Page 45 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Juniper

We’d been living at the Bancroft Inn for the past two months, doing what we could with a tiny crew, too much ambition, and a shoestring renovation budget. After all, we’d promised Gemma we wouldn’t sink too much of the company’s money into this. And rightfully so, the property was a wreck, and we didn’t have anything but instinct telling us it could be profitable once again.

None of the roofs on the outbuildings were waterproof, the floors in the east wing had an odd slope to them, and the ancient Aga stove in the kitchen sometimes only worked if you smacked it in exactly the right place with the cricket bat we kept next to the hearth. Which was, in fact, kind of thrilling. Every day was a battle against entropy, and every night was an experiment in what more we could uncover of this new Tristan. Tristan who was doing what he wanted. Tristan who was open about his passions.

Tonight was no different. I was covered in a layer of sawdust so fine it felt like a second skin. My curls were glued to my scalp with sweat, and my hands were streaked with something that was either paint, or mud, or possibly both. We’d been up since five, wrestling with the latest disaster (a burst pipe in the guest wing that had flooded three rooms and one hallway) and by seven p.m., the only thing keeping me upright was the promise of hot water and hotter hands.

Tristan was the last one in from the work site, still in his ratty blue coveralls, hair a bird’s nest of curls now that he wasn’t shellacking it down with hair gel. Marco was already half naked and sprawled across the foot of our mattress, his skin golden in the late light, legs stretched out, muscled and sexy. Even when exhausted, my husband managed to look like a Greek statue.

“Holy fuck, that was a day.”

I wanted to face-plant onto the pillow next to him, but I was too dirty.

Tristan groaned as he unzipped his coveralls and dropped them in the corner. Underneath, he wore nothing but black boxer briefs and a healthy dose of grime. He looked less like a CEO and more like a desperate extra from some post-apocalyptic miniseries, but I could see the lines of his muscles under the dirt, and they still made my mouth water.

“I’m too tired to shower,”

he announced.

“Anyone want to give me a sponge bath?”

“You can make it to the shower,”

I said.

“And Marco, get out of the bed, you’re filthy!”

Marco jumped up, laughing as he brushed off a bit of sawdust he’d left on the duvet.

“I only touched the end!”

“Neither of you are getting into our clean sheets smelling like livestock.”

Tristan moved closer, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck. I felt his lips press against my pulse point, his breath warm and ragged.

“You’re sure we can’t just sleep like this?”

“Positive,”

I said, tangling my fingers in the back of his hair and yanking gently until he looked at me.

“There’s mold on your ear. And also, we have to pack. Gemma’s wedding is Saturday, and if we don’t leave by ten tomorrow, we’ll miss the rehearsal dinner.”

Tristan blinked at me.

“Wait, the wedding is happening? Gemma’s fiancé is real?”

I laughed.

“You thought it was a cover? Like he was a paid actor?”

“I assumed she’d just hired some guy off the street. Maybe that barista she likes from Waitrose.”

Tristan looked so genuinely baffled that I felt compelled to kiss his forehead.

“I’ve never even met the guy. Travel writer seems like a made up job.”

Marco blinked at Tristan.

“You work in the hotel business. You know travel writers are real.”

“Well, tomorrow we’ll finally get to meet him!”

I said.

“Now, who’s first in the shower?”

“You both go,”

Tristan said, flopping in the battered chair by the window.

“I want to die here in peace. Just drag my corpse into the car when you’re ready to leave.”

“Nope,”

Marco said, grabbing Tristan by the arms and yanking him back up with surprising strength.

“If we’re going, you’re going, too.”

They ended up wrestling on the rug, which rapidly escalated into a wild kiss and a lot of tearing at clothing. I watched, thoroughly entertained by the way they dry humped each other like big, sexy animals, as I undressed. I wondered for the thousandth time how I’d gotten so lucky. Two men, both completely ridiculous in their own ways, both willing to follow me to the ends of the Earth because I’d found a fun new project.

We staggered into the bathroom and began the process of decontamination. The bathroom in the owner’s suite was the first room we’d tackled, and we’d used our own funds to pay for it, modernizing it completely. It was beautiful, with thick white towels, a clawfoot tub, a shower with six separate settings, and enough expensive soaps to drown the worst body odor. We weren’t sure if this would be the place we’d settle down or if we’d move on to a new project once we were done, but one thing was certain: we had a shower big enough to fuck in for the time being.

The second the water was on, Marco pulled me under the spray with him, hands already roaming my body with greedy intent… and a sudsy loofah.

“You smell like a barn,”

he whispered into my ear, kissing the tip of it with a delicacy that contrasted with the roughness of his grip on my hips.

“And you smell like cardboard and old cheese,”

I shot back, but I let him turn me around so my back was to his chest. I felt his cock, already half-hard, pressed against the small of my back.

“Jesus Christ,”

Tristan said, stepping in and closing the glass door behind him.

“Give it five minutes before you start fucking in here. The last time, I nearly slipped on the soap and broke my neck.”

“That’s because you have the coordination of a baby deer,”

Marco said, nipping at my shoulder as his hands found my tits, soapy and slick and perfect for squeezing.

“Who would have expected it of someone who looks so controlled and elegant? But don’t worry, we’ll brace you against the wall this time. I’ll take the outside, and Juni will take the middle.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, but I could see the flush creeping up his chest as he watched Marco manhandle me, his own cock thick and flushed in the steamy air. I reached for him, pulling him into the press of our bodies, loving the way the water slicked across his skin, making his muscles shine.

“Should I get the shower chair for you, old man?”

I teased, wrapping one leg around Marco for balance and running my tongue up the line of Tristan’s throat.

“I’m not the one who fell off a ladder yesterday,”

he shot back, but his hands found my waist, steadying me as Marco’s fingers worked between my legs. The touch was clumsy and urgent and perfect—none of us cared about finesse right now, just the need to connect, to be as close as possible, to remind ourselves that we belonged together as one.

“Let’s see how many times we can make Juni come before the hot water runs out,”

Marco said, already sliding two fingers into me and curling them just so.

“Odds are three,”

Tristan murmured, mouth against my collarbone as he pushed Marco’s hand out of the way and kissed his way down my stomach. He was always competitive like that.

“Four, if we really concentrate.”

Marco held me against his chest, bracing me, his cock pressed up against my ass while Tristan’s kissed my inner thigh. Tristan ate me out like he was starving, tongue ruthless and skilled. I grabbed the towel rack, bracing myself as Marco’s arms roamed over my breasts, grinding his cock between my cheeks. The angle was awkward and delicious. I could feel Tristan’s tongue flicking my clit, Marco’s cock sliding up and down my ass, every nerve ending screaming for more.

“Marco, fuck me,”

I moaned, and he obliged, pushing his cock inside me with a single, perfect stroke. It hurt, just a little, from this angle, but that made it hotter. He bottomed out, hand fisted in my hair, and when I looked down, I saw Tristan’s green eyes watching me, his tongue still working my clit, sliding against Marco’s shaft as it thrust into me again and again.

“Good girl,”

Tristan said.

“Take it all.”

He swirled his tongue, and his mouth and Marco’s cock sent fireworks straight to my brain. I came, hard, vision whiting out as the two of them kept moving, not giving me a second to recover.

When Marco pulled out, Tristan stood, kissed me on the mouth so I could taste myself, then reached down and lined himself up. He was thick and delicious, and the first push of his fat cock head still made my knees buckle, but Marco caught me, supporting my weight as I was filled all over again.

“Oh fuck, I love you,”

I whispered, and Marco laughed into the side of my neck.

“Say it louder, Juni. I don’t think he heard you.”

But Tristan was focused elsewhere, gripping my ass as he pounded into me.

“Make her come again, Marco.”

Marco’s fingers found my clit, and the next orgasm took me by surprise, shaking me so hard I nearly took all three of us down.

The third time was all about Marco. He slid back inside me with Tristan, my body so open and greedy for him I barely needed to adjust. Tristan’s hands held my shoulders, bracing me as Marco’s thrusts grew more frantic, more desperate, sliding against Tristan’s hard cock as Tristan held still, let him take what he needed, and when he came, I felt it everywhere—heat, pressure, belonging. Tristan followed him over the edge, biting down on my shoulder with a rough groan and I shivered between them, spent and happy.

We collapsed into a pile on the shower floor, letting the water run over us as our breathing returned to something like normal.

After three orgasms and one near-death experience (Tristan slipped on the tile and took us all down like bowling pins), we staggered back to our bedroom wrapped in towels and each other. Tristan was the only one who still managed to look dignified, because he somehow always did.

I sat on the edge of the bed, working lotion into my calves while Marco dug through the clean laundry pile for something that wasn’t ripped or covered in construction adhesive. Tristan sprawled next to me, elbows propped on his knees, rubbing my back.

“Do we have to wear real clothes?”

Marco said.

“Maybe we can just dig through Tristan’s apartment in Bath?”

“You can show up nude,”

I said.

“but you’ll have to explain to Gemma why her wedding is now a viral meme. I can already see the headlines: Bancroft Throuple Is At It Again.”

Tristan groaned out a laugh, covering his face with his hands.

“Are you sure we should go? As a throuple, I mean.”

“It’s your cousin’s wedding,”

I gasped, kissing the tip of his nose.

“And you made me that killer dress. We should go.”

Tristan looked at me, then at Marco, his green eyes unguarded.

“Good. I want to show off the people I love. If that’s okay.”

A beat of total silence. Marco stopped mid-pants leg. I dropped the lotion bottle.

“You—what?” I said.

Tristan blinked, then frowned, chewing on his lip the way he did when his anxiety was spiking.

“I said I want to show off the people I love. Why are you staring at me? Is that not okay? I suppose we can… pretend to just be friends.”

Marco grinned like the world’s dumbest golden retriever.

“Tristan, stop. Of course we want to be with you, to claim you. It’s just that you’ve never actually said it out loud,”

he said, voice warm and teasing.

“That you love us. We’ve been waiting.”

Tristan looked at the ceiling, visibly annoyed.

“I assumed it was implied. I shared my yarn with Juni, and she’s atrocious at crochet.”

I tackled him, knocking him back onto the mattress and peppering his face with kisses.

“Say it again,”

I demanded.

“C’mon, big guy. Just once more.”

He huffed, but his hands came up to hold my waist.

“I love you, Juni. And you, Marco.”

He tugged Marco close, then kissed the inside of my wrist, his mouth soft and reverent. “Happy?”

“Fucking ecstatic,”

I said, shoving my tongue in his mouth as Marco flopped down beside us and wrapped us all up in his arms.

“Because we love you too. With all our hearts.”

Tristan rolled his eyes.

“I know that. You say it every time you’re about to orgasm.”

Marco laughed and kissed him roughly, meeting his eyes.

“I know it’s not a thing we can do, but in our hearts, she’s my wife, you’re my husband. She’s your wife, and I’m your husband. And we do love you, so much, sweetheart.”

Tristan beamed at us, trading kisses with each one of us for a long moment, his eyes a little damp, if I wasn’t mistaken.

“Thank you both for seeing me. For knowing what I needed.”

“And thank you for making us whole,”

Marco said.

The moment was absolutely perfect, until Tristan’s phone rang, sharp and jarring in the soft moment. I groaned.

“Why do you have Green Day as your ring tone?”

“I like to think about whether or not I have the time to listen to people whine. I’ll silence it.”

He fished it out of the pocket of the coveralls he’d discarded earlier, frowned at the screen, and answered it instead of silencing it.

“Yes, Gemma.”

He paused, eyes widening.

“Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry,”

he said, sitting up. The conversation went on for a while, and he kept saying things like that.

“So sorry.”

And.

“If there’s anything we can do.”

Marco and I stared, waiting. What had happened?

Tristan closed his eyes rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment, then looked at us.

“Wedding’s off. Her fiancé skipped town.”

There was a moment where none of us quite knew what to say. I felt awful for Gemma, obviously, but I also felt… weirdly relieved? We’d never met Jake. I’d always assumed he was a placeholder. A prop. Gemma was too sharp, too in control to ever let anyone really in. Maybe this was her way of staying safe.

“Should we drive to Bath?”

Marco asked, voice gentle.

Tristan shook his head.

“She’s already at the pub with her bridesmaids and three bottles of wine. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell the Americans to have a weekend off for once in their lives.’”

His mouth twisted into a sad, affectionate smile.

“She’s fine. She always is.”

“Hmm.”

I snuggled closer, running a finger down his arm.

“Maybe it’s her turn next.”

“Her turn?”

Tristan asked, amused.

“Yeah,”

I said.

“To break the rules. To go after something reckless, or maybe someone. To figure out what she actually wants, instead of what’s expected.”

We sat there, all three of us, thinking about the future—ours, Gemma’s, the Inn, the world outside. For once, I wasn’t worried about what came next. Not with the two of them on either side of me, holding me in place, loving me so hard I thought I might never fall apart again.

Let the world spin. We were ready for anything.