[ 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'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. ]
no subject
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. ]