Page 25 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Caleb

The Bancroft Hotel loomed before us, all Georgian limestone and family legacy, its massive columns flanking the entrance like disapproving sentinels.

I felt Nisha's hand tighten in mine as we approached, her usual confident stride faltering beneath the weight of Bath's oldest and most prestigious establishment.

On my other side, Julian walked with the careful neutrality he adopted whenever he sensed tension, his fingers brushing against mine in silent support.

Six months into our official throuple status, and here we were, crossing the threshold of my family's empire—

the place I'd fled from nearly a decade ago, now returning with not one lover but two, both of whom I'd claimed as mine with a ferocity that would make my conservative parents apoplectic.

"Breathe, darling,"

I murmured to Nisha, whose pulse fluttered visibly at her throat.

"It's just a bloody hotel."

"A hotel your family has owned for generations,"

she whispered back, adjusting the collar of her silk blouse for the third time since we'd climbed out of the cab.

"What if they hate us? What if they think I'm corrupting you both?"

Julian snorted softly.

"If anyone's doing the corrupting, it's this one."

He nudged me with his elbow, trying to lighten the mood.

"Mr. 'Let's-Try-It-In-The-Coat-Closet-At-Thanksgiving.'"

"That was one time,"

I protested, though the memory sent a pleasant warmth through me.

"Your parents never found out. And you weren't exactly reluctant."

Nisha's lips twitched despite her anxiety.

"Boys, focus. We're about to meet Caleb's terrifying family."

"They already know,"

I reminded her, squeezing her hand as we passed through the revolving doors into the marble-floored lobby.

"I've been living with you both since June. They know I've taken the West Coast position. They know everything."

Well, perhaps not everything. They knew the sanitized version—that I was in a committed relationship with a married couple, that we'd established a home together in Portland, that I'd arranged to oversee all my firm's West Coast hotel projects to make our arrangement work. They didn't know the raw, beautiful truth of us—the way Julian arched beneath me when I filled him, the sounds Nisha made when we both took her at once, the tangle of limbs and hearts we'd become in the small hours of morning.

"Knowing and accepting are different things,"

Julian murmured, his eyes scanning the opulent lobby with its crystal chandeliers and antique settees.

"You barely mentioned your parents' reaction."

Because there hadn't been one, not really. Just my father's stiff silence on the phone and my mother's brittle inquiry about whether I'd be home for Christmas.

"They've sent their regrets,"

I said, the words sour on my tongue.

"Too busy with some social gathering in Monaco."

Nisha's eyes softened with sympathy.

"Caleb, I'm so—"

"Don't,"

I cut her off gently.

"It's fine. I expected it. This isn’t about you, not really. It’s how they always are."

Truth was, I'd almost hoped for it. Better their absence than their quiet disapproval. Better the clean wound of rejection than the slow poison of conditional acceptance.

Julian opened his mouth to reply, but his expression shifted, eyes focusing on something over my shoulder.

"Incoming,"

he warned under his breath.

I turned to see my brother cutting through the crowd with ruthless efficiency, his tailored suit a blade that parted tourists and bellhops alike. Tristan hadn't changed—same sharp angles that mirrored my own but harder, crueler somehow, as if life had chiseled away anything soft from him years ago. His eyes, green like mine, scanned us with clinical detachment.

"You're late,"

he said by way of greeting, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Your clients showed up at three."

His gaze flicked dismissively over Julian and Nisha.

"I see you brought your... companions."

I straightened, feeling my spine lock into the familiar battle posture we'd assumed since childhood.

"These are my partners, Tristan. Julian and Nisha Brooks-Sharma. This is my brother, Tristan Bancroft, CEO of the Bancroft Group and professional killjoy."

Tristan's mouth tightened, but before he could respond, the hotel's massive doors swung open again, this time admitting my guests. Marco Torres strode in, lean and confident, his muscular thighs barely contained by what appeared to be—Jesus Christ—yellow crochet shorts, tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Beside him, Juniper floated in a matching crochet halter top, her wild curls adorned with what looked suspiciously like tiny seashells.

“Why in the bloody fuck,”

Tristan muttered under his breath.

“did you think to bring those hippies to my hotel?”

I stifled a laugh.

"Those hippies may not look it, but they are my largest clients—Juniper and Marco Torres. They own the Bindery Hotel chain. The one that’s blown up over the past year."

Tristan's eyes widened fractionally.

"The boutique brand that outperformed the Ritz in customer satisfaction last quarter? Those are the owners?"

"The very same,"

I confirmed, watching as Marco spotted us and waved enthusiastically, dragging Juniper toward our little group.

"And they've booked ten rooms for their staff retreat, while they explore location options in Bath. And this isn’t just your hotel, it’s mine. I’m still a shareholder and silent partner. So be nice."

"Caleb!"

Marco called, enveloping me in a crushing hug that smelled of expensive cologne and patchouli.

"This place is fucking magnificent! All that Georgian symmetry, those bath stone facades—my God, the preservation work is immaculate!"

Juniper kissed both my cheeks, then did the same to a startled Julian and delighted Nisha.

"We got an early flight. Couldn't wait to see the property you've been raving about."

She twirled, the crochet top revealing glimpses of sun-kissed skin.

"What do you think of our new festival wear?"

"It's... memorable,"

I managed, acutely aware of Tristan's frozen smile beside me.

"You've met my brother?"

Marco extended his hand, his eyes sparkling with some sort of secret.

"Not officially. I think he might be avoiding us. I’m Marco."

Tristan, ever the businessman, shifted seamlessly into professional mode, but he wasn’t quite as polished as usual. His eyes were on Marco’s shorts.

"Mr. Torres. As I said earlier, we're delighted to host your retreat."

"When can we see the property?"

Juniper asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

"The one in the Cotswolds you told us about, Caleb? We're thinking a rural location would be the perfect setting for a romantic Bindery retreat. Or perhaps we could find something along the sea? With crumbling cliffs and moody skies. Very gothic."

Tristan's eyebrows shot up.

"You're buying property here?"

Before I could answer, his eyes dropped to Juniper’s top, as if he’d only just noticed it.

“Where did you get that?”

Juniper ran her fingers along the intricate pattern of her halter top.

"The craftsmanship on these pieces is exquisite, don't you think? We found them in this tiny boutique back there behind the pop-up shop—"

"Pop-up shop?"

Tristan interrupted, his voice oddly strangled.

“The one with the handmade bath salts? Like a craft fair. Gemma was running it,”

Marco said.

“Brilliant idea for a wellness-focused hotel like yours.”

Tristan’s jaw was clenched and there was a vein popping in his forehead. “What?”

I cleared my throat.

“Maybe cousin Gemma has a reason for—”

“Those were not for sale,”

Tristan said, his voice dangerously low.

Juniper frowned.

“But there were such beautiful pieces, all laid out perfectly! Honestly, I was going to ask you who the artist was who made them so we could open a shop in our new Palm Springs location. The Coachella crowd will go nuts for them.”

My brother made a strange choked sound.

"Mr. Bancroft, were you trying to tell us something?"

Juniper asked, slapping my brother on the back.

“Are you choking?”

My brother's face had gone the peculiar shade of red it only achieved under extreme duress.

"The clothing you’re wearing belongs to me.”

“Oh really?”

Juniper said.

“I’m not sure this top would fit you.”

Tristan, if possible, looked even more flustered.

“No, I mean I made them. But it’s an… er. Personal project."

I couldn't help it—a bark of laughter escaped me before I could clamp it down.

"You made them? Since when do you crochet?"

"It's therapeutic,"

Tristan snapped, glaring at me with the full force of his CEO death stare.

"And technically that piece is macrame. My therapist suggested it for stress management. I didn’t expect these two idiots to think my collection was a boutique."

Marco looked confused.

“If you hadn’t laid it out so—”

“Enough!”

Tristan barked.

“Those aren’t even men’s shorts.”

Marco looked down at his shorts with newfound appreciation.

"What do you mean? The fit is amazing. The tension is perfect, and I love these macrame tassels."

He wiggled his ass and the little ropes shook.

"They're women's shorts,"

Tristan repeated through gritted teeth.

"Designed for a petite female form. Not meant to be stretched over a man's... endowments."

"Oh shit,"

Juniper gasped, covering her face.

"Why didn’t Gemma say anything when we paid her, then?"

Marco tilted his head.

“She did look a little confused, now that I’m thinking about it. But she told us to browse the shop, and that there were special items in the back.”

My lips twitched as I tried to hold back a laugh.

“Special items?”

"Why didn’t she say anything?”

Juniper protested.

“She just let us pay for it.”

“We'll give them back,"

Marco offered, his hands moving to the waistband of the shorts.

"No!"

Four voices shouted in unison as Tristan recoiled in horror.

"Keep them,"

my brother insisted, looking as though he might be physically ill.

"I have absolutely no desire to reclaim a pair of shorts that have been that intimate with your balls."

Marco and Juniper exchanged glances, then dissolved into giggles.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Your craftsmanship is beautiful. And we'll... uh... let you all catch up,"

Juniper said, backing away.

"Take some time to settle in, Caleb. We don’t have to view the property right away.”

"Meet for dinner?"

Marco suggested.

"Eight o'clock in the restaurant?"

I nodded, watching as they retreated toward the elevators, still snickering.

Tristan thrust a key card into my hand with enough force to make me wince.

"Executive suite,"

he growled.

"Top floor, east wing. The view's best this time of year. I have to go deal with Gemma."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

I stared after him, then down at the key card in my hand. Written across the top in Tristan's severe angular handwriting was a single word.

"Congratulations."

"Did he just..."

Julian began, leaning over my shoulder to read the card.

“Is he happy for us?”

“I think he might be,”

Nisha said.

A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Perhaps my brother wasn't entirely the heartless bastard he pretended to be. Perhaps there was hope yet for the Bancroft family's capacity to evolve.

"That’s as close to approval as Tristan gets. We’ll consider that a win. Come on,"

I said, tucking the key into my pocket and offering an arm to each of them.

"Let me show you the best suite in Bath."

I pushed open the heavy wooden door to our suite, my heart swelling as Julian and Nisha stepped across the threshold into what was, without question, the finest accommodation in all of Bath.

Their eyes widened, taking in the soaring ceilings, the antique furniture, and the view of the abbey through leaded glass windows.

But I knew the real treasure waited behind another door, one I'd specifically requested when booking this homecoming.

Three months since that day on the Oregon beach when we'd finally stopped pretending, finally admitted what we were to each other.

Three months of logistics, planning, and visa applications.

And now they were here, in my homeland, about to experience the ancient luxury that had made this city famous for two thousand years.

"This is gorgeous,"

Nisha breathed, trailing her fingers along a mahogany sideboard.

"I can't believe this was your childhood home."

I laughed, setting down our bags.

"Not quite this posh, love. The family estate is comfortable enough, but this—"

I gestured around us.

"—is what the Bancroft hotels do best. Theatrical grandeur with just the right touches of history."

Julian adjusted his glasses, studying the ornate plasterwork ceiling.

"Putting us up in this suite? Perhaps your brother is trying to rebuild your relationship."

"Who knows, maybe he just didn’t have any other spare rooms,"

I said, unable to suppress my grin. It wouldn’t be bad, having Tristan back in my life a bit more.

I took their hands, leading them through the sitting room with its velvet furnishings and crackling fireplace, past the bedroom with its imposing four-poster draped in damask. When we reached the final door, I paused, savoring the moment.

"Close your eyes,"

I instructed, unable to keep the boyish excitement from my voice.

They complied, Julian with a skeptical smirk, Nisha with eager anticipation. I pushed open the door, guiding them forward a few steps before positioning them just so.

"Now look."

Their gasps were everything I'd hoped for.

The bathroom opened before us like a Roman temple—honey-colored Bath stone forming walls that glowed golden in the late afternoon light streaming through a domed skylight.

At its center, sunken into the floor, was an enormous oval tub hewn from a single massive piece of stone, ancient and smooth as silk.

"Holy shit,"

Julian whispered, stepping forward to run his hand along the tub's edge.

"This is..."

"Original Roman,"

I finished for him.

"Or at least second century. The hotel was built around it when they discovered it during excavations in the 1800s."

Nisha approached it reverently.

"And it works?"

"Better than works."

I moved to an ornate brass fixture at one end, turning it with a satisfying click. Steaming water began to flow, filling the room with the mineral scent I'd grown up with.

"Direct tap to the sacred spring. The same waters that have been flowing since before the Romans arrived. Legend says they heal anything from gout to heartbreak."

"Not that we need healing,"

Julian said softly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that still made my breath catch.

I crossed to him, unable to resist pressing my lips against his.

"No,"

I agreed when we parted.

"But some pleasures are worth experiencing together."

Nisha had already begun unbuttoning her blouse, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Shall we test these legendary waters?"

Julian and I turned to her in unison, twin expressions of hunger that made her laugh—that throaty sound that never failed to make my cock stir. I reached for the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head while Julian began working on his shirt buttons.

"No rush,"

I told them.

"The water takes time to fill."

Nisha's blouse dropped to the stone floor, followed by her bra. The sight of her bare breasts in the golden light stole my breath as effectively as it had the first time. Julian was equally transfixed, his fingers stilling on his buttons.

"What?"

she teased, hands moving to the fastening of her jeans.

"You've seen these before."

"And will never tire of the view,"

I assured her, stepping closer as she shimmied out of her jeans, leaving her in only a wisp of black lace.

Julian finally managed to finish with his shirt, shrugging it off to reveal the lean torso I'd mapped with my tongue countless times. He kicked off his shoes, reaching for his belt while watching us with hungry eyes.

"You're both wearing too many clothes,"

Nisha declared, hooking her thumbs into her panties and sliding them down her legs in one fluid motion.

She stood naked before us, all golden skin and lush curves, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest. Mine. Ours. Not just for stolen weekends or frantic video calls, but forever. The enormity of it—of what we'd committed to on that Oregon beach—hit me anew.

"You're staring,"

she pointed out, amusement coloring her voice.

"Can you blame me?"

I asked, finally breaking from my trance to strip off my remaining clothes.

Julian did the same, and soon all three of us stood naked in the warm, steamy air. The tub was nearly full now, the surface of the water shimmering with mineral deposits that caught the light like tiny diamonds.

I turned off the tap, testing the temperature with my hand.

"Perfect,"

I declared, stepping into the sunken bath first, the hot water rising to mid-thigh as I stood in its center.

Julian followed, his sharp intake of breath betraying the water's temperature.

"Fuck, that's hot."

"The founders of this hotel believed the heat was good for the soul,"

I explained, holding out my hand to Nisha.

"It opens the pores, releases toxins."

"Sounds lovely,”

she said, taking my hand and letting me steady her as she stepped in.

We settled into the water together, the tub easily accommodating all three of us. Julian leaned back against the smooth stone edge, sighing as the heat penetrated tense muscles. Nisha floated toward him, her hair spreading out around her like dark seaweed. I watched them, these two beautiful creatures who had somehow decided I was worth keeping, and felt something expand in my chest until breathing seemed secondary to simply feeling.

"Come here,"

Julian said, extending a hand toward me.

"You're too far away."

I moved through the water to join them, positioning myself so Nisha floated between us, her back against Julian's chest, her legs draped over mine. For several minutes, we simply existed in that space, letting the mineral-rich water work its ancient magic on travel-weary bodies.

Then Nisha shifted, turning to press her lips against Julian's throat.

"I can think of better ways to relax,"

she murmured, her hand disappearing beneath the water to find him.

Julian's eyes closed briefly, his lips parting on a soft groan.

"You're insatiable."

"You love it,"

she countered, reaching for me with her free hand, drawing me closer until I could taste the mineral water on her skin as I pressed my mouth to her shoulder.

"I love you,"

he corrected, meeting my eyes.

“Both of you.”

I moved behind Julian, my chest against his back, my hands reaching around to find Nisha's breasts. She arched into my touch, head falling back against Julian's shoulder as I squeezed gently, thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened into hard peaks.

Julian turned his head, seeking my mouth, and I gave it to him willingly, our kiss deep and searching as Nisha writhed between us. His hand found the back of my neck, holding me in place as our tongues tangled, the familiar taste of him mixed with the mineral tang of the water.

"I want to watch you fuck him,"

Nisha breathed, her eyes dark with desire as she pulled back to observe us.

"Here, in this ancient water. I want to see him take you while I ride him."

A groan escaped me at her words, my cock fully hard now, pressing insistently against Julian's lower back.

"I'd planned for that possibility,"

I admitted, nodding toward a shelf where I'd placed a small bottle of silicone-based lube earlier, alongside plush towels and robes.

Julian's laugh was low and rough.

"Of course you did. Always the strategist."

I nipped at his earlobe, reveling in the shiver that ran through him.

"I prefer 'prepared enthusiast.'"

Nisha climbed from the tub, water streaming down her body as she retrieved the bottle. When she returned, she handed it to me with a knowing smile before positioning herself to face Julian, straddling his thighs.

"Prepare our boy,"

she instructed, her hands framing Julian's face as she kissed him deeply.

The sight of them together—wet and gleaming in the golden light—never failed to take my breath away. I moved back slightly, slicking my fingers with the waterproof lube before reaching between Julian's legs. He was already hard, his cock jutting up from the water's surface as Nisha rolled her hips against him without taking him inside.

I circled his entrance with a slick finger, feeling him tense briefly before relaxing into the touch. This was still relatively new for him—being penetrated—but he'd taken to it with enthusiasm that matched his approach to everything that brought him pleasure.

"More,"

he gasped against Nisha's mouth as I pushed one finger inside him.

"Don't tease."

"So impatient,"

I chided, but added a second finger, scissoring them carefully to stretch him.

Nisha watched over Julian's shoulder, her eyes locked with mine as I prepared him. Her hand moved between them, stroking his cock in time with the thrust of my fingers. When I added a third, Julian broke the kiss with a groan, his head falling back against my shoulder.

"I'm ready,"

he insisted, voice strained.

"Please, Caleb."

The plea in his voice undid me. I withdrew my fingers, using more lube to slick my length before positioning myself behind him. Nisha lifted herself slightly, creating space for me to maneuver Julian into place.

"Ready, love?"

I asked, pressing the head of my cock against his entrance.

"Yes,"

he hissed, pushing back against me.

"Fuck yes."

I entered him slowly, giving him time to adjust to the stretch. The tight heat of him enveloped me inch by inch until I was fully sheathed, my chest pressed against his back, my arms wrapped around his waist. Nisha watched us with parted lips, her eyes dark with desire.

"Beautiful,"

she breathed, reaching to stroke my cheek before returning her attention to Julian. "Now me."

She positioned herself over Julian's cock, sinking down onto him with a soft moan. The visual was overwhelming—Julian impaled between us, taking me while inside her. The connection complete, all three of us joined in the most intimate way possible.

"Move,"

Julian demanded, his body trembling with the effort of stillness.

"Both of you, please."

We established a rhythm, Nisha rising and falling on Julian's length while I thrust into him from behind. Each movement sent ripples across the water's surface, our bodies creating waves that lapped at the ancient stone. Julian's hands gripped Nisha's hips, guiding her movements as I controlled mine, the three of us finding perfect synchronicity.

"I love you,"

I murmured against Julian's neck, the words still new enough to catch in my throat.

"Both of you. So fucking much."

"We love you too,"

Nisha gasped, her movements growing more frantic as pleasure built within her.

"God, Caleb, we love you too."

Julian could only moan, caught between us, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of penetrating and being penetrated. His body tensed, inner muscles clenching around my cock as his orgasm approached.

"That's it,"

I encouraged, angling my thrusts to hit the spot I knew drove him wild.

"Let go, love. Come for us."

Nisha leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss as she ground down on him. I reached around, finding the place where they joined, my fingers circling her clit as my cock drove deeper into Julian. The triple connection—my cock in him, his in her, my fingers on her—completed the circuit between us.

"Yes,"

Julian gasped, breaking the kiss as his body tensed.

"Fuck—I'm coming—"

He shattered between us, his release triggering Nisha's as she cried out, inner walls clenching around him. The sight of them coming undone, combined with the rhythmic pulsing of Julian's body around my cock, pushed me over the edge. I came with a hoarse shout, emptying myself deep inside him as words of love spilled from my lips, echoed by theirs.

In that moment, surrounded by ancient stone that had witnessed thousands of years of human connection, we forged something timeless of our own—a bond that transcended conventional definitions, a love that refused to be contained by societal expectations. Three hearts beating as one, three souls entwined beyond separation.

And I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that I was finally, irrevocably home.