Page 41 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Tristan

I still didn't want to leave, but we couldn't hide away at the Bancroft Inn for all of eternity. And it felt better the next day. They knew more, knew my other secret, and it didn't bother them, only worried them.

For the first time in my life, someone had held me through a panic attack. Someone had made it all better. And somehow, that made returning to Bath less frightening.

The Range Rover's engine purred beneath us as we wound through country lanes still slick in places from the storm. Afternoon light slanted through the windscreen, turning everything golden and warm, but the heat in the car had nothing to do with sunshine. It radiated from them.

Marco sat in the passenger seat, his presence a constant distraction in my peripheral vision. Every shift of his body, every casual gesture, sent me spiraling. The man I'd kissed with desperate hunger just hours ago was now fully dressed, as if this was just a casual drive in the countryside.

I supposed, technically, it was just a casual drive in the countryside. Or would have been if it wasn't for my newfound insatiable lust throwing a wrench into things.

Juniper had claimed the back seat, sprawling across leather upholstery with the kind of feline grace that made my hands ache to touch her again. Her sundress had ridden up slightly, revealing brown thighs that bore faint marks of someone's teeth—his or mine, I wasn't sure. And that somehow made it sexier.

She caught me watching in the rearview mirror and smiled with enough heat to make my cock twitch.

"Eyes on the road,"

Marco said, but his voice carried amusement rather than concern.

"Though I have to say, the view back there is rather distracting."

"Behave, boys."

Juniper laughed, but she didn't adjust her dress. If anything, she stretched further, letting the hem climb higher while her fingers traced lazy patterns on sun-warmed leather.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white with the effort of maintaining control, when every instinct screamed to pull over, crawl between her legs, and give her what she clearly wanted.

"I think our boy just needs a little relief,"

Marco said.

His fingers found my thigh first, massaging gently. His hand was warm and firm, even through the fabric of my trousers, but it was not nearly enough. Slowly, he grew bolder, inching higher, so that with every stroke, his fingers bumped my cock and balls.

"Marco,"

I said, his name coming out rougher than intended.

"I'm driving."

"I noticed."

He gave up the pretense of an innocent massage and touched me boldly, tracing the length of my cock through fabric that did nothing to hide my body's response.

"You're also hard enough to cut glass. Seems like a waste."

The logical part of my brain, the part that had governed every decision for thirty-two years, pointed out the obvious risks. Public roads, other drivers, the kind of scandal that could destroy everything I'd worked to build. But that voice was growing quieter with each deliberate stroke of Marco's fingers, each spark of pleasure that made rational thought increasingly impossible.

The country road was completely empty, and my SUV was big, higher off the ground than most cars, with tinted windows that hid a multitude of sins. Who would ever know.

"Pull over if you need to,"

Juniper suggested from the back seat.

"Or let him take care of you while you drive if you're craving the rush of taking a risk. I'll keep watch for other cars."

The suggestion sent my pulse hammering against my collar. The idea was madness and temptation rolled into one irresistible package. When his fingers found my belt buckle, when he worked the leather free with practiced efficiency, I nearly drove us into a hedge.

"Easy,"

he murmured, his mouth close enough to my ear that his breath stirred the hair at my nape.

"Just focus on the road. Keep control of the car like a good boy, and I'll make you come."

Why did it feel so nice to be called a good boy?

My trousers opened under his determined assault, expensive fabric parting to reveal boxer briefs that were already damp with pre-cum. When Marco's hand slipped beneath them and wrapped around my bare cock with firm pressure, I bit back a groan.

"Fuck,"

I breathed, forcing myself to focus on keeping the car between the lines as his thumb swept across my tip.

"Marco, this is—"

"Perfect,"

he finished, working my shaft with strokes that sent electricity racing up my spine.

"You feel incredible. So thick and always so hard for me."

The dirty talk, combined with his skilled touch, was overwhelming. I'd never done something like this while driving, had never experienced the unique torture of trying to maintain focus while someone systematically destroyed my composure. Every stroke of his hand made my hips jerk involuntarily.

"Stay focused, sweetheart,"

Juniper said.

My hands shook slightly on the wheel as Marco continued his relentless assault. The moment I engaged the handbrake, his mouth replaced his hand, hot and wet and impossibly skilled as he swallowed my length without hesitation.

The sensation was overwhelming—silk-soft lips and swirling tongue, the kind of suction that made my eyes roll back in my head. I forced them onto the road, slowing the car to a crawl as Marco worked me with obvious skill and enthusiasm, head bobbing in a rhythm that had me gripping the leather seats hard enough to leave marks. It was a good thing there was no one else around, because we would have caused a traffic jam.

"There's a pull-off ahead,"

Juniper called from the back, her voice breathless.

"On the left."

I guided the Range Rover into the small parking area with more care than usual, desperate to fuck his mouth. As I shifted into park, I finally peeled my fingers off of the wheel and threaded them through his hair. "Look how good you two are together. Marco, take him deeper."

The encouragement sent Marco into overdrive, his throat relaxing to accommodate my full length while his hand found my balls, rolling them with exactly the pressure I needed. When he hummed around my cock, when the vibrations sent shockwaves through my nervous system, I came with a shout that echoed off the car's interior.

Marco swallowed every drop of cum, his tongue gentling as he cleaned me with reverent care. When he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen and wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He crawled into the backseat, spread Juniper's legs, and drove into her, fucking her hard enough that the car shook with the force of it. It didn't take him long to come, and when he did, he lifted his head and met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I think Juni needs more. Why don't I drive for a bit," he said.

"You can eat my cum out of her pussy."

I groaned softly and leapt out of the car fast enough to give away my eagerness. Marco had a satisfied grin on his face as he slid behind the wheel while I climbed into the back seat beside Juniper. She welcomed me with arms that immediately wound around my neck, pulling me into a wild kiss.

"My turn now,"

I murmured against her lips, my hands already finding the hem of her sundress and pulling it up.

"You're perfect,"

I whispered, my mouth finding the hollow of her throat, her breasts, her bare stomach. She laid back on the seat with a groan, her legs falling open as I dipped my tongue into her slit, tasting the way their flavors mixed after he'd fucked her. That was quickly becoming my favorite, and they both knew it.

She arched against my touch, her breath hitching as I licked her clean like the good boy they kept telling me I was.

"Please,"

she gasped, her hips bucking against my face, her hands buried in my hair.

"Tristan, please."

I worked her with the same careful attention Marco had shown me, fingers and tongue sliding through slick heat to find the spots that made her cry out. Her body was a map I was learning to read, each gasp and moan teaching me what she needed, what would drive her over the edge.

Marco's eyes found us in the rearview mirror, his breathing rough as he watched me bring his wife to the brink.

"That's it,"

he encouraged, his voice tight with renewed arousal.

"Make her come, Tristan. She's so close."

The combination of my fingers and his words sent Juniper spiraling over the edge, her body convulsing against my mouth while she screamed my name, calling me her good boy. I worked her through every aftershock while she trembled in my arms.

When she finally stilled, when her breathing began to return to normal, I held her close and marveled at how completely my world had changed in just four short days. It had been just over a week since they'd first stepped into my hotel, and already, I couldn't imagine my life without them.

Juniper and I put our clothes back in order, and snuggled in the backseat, chatting and touching each other idly as the countryside flew by.

The Bath city limits appeared ahead, but the heat between us showed no signs of cooling. If anything, the knowledge that we'd have to return to public places made every touch more precious, every stolen moment more intense.

The familiar sight of the Bancroft Resort & Spa rising before us. The honey-colored Bath stone felt surreal after the intimacy of the countryside. Pulling into the circular drive with Juniper's taste still on my lips and Marco's scent clinging to my clothes, it felt like returning to a stage where I'd have to perform a role I was no longer sure I recognized.

We tumbled out of the Range Rover in a tangle of limbs and barely suppressed laughter, all of us rumpled and worse for the wear. My trousers were wrinkled beyond salvation, my shirt missing several buttons from our earlier enthusiasm. Juniper's sundress had twisted during our back-seat exploration, and she straightened it as much as possible, but it was still revealing a lot of skin. Marco's hair stuck up at wild angles mussed by my hands, his lips swollen from sucking my cock.

The knowledge should have mortified me, should have sent me scrambling for composure and professional distance. Instead, I felt giddy with the kind of reckless happiness I hadn't experienced since childhood.

"You realize we look like we've just been fucking,"

Marco observed, attempting to smooth down his hair with limited success.

"So?"

Juniper asked with characteristic defiance, stretching in ways that made her dress ride higher.

"What’s wrong with sex? It’s a natural human impulse, and we’re all consenting adults. We shouldn’t be judged for enjoying it."

That's when I caught it—a flash of light from the hedge line, the unmistakable glint of a camera lens catching the afternoon sun. My blood turned to ice as training kicked in. I’d spent years dealing with tabloid photographers and social media stalkers who loved to name me one of England’s most eligible bachelors. And someone was documenting our arrival, capturing evidence of our disheveled state and obvious intimacy.

"Inside,"

I said sharply, my voice carrying enough authority to cut through their playful mood. "Now."

Marco caught the change in my tone immediately, and he followed my gaze to spot the threat. He moved to shield Juniper without being asked, his body language shifting from relaxed to protective in the space between heartbeats.

We made it through the lobby doors just as Gemma appeared from the direction of the business offices, her perfectly tailored suit and immaculate appearance making our rumpled state even more obvious.

"Tristan,"

she said, relief and mild exasperation warring in her clipped voice.

"Thank goodness you're back. I held things off as long as I could, but we have a full schedule this afternoon. There’s the conference call about the London property renovation, and the planning committee wants revised timeline estimates by tomorrow morning."

My cousin moved with her usual efficient grace, ash-blonde hair perfectly styled despite the late hour, her sharp green eyes missing nothing as she took in our disheveled appearance. But instead of the disapproval I expected, something that looked almost like amusement flickered across her features.

"The Hartwell Group is being difficult about the heritage restrictions,"

she continued, falling into step beside me as we moved deeper into the hotel.

"And the accountants want to discuss the quarterly projections before the board meeting next week."

Business. Numbers. The familiar rhythm of responsibility that had governed my entire adult life. I should have felt relief at returning to safe territory, to problems that could be solved with spreadsheets and strategic planning. Instead, I felt like I was putting on clothes that no longer fit properly, resuming a role that had become uncomfortable in my absence.

I glanced towards Juniper, and she gave a little wave.

“We’ll let you go. We have to check in with the Bindery, too.”

Marco and Juniper had peeled off toward the guest elevators, murmuring about showers and fresh clothes. I watched them go, pushing down the edge of panic, not ready to return to the careful isolation that had defined my existence before they'd exploded into it like beautiful chaos.

As we walked, Gemma continued her efficient briefing—occupancy rates, staff scheduling issues, a minor crisis with the thermal pools that she'd handled with characteristic competence.

I found myself half-listening, distracted by the realization that she'd managed everything perfectly in my absence. Every decision she'd made was exactly what I would have done, every crisis resolved with the kind of strategic thinking that made our partnership invaluable.

"You've handled everything brilliantly,"

I said, interrupting her recitation of kitchen supply issues.

"I'm impressed, though I probably shouldn't be. You always manage things better when I'm not here to interfere."

Gemma stopped walking, her sharp features softening with something that looked like genuine concern.

"Tristan, are you feeling alright? You seem... different."

Different. The word hung between us like a challenge.

"What do you mean?"

She studied my face with the intensity she usually reserved for particularly complex hotel management problems.

"You look happier,"

she said finally.

"More relaxed than I've seen you in years. Whatever happened during your time away, it agreed with you."

The observation hit like a physical blow. Happy. When was the last time someone had described me that way? When was the last time I'd felt anything approaching genuine contentment?

"Perhaps you should take more time,"

Gemma continued, her voice gentle but firm.

"A proper holiday, or even a leave of absence. I can handle things here."

The suggestion should have triggered immediate protest, should have activated every protective instinct I'd developed about maintaining control. Instead, I felt something that might have been relief washing over me, like warm water.

"Why would you suggest I take more time away?"

I asked, genuinely puzzled by her motivation.

She smiled then, a real smile instead of the professional courtesy she usually wore like armor.

"Because for the first time in years, you look like a person instead of a corporate executive. And you never loved the hotels like I do. You spent summers in the countryside with grandfather, while I was at grandmother’s side, learning the ins and outs of being a badass boss bitch."

I burst out laughing.

“A badass boss bitch.”

“Yep. Learned that phrase on the internet. I think it suits Grandmother well, right?”

"It does. And I'll consider it,"

I said, surprising myself with the honesty.

“You’re a lot like her, you know. Smart, savvy, and full of great ideas.”

She grinned.

“And you’re a lot like him, deep down. A bit cranky, set in your ways, and slow to warm up. But beneath it all, you’re deeply loving and loyal to a fault. Look at what you did for Caleb when he was having a hard time working for the Bancroft Group. You took on more even though it nearly killed you, just so he could leave and find himself.”

“It didn’t kill me,”

I muttered.

“I was fine.”

Gemma stopped and turned to face me, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Tristan, I know about the panic attacks. I just never knew what to do about them."

She squeezed my arm briefly, a massive gesture of affection for my standoffish cousin.

"It seems those two figured it out, though, and I’m so glad. I was so worried. Now go shower and change before someone else sees how you’re dressed.”