Page 35 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Tristan

Sleep was a fucking impossibility.

I'd been lying in bed for hours, my body rigid beneath the scratchy sheets. Every time I closed my eyes, images crashed through my mind like waves against rocks. Juniper's brown skin gleaming in firelight, the way she’d looked in that pool, lost in passion, Marco's lean body, and the invitation in his eyes.

The sheets twisted around my legs as I shifted for the hundredth time, my skin too hot despite the lack of good heating. My cock pressed insistently against my boxer briefs, a persistent reminder of desires I'd been fighting all evening. The expensive fabric that usually felt smooth and comfortable now seemed to drag against oversensitive skin with every movement.

I kicked off the blankets with more force than necessary, then immediately pulled them back up when the cool air hit my overheated body. The contrast was maddening—too hot under the covers, too cold without them, no position that offered relief from the arousal that had been building since the moment I'd met them.

Why them? Why, of all the temptations I’d faced in life, were they the ones who broke through?

The ornate clock on the nightstand glowed 12:47 a.m. in the darkness. Past midnight, and I was lying here like a schoolboy with his first crush, unable to shut off my brain long enough to get the rest I desperately needed.

My throat felt like sandpaper. The combination of anxiety, arousal, and the dry air in this old building had left me parched. Water. I needed water, and maybe the simple act of walking to the kitchen would clear my head.

I swung my legs out of the bed, my bare feet hitting cold wooden floors that made me hiss through my teeth. The inn felt different at night—shadows deeper, sounds magnified, every creak and whisper of wind through ancient timbers seeming to echo with life. As a boy, it was these nights that had made me believe in the ghost stories.

I padded toward the door in just my underwear, not bothering with a shirt since I planned to make this a quick trip.

The hallway stretched before me in darkness, broken only by moonlight filtering through tall windows.

As I approached the main floor, a warm glow spilled from the kitchen doorway into the corridor. Low voices drifted toward me, accompanied by quiet laughter that made my pulse quicken. They were still awake. And I was in my underwear.

The scent of our earlier baking session still lingered in the air: yeast, cinnamon, and the ghost of warmth from the massive range. My stomach clenched with something that might have been hunger but felt more complex, more dangerous. I should have announced myself, called out a greeting, and maintained the kind of polite distance that kept situations manageable.

Instead, I found myself slowing as I approached the kitchen doorway, drawn by curiosity and something darker that I didn't want to examine too closely.

They’d let me off the hook, promising me they’d stop teasing me if it bothered me.

I paused in the shadows of the hallway, just outside the spill of golden light from the kitchen. What I saw through the doorway stopped my breathing entirely.

Juniper was seated on the stone counter, her legs wrapped around Marco’s waist as they kissed with a desperate hunger that made my cock jerk against my boxers. Her curls caught the firelight as she tilted her head back, offering him access to the curve of her throat. His hands spanned her waist, fingers splayed wide against her glowing skin.

She was wearing only a thin cotton T-shirt that had ridden up around her hips, revealing bare skin. The realization that she was naked under her shirt hit me like a physical blow, sending heat racing through my veins as I watched Marco's hands slide higher, pushing the fabric up to reveal more of her curvy, luscious body.

My mouth went dry as I drank in the sight of them together—all easy intimacy and shared desire, the kind of connection I'd observed from a distance but never experienced myself. They moved together like they'd been created for this purpose, every touch and caress perfectly calibrated to drive the other wild.

"I can't stop thinking about him,"

Juniper whispered against Marco's mouth, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet kitchen.

"The way he looks at me. Like he wants to devour me whole but won’t let himself."

My pulse hammered against my throat. They were talking about me. Discussing me while they touched each other, and the knowledge sent arousal spiking through me, hot and wild.

Marco's laugh was low and knowing.

"I saw it too. All that control barely holding back something much more interesting."

His hands slid higher, disappearing under her nightshirt to cup her breasts.

"The poor bastard probably hasn't let himself want anything real in years, but sadly, I don’t think we’re going to be the ones to break through. He said no, and we can’t push anymore."

Juniper made a disappointed sound.

"Still a fun fantasy, I suppose. He's so fucking sexy when he's all buttoned up and proper,"

Juniper gasped as Marco's thumbs found her nipples through the thin cotton.

"All that restrained power just begging to be unleashed."

I should have walked away, should have cleared my throat and announced my presence, should have done anything except stand there drinking in the sight of them while they discussed me like I was some sort of sexual puzzle they wanted to solve.

"I bet he'd look even better all messy and desperate,"

Marco murmured, his voice rough with desire.

"That perfect composure completely shattered, reduced to helpless need."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I must have made a sound, because that was when Juniper's eyes found mine across the room.

She didn't startle or push Marco away. Instead, her gaze locked with mine, a smile spreading across her lips that was pure sin.

"Enjoying the show, Tristan?"

she asked.

Heat flooded my face as Marco turned to look at me over his shoulder, his hands never pausing in their exploration of Juniper's body. Instead of embarrassment or anger, his expression held nothing but warm appreciation, like he'd been hoping I'd appear.

When he spoke, his voice was thick with arousal but surprisingly steady.

"Want to join us?"

Join them. Step into that circle of golden light and warmth and let them teach me what it felt like to let go. For one wild moment, I could picture it—moving toward them, letting Marco's skilled hands guide me while Juniper showed me exactly what she needed.

But my professional conditioning kicked in like a circuit breaker, slamming protective barriers back into place with brutal efficiency.

"I—this is completely inappropriate,"

I stammered, backing away from the doorway on legs that felt unsteady.

"I shouldn't be here. I was just getting water."

"Tristan,"

Juniper said, her voice gentle but heated.

"We want you here if you want to be here."

Her eyes dropped to where my hard cock stretched the fabric of my underwear, and her left eyebrow arched up, challenging me.

The simple statement nearly destroyed what little composure I had left. They wanted me. These beautiful, confident people who seemed to have everything figured out actually wanted the uptight businessman who'd spent the entire day fighting against his own desires.

But wanting and having were different things entirely. Wanting led to complications, to exposure, to the kind of vulnerability that could destroy everything I'd worked to build.

I turned and stalked back toward the stairs, my boxer briefs clinging to sweat-dampened skin as I fought for composure. Behind me, I could hear them murmuring together, could imagine the gentle touches and reassurances they were probably exchanging.

The hallway felt endless as I made my way back to the guest room, my cock throbbing painfully with every step. My underwear did nothing to conceal my arousal, the fabric outlining every ridge and curve of my erection in embarrassing detail.

My bedroom door slammed behind me with more force than I'd intended, the sound echoing through the old inn like a gunshot. I leaned against the heavy wood, my breathing harsh and ragged as I tried to process what had just happened.

My hands were shaking as I looked down at myself, at the obvious bulge straining against the fabric that suddenly felt like torture. The fabric was damp with pre-cum, evidence of exactly how much their display had affected me. I was thirty-two years old and leaking like a teenager with his first pornographic magazine.

I slid my hand beneath the waistband of my boxers, fingers wrapping around my aching cock with a groan that seemed to come from my very soul.

I stroked myself with desperate efficiency, my free hand braced against the door while images crashed through my mind like fever dreams. Juniper's brown skin gleaming in the firelight. Marco's skilled hands mapping territory I'd never explored. The way they'd both looked at me like I was something they wanted to unwrap slowly, piece by careful piece.

"Fuck,"

I gasped, my hips bucking into my own touch as lust built to unbearable levels.

I could still hear Juniper's voice echoing in my head, could picture the way she'd smiled at me while Marco's hands explored her body.

"Enjoying the show, Tristan?"

The memory sent me hurtling toward release with the inevitability of gravity.

My orgasm hit like a dam bursting, pleasure tearing through my nervous system with enough force to buckle my knees. I came across my own hand and my stomach, spurting helplessly while their names fell from my lips in broken whispers.

The aftermath was immediate and brutal. Shame crashed over me like ice water as I stood there dripping and shaking, the evidence of my loss of control coating my fingers and stomach.

This was who I really was underneath all the careful grooming and professional polish: a man so desperate that he'd masturbate against his bedroom door while fantasizing about fucking a goddamn married couple.

I cleaned myself up with mechanical precision. But even after I was clean and settled in bed again, I could still could still hear the invitation in Juniper's voice.

Tomorrow we'd return to Bath. Tomorrow I'd be Tristan Bancroft, CEO, again—composed and controlled and safely distant from temptations I couldn't handle.