making a diamond between their bellies.
embry's brand of vitriol doesn't hit the way he intends it to. ash gives him a dead eyed, dommy stare before resetting his gaze on greer's plump, curvy ass, fingers stroking up her cunt, cinching around her underwear at her tail bone to lift it up, tight against her ass, watching the lips of her cunt swallow the fabric up greedily. he lied? not quite. if anything, ash is brutally honest and this is his honest — leaning over greer's back with a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her into an arch, free hand pinching her cheeks together with how he cinches her jaw. it's turned to embry so he can watch — greer's glimmering eyes, her perfect mouth, the almost leisurely way ash manhandles her. a bit like looking in a mirror. )
If you're focusing on him, you're not focusing on your punishment. Do you want twenty more? ( empty threat, for now. it won't be if she keeps it up. his grip loosens and he taps her cheek, not a slap but not anything short of degrading. ) Open up, princess. ( before he spits in her mouth, and resettles his position, knelt behind her.
five more unkind spanks follow. ash's palm isn't enough to have her bruised, but her pale skin is red hot, sensitive from the abuse. that's fifteen. ash's hand moves from squeezing greer's ass to sliding into embry's hair, fisting it until his angry gaze meets ash's, clashing glares like swords crossing in a duel. because he's feeling generous, ash uses his spare hand to squeeze his swollen cock in his pants, pointedly staring at embry's mouth like he'd like nothing more than to fuck it into bruised, beaten submission. like he wants to cum deep down in the pocket of his throat, so every stupid, senseless word from his mouth is flavored by ash's semen.
instead, he lets himself go, slides his fingers into greer's panties and around the sopping wet of her hole, before shoving them into embry's mouth meanly, like it's not a gift he's giving him, but a punishment. pointedly, )
My hand's tired. ( unarguably untrue — he's beaten embry for hours before, and could always beat him for an hour more. ) Mr. Vice President, do the last five.
[ the hardest part of it all is knowing that despite the agony of greer writhing in his lap, of having to stare down his former lover while he extracts his fill from them both in ways he knows they crave in equal measures, embry wouldn't stop this for anything. he doesn't have a safe word and he doesn't need one because he'd never, ever use it. he wouldn't dream of stopping ash from destroying him from the inside out, whether it's from this or marrying someone else or forcing embry to break his heart all over again. he lives for this, for these moments when ash enters his bloodstream in the worst ways, because the only thing that burns hotter than his hatred for himself is him, him, him, searing his thoughts and branding his lungs.
he's so hard it hurts, every shuddering breath pulling greer taut pushing down against his dick. she's a live wire, blooming sparks with every crack of ash's hand, and he knows how she feels and even worse, he knows that she loves it. he imagines her dress gone and his lips trailing down her spine, imagines his fingers pressing to the wet space between her legs to offer her swollen clit relief. greer is counting like a good girl, which is all well and good because embry is definitely not, too busy staring at her spit-wet mouth, then flushing with excruciating jealousy when ash's fingers are the ones that end up in her cunt. ]
Fuck.
[ he's blocked out the image of ash fondling himself, because he's so embarrassingly close to creaming his own pants, every brush of expensive fabric its own exquisite torture. he can't help it; his fingers twitch and he tries to reach for her, just one touch to her slick lips would be enough, ash's spit glistening from her panting mouth, and before he's even halfway there it's ash's fingers again that have the last laugh, crammed into his mouth like he's a hole to be used, like ash knew exactly what he was thinking and said very funny, embry moore. ]
Fuck.
[ only it comes out muffled, drowned out around half a moan as the taste of greer floods his tongue, and he's sucking, mortified, like a man starved — which he is, because it's been years since he's tasted greer like this, even if he has to lick her off of someone else's fingers. he's a mere second away from deep-throating ash's fingers before he loses that too, leaving embry breathless and hateful, so desperate that his cock weeps through his pants, pulsing at ash's words.
he can't say no. greer's reddened bottom squirms in his lap, and he trembles with the need to pull her against him and feel every quiver dancing across her skin. his eyes flicker up to ash, uncertainty nearly caving him in. can he? he can, because ash told him to. should he is the real question, and he already knows the answer to that one. no, unquestionably fucking no.
his hand releases greer's ankles, leaving her legs to ash while he reaches selfishly for her throat, sliding along her damp skin, cradling her first before squeezing just enough to feel the labor of her breath and the hard flutter of her pulse. he isn't careful like ash, arrested by the force of his lust, too far gone to hide how wildly he wants her, and this — both of them, all three of them in this fucked up tangle of pain and sex and love. it's primal and raw and it terrifies him as much as it excites him, like the first time he laid eyes on ash all over again.
his hand makes impact and he nearly comes at one or sixteen or whatever the fuck number he's supposed to be on, because greer mewls out in the most delicious way at the abuse of her tender flesh, grinding down against him, and he's acutely aware of ash's eyes on him as he goes again, and again, and again. embry hasn't touched himself, not once, but heat pries him open, his breath shuddering the last time his hand cracks down and glides helplessly across greer's heated skin, coming with a raw groan, spurting hot and wet right in his pants, right where greer can feel it — not that she looks any more dignified. not that she's ever looked better, in his opinion.
he releases her throat and slides a hand to her cheek, a brief touch as he stifles the urge to kiss her, looking away as he catches his breath, his own cheeks inflamed with the haze of lust and burgeoning shame. ]
[ Greer's stomach flips, in that way that can only be described as wanting, shameful and aware, when Ash threatens her with the possibility of more blows. She can't deny that her focus is divided, torn between Ash's looming presence and Embry warm and firm beneath her, his cock jutting hard through his slacks and the thin fabric of her sundress in that way that makes her want to drop to her knees right here, tuck herself into the tight space between floor and table so she can take him out of his pants and suck him down.
Ash's spit tastes like gin on her tongue, and her cheeks are burning with the keen pleasure of mortification; she nearly opens her mouth for more, lifts her chin like a supplicant eager to receive this form of holy communion. The body and the blood, spilled for you. She's giving her body to both of them, and how can it be anything other than worship? She can't hide her moan when Ash hands over the last five smacks to Embry instead, even though she suspects he's not wholly being honest about his hand tiring. Somewhere along the way, this has turned into just as much of a punishment for Embry as it is for her, even though she still hasn't confessed the full truth to Ash about their night together. There have been signs hinting at it the entire time, to say nothing of how she'd so readily draped herself across Embry's lap like a prize to be claimed.
In the interim, Greer's given a moment to catch her breath, to watch, with eyes shining bright with unspilled tears, as Embry sucks the taste of her off of Ash's fingers. She aches, with unfulfilled need and the unrepentant stinging of her ass, and fights not to squirm, but the merciless plunge of Ash's fingers against her is a persistent reminder of how desperately she wants to come. Denying herself, refusing to let herself surrender to that selfish desire without permission, serves as proof of her fealty; if she gives her orgasms to Ash, there'll be no question of her love.
But the way she lifts her chin into the encircling, possessive grasp of Embry's hand around her throat is irrefutable, the fluttering of her lashes as damning as a vocal profession of devotion. Her thoughts briefly stray to the fantasy of what it would feel like to have both of their fingers inside her — one of them stuffing her cunt full while the other rubs digits across her tongue, or hooking through the sensitive pucker of her ass, hoisting her up onto her toes with the strength of it. She wants them to make a home for themselves inside her, wants herself to be the place where their cocks slide against each other while they're buried deep in her weeping, pulsing core.
Then Embry's hand comes down and Greer nearly comes out of her body; there's no more pausing, no more respite, he just strikes her, again and again, hitting flesh already abused by Ash's palm. This time, the tears do come, rolling fat and salty down her cheeks, quivering on her jawline before falling onto Embry's pants. She hiccups, once, as she counts each and every one of them, gasping for breath, and somewhere in the midst of all of it, she feels where Embry's come is cooling in a damning little wet spot on her dress, but she's too warm, too needy, too desperate to dwell overlong beyond her own unfulfilled orgasm. His hand leaves her throat and it's all she can do not to whine, hoarse and reedy, as her head drops lower, as she fights to draw in deeper breaths while shudders wrack her frame.
Only then does she realize she's murmuring something under her breath — ] Thank you, thank you.
[ For the punishment, for administering it by his own hand, for hitting her so hard she'll be bruised and sore and wincing every time she sits down tomorrow. ]
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he doesn't even realize they're still dancing until ash stops, their eyes meeting, his spine straightening at the feel of ash's hand at his neck. his dick, in its lazy hardness, gives a twitch, and he tries to communicate to his brain that he's not about to he dragged to a bedroom or a convenient closet to be fucked within an inch of his life. it's sobering when ash brings up jenny's name, guilt welling in his throat. cancer might've been the thing to kill her, but embry is positive all his jealous, ugly thoughts for seven years hadn't helped. the memory of ash's haunted grief still hurts him in a sharply impotent way.
then — greer. unwittingly, his eyes flicker away, far too obvious in their close, close proximity. he forces his steely gaze back, tries to muster his vice president persona, wanting to be the man that's calm and collected instead of the one that's a slave to his emotions. the realization of the choice before him abruptly splits his heart in two ragged pieces, his selfishness nearly choking him.
he could have this. he could say fuck you to merlin's wizened old ass, point out all the evidence that they're more or less safe here, and tell ash to find the ring that always belonged to him. his hand lifts, his fingers coming to rest on ash's strong jaw, thumb tracing the bow of his lips — lips he's kissed, lips that've been around his cock. lips that he's longed to wake up to every morning for the rest of his life until he dies.
they're morgan's lips, too. and lyr's. and just like that, he's reminded that it's not just about the scandal of ash fucking his vice president and best friend who just happens to be a man. it's about morgan too, who if pressed embry will admit that he does love, and lyr, who he actually loves so fucking much. he's already seen ash broken once over jenny — he can't, he won't be the reason it happens again, because he was too selfish to say no. it was him, after all, who pushed ash toward morgan all those years ago, and now it's on him to protect his family's secrets. and ash is a part of that. ]
You are exactly what she wants.
[ he drops his hand, fearful that ash will feel the tremor in his fingers. there's only one option in front of him now. the heady memory of greer's skin, her mouth, her pink wet cunt, her blood-slicked thighs, it makes his eyes go glassy and vacant. he feels like he's giving something away — no, like something is being forcefully taken from him, even as he offers it up willingly, just like everything he does for ash. ]
She's not looking for easy. [ that night they'd shared — it wasn't easy or tame or normal. the realization that she was like him had been like a door creaking open, a possibility that he could have a life outside of his own heartbreak. he swallows, his voice toneless. ] I'm sure. Or else I wouldn't be telling you. She's how you can get all the things you've wanted all these years. Your nasty shit in the bedroom and the ring. You don't have to choose.
[ it goes unsaid, the part that hurts the most: she's my replacement. ]
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it's a momentary lapse in confidence. briefly, ash feels the same as he did in prague, looking at embry carved from marble, so handsome that a museum sign saying do not touch would be at home around his neck. in designer clothes with designer feelings, so far out of ash's league it was a laugh he ever thought he could try. but — ash is not that unsure boy anymore. he's the widowed, war hero, president of the united state of america. he isn't thinking i don't fit but is instead thinking why wouldn't embry? why is he always taking a step outside the moment, instead of throwing himself into it? )
How are you so sure? ( the part he doesn't understand — attraction to greer is so expected it almost doesn't merit saying, but his confidence in her taste aligning with ash? ash knows that. because ash has been with her, has plied it out of her, has hand fingers buried in her cunt while he's made her confess. ash has had sex with her. the only way embry could know all that is if he has, too. ) The two of you must talk a lot, if you're that confident. ( warm smiles. maybe with the intention of forgiveness in his tone, ) I like the thought of you two together, like a pair. A little prince and a little princess. It's a nice image.
( he feels confident there's intention behind this conversation. some weight that embry is lifting off his shoulders, like putting greer on a gilded tray made up of winning lottery tickets just to say look, i'm giving her to you, be happy. the b-side of that is that embry seems to think ash would be happy to sit back and let embry get the girl, if he tried — patently untrue. what is the truth? ash has been in love with embry since he learned how to be a man. ash has been in love with greer since she was sixteen, lost in a room, cheeks tear stained, hand bloodied from glass. neither of those feelings are going anywhere, and if there is a connection between embry and greer, why not close off the triangle?
embry is right: ash doesn't have to choose. he will have it all.
almost brotherly, his hand drops from embry's neck, patting him once on the chest. )
I bet your feet are sore. Let's have a nightcap.
( he pulls out his phone while stepping back, to a series of booths along the perimeter of the wall, the lighting moody enough to be almost private. he texts greer. waits. )
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his pain sharpens his tongue, instinctual. ] There was a lot of time you were preoccupied. Years. I didn't know I had to report my every move to a married man.
[ he doesn't know if he feels more surly or stupid about it, that he placed himself on the outside and they both know it, but only embry knows why. more annoying is how his frustration isn't wilting his erection but making him stiffer. he wants to shove ash into the wall now, since he's ceased being boyishly cute and now exudes all the powerfully domineering bullshit that makes embry hate him, every nerve ending firing with electric need. ]
You know what's a nice image? You, listening to me for once.
[ he stalks away when ash pulls back, going directly to the bar and ordering two drinks — gin, neat, for him, and a negroni for ash, because he doesn't actually hate him after all. once he skulks back and hands off ash's drink, he throws himself into one of the booths, scowling in ash's general direction. ]
You know who has your best interests at heart? Me. Now you can be pissed at me all you want for not bending to your fucking will, but I'm the one who has your back. When I say Greer is right for you, you could just listen, just like you should've listened when I told you Jenny wasn't. You could just fucking trust me.
[ and yes, as he swallows his gin, he also swallows the immense irony of demanding that ash trust him. ]
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By the time Greer finally makes up her mind about what to wear, hastily tugging a simple sundress over her head and swiping on a hint of lipstick, she realizes she hasn't even responded to Ash's text — and subsequently decides that she's better off just walking to the piano bar as quickly as possible. If he determines she's kept him waiting longer than is acceptable, he could very well decide to punish her, but even as she expects a sense of dread to settle over her, the only emotion that takes root, deep within, is a frisson of excitement working its way along her spine, prompting a shiver as she quickens her step in sandal-clad feet.
At least she doesn't get lost — an easy task in a house as confusing as this one — and the sight of the piano bar initially prompts a sigh of relief, then a smile when she recognizes the set of Ash's shoulders from across the dimly-lit room. Only a few other guests are scattered across the space, one or two slumped over the bar, but Greer bypasses them all, eyes only for the man who's summoned her here, and stops to stand in front of him, unconsciously reaching up to tuck some of her own hair behind one ear. ]
I hope I didn't keep you —
[ Then, and only then, does she notice who's sprawled into the closest booth, one hand curled around a drink, looking particularly surly; Greer can't completely school her expression into neutrality, blinking a few times in surprise before daring to venture a glance at Ash. ]
What's going on?
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I do trust you. And I hope you trust me.
( blessedly, greer makes her entrance then. ash pulls his hand away like it was never there to begin with, looking up at her with the sun in his eyes, albeit with a fairly cool expression. )
Greer. ( he stands up, steps into her, planting a chaste kiss on her mouth. he's wanted to kiss embry about a thousand times tonight — it's nice to press close to someone. ) You look beautiful. I hope you don't mind, me and Embry were just having a drink. ( when her gaze moves to embry, he instructs with a stern tone, ) Don't look at him, look at me.
( look at ash while he leaves her there, stepping back to the booth, taking a languid sit. his arm reaches out over the back of it, hand near enough to embry that he could stretch his fingers out from the lip of his glass and stroke his neck, though he doesn't. ash didn't wear a tie, but he uses his free hand to unbutton the top few buttons on his shirt, eyeing her down. suppose this is a punishment, for whatever the pair of them aren't telling him — they can just reveal in the discomfort ash doesn't feel, weirdly at peace with the two of them near him, two missing parts to make the machine in his chest work. briefly, ash looks around the nearby area, apparently coming up empty. )
I don't have anything to restrain you with, here. ( with intention, he looks at embry. unbothered. a little cruelly. ) Embry will be your restraints. Come lay over his lap, angel.
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of course he has, and embry was stupid to think that all this time he could have ever held any small part of this for himself.
he's furious, the blunt edge of his yawning desire like a sledgehammer to the chest. the glassy shards of his gaze blitz to greer, then to ash, his knuckles white around his glass as he fantasizes the motion of throwing it at ash's perfect fucking jaw. beyond his anger, a terrifying, anticipatory flush crests over him, the room suddenly ten degrees hotter, his crisp dress shirt clinging to his skin.
he has to leave. his muscles clench as he makes to push himself up, but ash speaks first, embry's breath hitching loud enough that he knows ash hears it. ]
Ash. [ he only looks at greer from his periphery — she's already starting to move toward him, fucking obeying his deranged command without complaint. his voice is pitched low, strangled in his throat, almost pleading for ash's attention in the paltry seconds he has before she touches him. ] What the fuck are you doing?
[ it's all he can manage before greer is there, a wash of silver and gold. he can't help but meet her eyes, misery and panic and strung-out lust sparkling in his icy gaze. he wants to tell her not to comply, that neither of them have to play this fucking game, but she's already moving again. lay over his lap, angel. she crawls into the spacious booth and drapes herself across his legs — he can feel the soft press of her breasts against his thighs, the skirt of her sundress riding up her legs to reveal the barest swell of her ass. more roughly than he intends, his hand snaps to her ankles, grasping them both to lock her feet together. his other hand clenches against the leather seat, staring at the curve of her spine, desperate to grasp a fistful of her hair and tug.
he has to swallow down his own ragged breaths, looking at ash with hatred in his eyes. ]
Tell her to get up. I'm getting the fuck out of here.
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And then his next order comes, and leaves her breathless.
Her safeword is there. She knows it. She could use it — right here, right now, in front of Embry even, and Ash would stop, wouldn’t even try to press her to change her mind. But as quickly as she could reach for that word, dangling on the tip of her tongue, she bites it back. She won’t use it, and they both know it — and what’s more is that Embry might suspect, even if he doesn’t fully understand, the manner in which they’ve already been intimate with each other.
So wordlessly, silently, she obeys, a flush already emerging over her cheeks as she arranges herself into the position she hopes she’s meant to take. It must be a punishment for being late, she thinks, or for not texting back right away; why else would he make her drape herself over Embry like this, conscious of where her breasts press into his thigh and her hips settle atop its twin, all too aware of how the skirt of her sundress is already threatening to lift and expose her in the back?
A hand grasps hold of her ankles, roughly maneuvering them into a crisscross, and Greer gasps, her first instinct to squirm, right there, until she realizes it’s Embry, holding her like she’s half-hogtied, his fingers calloused and warm against her skin. She stiffens, then, when he demands to be released, head rapidly turning to find his face as she whispers. ]
No, please. [ She wants to be here. She wouldn’t have listened if she didn’t. She can stop this at any point; she’s been given the word to use. It all reads in her gaze, the naked want for it, for whatever Ash wants her to do for him next, urging Embry to relent, to stay here with her. With them. ] Please, Embry.
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and that makes ash very, very angry. jealous too, probably. definitely. he gives a lazy shrug, tossing back most of his negroni, before settling his glass on the floor. )
Now why would I do that.
( tell her to get up? ash wants her there. greer wants to be there. embry also wants her there, even if he's fuming — which, as mentioned before, only makes him more attractive to ash. in a position behind greer, he watches her skirt ride up her thighs intently, wanting to tell embry something like you have your words. tell her if you want her gone, expect that he knows better than to provide embry moore with a knife to gut himself with. instead, he slides the hem of greer's skirt further of her ass, and pinches the hard tip of embry's dick through his slacks secretively when he pulls away. it doesn't look like you want her gone, it seems to say.
greer also gets pinched, hard, on the sensitive bit of thigh meat under the curve of her ass. a reprimand. ) He's Mr. Vice President right now.
( ideally, he would not be in a public place doing this. looking over his shoulder, he sees the populace of the bar has dwindled to a few paired off couples, if not in kink scenes of their own, then definitely involved enough to look heartbeats away from fucking on the couches. ordinarily ash would be against public sex, but duplicity beat decorum out of him by necessity — he spent full meals with bucky on his knees between his legs, warming ash's cock in the back of his throat. he had work meetings with bucky about their used bookstore with natasha in his lap, fingers stuffed inside her. it sort of lost its exhibitionist sparkle.
that said, he's never done it with greer before, and he's not willing to risk letting other people see her. he gets up on his knees behind her, the hem of her dress now balanced on the peachy curve of her ass, blocking it from view of everyone else. possessively, he strokes a hand up her hip, petting her golden skin, thumb digging into her as if looking for pliancy — like he's a buyer testing the product. )
I think 15. ( he decides. greer is a painslut — but she's also theoretically new, which means he can't just beat her all night. it's a restrained number. sort of. he shrugs again. ) Oh, why not. 20 even.
( followed by five unflinching, impolite spanks on her ass. ash doesn't pull his strength — they're hard, mean, and by the end of five her skin is smarted and pink, detailing imprints of his five fingers, getting lost in the big, bruising ache.
ash's chest is also rising and falling, staring at her, prone and abused in embry's lap. leaning forward, he pushes a hand on the center of her back, until her cheek is in the cushions, letting embry sort out her hair from her eyes. to embry, his own eyes electric and alive, ) Do you still want to leave?
( nobody gets any free passes, ash decides. you're here because you want to be here. there's no ash made me, ash forced me, i had no choice. )
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his cock dampens the fabric of his slacks when ash pinches him, leaking hopelessly, harder than mount everest. fifteen what? but he already knows, staring down at the curve of greer's ass, because he's been right where she is now, bent over ash's knee, his hand bearing down on his neck to keep him down while he rained fire on his ass until embry's rabid thoughts emptied, sweat slicking his skin and tears staining his face.
greer doesn't move despite the tightness he can feel in her body, her quiet breath and the rapid flutter of her heart. there's no inclination that she wants to go, and he hates her for being so willing, and he hates ash for knowing her so well already, and he swells with desire and love and need for them both.
ash's hand cracks down, and embry feels every bit of power reverberating through his thighs, greer's skin reddening instantly, her muscles going taut in the most achingly familiar way. he keeps his grip locked around her ankles, secure, but his other hand glides to her hair, stroking it from her eyes, his thumb gliding gently across her cheek, cradling her. ]
Breathe. You're doing so good, princess. [ heat blooms at his thigh, a groan caught in his throat when he realizes she's wet, and he shifts his leg to offer her a solid force to grind against. his erection pushes painfully against the prison of his slacks. ] You look so fucking hot like this, like —
[ like five years ago, when he'd had her to himself. he chokes the words down, ash's jeweled gaze abruptly in his face, the force of his presence massive and overwhelming. if he wasn't already seated with a lapful of greer's quivering body, he'd want to sink to his knees and let ash ravage his mouth. ]
Fuck you. [ he has the grace to say it a little more quietly than usual. it's as solid a confirmation as any, his eyes glazed with hunger, color high in his cheeks. his hand travels tenderly down greer's spine, veering dangerously close to where ash's sits. ] You lied to me. You didn't tell me — you and her —
[ that they've gotten so fucking comfortable that they can do this, right in front of his fucking face. ]
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It might still be obvious, in a moment, what they're doing, especially when Ash's hand comes down on her the first time, and Greer's heart practically leaps up into her throat — it stings, smarts, but then more heat blossoms in its wake, spreading out over her. She's tensing, even though she knows it's the good kind of pain, and after the first five of the twenty smacks he's deemed necessary for her, her breathing is already leaving her in sharper pants, her thighs reflexively tensing. Whether the pause is there for her or for Ash to collect himself, for Embry to decide whether he's in this too, she almost lifts her head to promise she's fine — and then finds herself pressed down against the cushion of the booth seating, only Embry fully in her view with her head turned to one side. When he reaches down to brush her hair out of her face, the gesture is so tender she wants to weep from it. Maybe she's already weeping, and she doesn't know it, doesn't feel the tears streaming down her cheeks; her ass is already throbbing, pulsing in an echo of her heartbeat, and between her thighs, the crotch of her panties is starting to grow damp. ]
That's five.
[ It feels important, somehow, to let Ash know she's been keeping track — that she'll count all of them, each one he's deemed to deliver to her tonight, whether as punishment or reward. She can't fully tell, and the rabbiting rhythm of her heart is a result of being made to squirm in Embry's lap while she's becoming more and more aroused. She thinks she might be able to feel his erection too, nudging against her stomach, whenever she arches just right, a move that brings her hips flush to the top of his thigh and has her tempted to relieve some of the pressure right then and there.
She could make herself come like this, humping Embry's leg out of sheer shamelessness and desperation, but she suspects that would only earn her more of Ash's bruising touch. She can already feel the outline of his hand burned into her, palm and five fingers, and when he brings his hand down again, she makes it to ten before the first real moan spills out of her, more beyond the whimpers she's been successfully stifling — a keening sound between pleasure and pain as she gulps for necessary air. You're doing so good, princess. But she can feel the tension in Embry's body, hear it in the words meant for Ash. ]
We only just — it's new. All of this, it's — [ Her and Ash, and safewords, and the bruises left behind into the plush softness of her thighs. But it's what she needs, has needed since long before she even had the words to describe it, could successfully understand it. Ash's hand settling like a makeshift collar around her throat, and the instinctive way she'd lifted her chin to offer herself for it — everything had clicked into place after that. Both of them have hands on her now, and her stomach is roiling with guilt, the truth of that night between her and Embry threatening to out itself, but she doesn't want them to stop touching her, to go back to the moment before she knew what it felt like to feel Embry's fingers strafing down to where Ash is making her tender and raw. ]
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embry's brand of vitriol doesn't hit the way he intends it to. ash gives him a dead eyed, dommy stare before resetting his gaze on greer's plump, curvy ass, fingers stroking up her cunt, cinching around her underwear at her tail bone to lift it up, tight against her ass, watching the lips of her cunt swallow the fabric up greedily. he lied? not quite. if anything, ash is brutally honest and this is his honest — leaning over greer's back with a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her into an arch, free hand pinching her cheeks together with how he cinches her jaw. it's turned to embry so he can watch — greer's glimmering eyes, her perfect mouth, the almost leisurely way ash manhandles her. a bit like looking in a mirror. )
If you're focusing on him, you're not focusing on your punishment. Do you want twenty more? ( empty threat, for now. it won't be if she keeps it up. his grip loosens and he taps her cheek, not a slap but not anything short of degrading. ) Open up, princess. ( before he spits in her mouth, and resettles his position, knelt behind her.
five more unkind spanks follow. ash's palm isn't enough to have her bruised, but her pale skin is red hot, sensitive from the abuse. that's fifteen. ash's hand moves from squeezing greer's ass to sliding into embry's hair, fisting it until his angry gaze meets ash's, clashing glares like swords crossing in a duel. because he's feeling generous, ash uses his spare hand to squeeze his swollen cock in his pants, pointedly staring at embry's mouth like he'd like nothing more than to fuck it into bruised, beaten submission. like he wants to cum deep down in the pocket of his throat, so every stupid, senseless word from his mouth is flavored by ash's semen.
instead, he lets himself go, slides his fingers into greer's panties and around the sopping wet of her hole, before shoving them into embry's mouth meanly, like it's not a gift he's giving him, but a punishment. pointedly, )
My hand's tired. ( unarguably untrue — he's beaten embry for hours before, and could always beat him for an hour more. ) Mr. Vice President, do the last five.
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he's so hard it hurts, every shuddering breath pulling greer taut pushing down against his dick. she's a live wire, blooming sparks with every crack of ash's hand, and he knows how she feels and even worse, he knows that she loves it. he imagines her dress gone and his lips trailing down her spine, imagines his fingers pressing to the wet space between her legs to offer her swollen clit relief. greer is counting like a good girl, which is all well and good because embry is definitely not, too busy staring at her spit-wet mouth, then flushing with excruciating jealousy when ash's fingers are the ones that end up in her cunt. ]
Fuck.
[ he's blocked out the image of ash fondling himself, because he's so embarrassingly close to creaming his own pants, every brush of expensive fabric its own exquisite torture. he can't help it; his fingers twitch and he tries to reach for her, just one touch to her slick lips would be enough, ash's spit glistening from her panting mouth, and before he's even halfway there it's ash's fingers again that have the last laugh, crammed into his mouth like he's a hole to be used, like ash knew exactly what he was thinking and said very funny, embry moore. ]
Fuck.
[ only it comes out muffled, drowned out around half a moan as the taste of greer floods his tongue, and he's sucking, mortified, like a man starved — which he is, because it's been years since he's tasted greer like this, even if he has to lick her off of someone else's fingers. he's a mere second away from deep-throating ash's fingers before he loses that too, leaving embry breathless and hateful, so desperate that his cock weeps through his pants, pulsing at ash's words.
he can't say no. greer's reddened bottom squirms in his lap, and he trembles with the need to pull her against him and feel every quiver dancing across her skin. his eyes flicker up to ash, uncertainty nearly caving him in. can he? he can, because ash told him to. should he is the real question, and he already knows the answer to that one. no, unquestionably fucking no.
his hand releases greer's ankles, leaving her legs to ash while he reaches selfishly for her throat, sliding along her damp skin, cradling her first before squeezing just enough to feel the labor of her breath and the hard flutter of her pulse. he isn't careful like ash, arrested by the force of his lust, too far gone to hide how wildly he wants her, and this — both of them, all three of them in this fucked up tangle of pain and sex and love. it's primal and raw and it terrifies him as much as it excites him, like the first time he laid eyes on ash all over again.
his hand makes impact and he nearly comes at one or sixteen or whatever the fuck number he's supposed to be on, because greer mewls out in the most delicious way at the abuse of her tender flesh, grinding down against him, and he's acutely aware of ash's eyes on him as he goes again, and again, and again. embry hasn't touched himself, not once, but heat pries him open, his breath shuddering the last time his hand cracks down and glides helplessly across greer's heated skin, coming with a raw groan, spurting hot and wet right in his pants, right where greer can feel it — not that she looks any more dignified. not that she's ever looked better, in his opinion.
he releases her throat and slides a hand to her cheek, a brief touch as he stifles the urge to kiss her, looking away as he catches his breath, his own cheeks inflamed with the haze of lust and burgeoning shame. ]
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Ash's spit tastes like gin on her tongue, and her cheeks are burning with the keen pleasure of mortification; she nearly opens her mouth for more, lifts her chin like a supplicant eager to receive this form of holy communion. The body and the blood, spilled for you. She's giving her body to both of them, and how can it be anything other than worship? She can't hide her moan when Ash hands over the last five smacks to Embry instead, even though she suspects he's not wholly being honest about his hand tiring. Somewhere along the way, this has turned into just as much of a punishment for Embry as it is for her, even though she still hasn't confessed the full truth to Ash about their night together. There have been signs hinting at it the entire time, to say nothing of how she'd so readily draped herself across Embry's lap like a prize to be claimed.
In the interim, Greer's given a moment to catch her breath, to watch, with eyes shining bright with unspilled tears, as Embry sucks the taste of her off of Ash's fingers. She aches, with unfulfilled need and the unrepentant stinging of her ass, and fights not to squirm, but the merciless plunge of Ash's fingers against her is a persistent reminder of how desperately she wants to come. Denying herself, refusing to let herself surrender to that selfish desire without permission, serves as proof of her fealty; if she gives her orgasms to Ash, there'll be no question of her love.
But the way she lifts her chin into the encircling, possessive grasp of Embry's hand around her throat is irrefutable, the fluttering of her lashes as damning as a vocal profession of devotion. Her thoughts briefly stray to the fantasy of what it would feel like to have both of their fingers inside her — one of them stuffing her cunt full while the other rubs digits across her tongue, or hooking through the sensitive pucker of her ass, hoisting her up onto her toes with the strength of it. She wants them to make a home for themselves inside her, wants herself to be the place where their cocks slide against each other while they're buried deep in her weeping, pulsing core.
Then Embry's hand comes down and Greer nearly comes out of her body; there's no more pausing, no more respite, he just strikes her, again and again, hitting flesh already abused by Ash's palm. This time, the tears do come, rolling fat and salty down her cheeks, quivering on her jawline before falling onto Embry's pants. She hiccups, once, as she counts each and every one of them, gasping for breath, and somewhere in the midst of all of it, she feels where Embry's come is cooling in a damning little wet spot on her dress, but she's too warm, too needy, too desperate to dwell overlong beyond her own unfulfilled orgasm. His hand leaves her throat and it's all she can do not to whine, hoarse and reedy, as her head drops lower, as she fights to draw in deeper breaths while shudders wrack her frame.
Only then does she realize she's murmuring something under her breath — ] Thank you, thank you.
[ For the punishment, for administering it by his own hand, for hitting her so hard she'll be bruised and sore and wincing every time she sits down tomorrow. ]