Page 64 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Brian

Bath, England

Bath's historic streets were beautiful in the late afternoon light, honey-colored stone buildings rising like something from a fairy tale. But I barely noticed the scenery, too focused on the way Gemma's hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel, the careful way she held herself like she was afraid of breaking apart.

Her apartment was beautiful, and occupied the entire top floor of a converted Georgian townhouse, all soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered breathtaking views of the city. The décor was minimalist but warm, carefully chosen pieces that spoke of both wealth and taste. It should have felt intimidating, but instead it felt like her—elegant, powerful, and surprisingly welcoming.

"This is beautiful,"

I said, setting down my bag and taking in the space.

"I don’t think I really got a look at it before. You have incredible taste."

She shrugged, but I could see some of her natural confidence returning as she moved through her own space.

"I spend so much time in hotels, I wanted home to feel different. Less formal, more... personal."

I could see what she meant. The apartment felt lived-in despite its elegance, with books scattered on the coffee table, a half-finished crossword puzzle on the kitchen counter, and photographs from her travels arranged on the mantel. It was the home of someone who valued beauty but wasn't afraid to actually live in it.

There was a big crochet blanket in soft, muted colors thrown over the sofa, and she touched it fondly, grinning.

“My cousin, Tristan, makes these. He’s in a triad relationship, did you know that?”

“So… your family is prepared?”

Enzo said, grinning.

“Like, we’re not even going to shock them?”

"Hopefully. I mean, I wouldn’t say they’ve fully accepted Tristan’s situation yet. Or his brother Caleb’s. But we can present a united front.”

Something soared in my heart at the thought that she’d thought about how to introduce us to her family. She was smiling as she picked up a stack of envelopes on the table, absently sorting through mail that had come from the trip.

“My parents aren’t around much, anyway. They’re retired and live in the south of France.”

She waved a postcard at us.

“Here’s their latest note, full of vague apologies about the wedding cancellation.”

“You don’t need them anyway.”

She flipped to the next envelope and my heart dropped. It looked like a receipt, or a bill, from Elyssion, the cruise line. I tried to reach for it, but Gemma was already tearing it open, skimming the letter.

“Gem, you don’t need to read that,”

I started.

“Brian, I thought you said my spot on the cruise was free.”

Enzo snorted.

“Not likely.”

I turned to face him, noting the way his jaw was set with determination. "Enzo—"

"She should know,"

he said, moving closer until he was standing right in front of me.

"You take care of everyone else, but you never let anyone take care of you. You think we don't pay attention, but we do. We see you. We notice the sacrifices you make."

Gemma turned to us, her green eyes moving between us with growing interest.

"What is he talking about?"

Enzo's dark eyes never left mine as he spoke.

"He wanted to make sure you went on this cruise. When Jake disappeared, Brian felt that someone needed to look after you, to make sure you were okay. I mean, now we know that you’re a badass and you would have been fine, but he was worried, you know?”

“Enzo,” I warned.

“And I was worried, too. That’s why I talked to Imogen. But Brian went above and beyond, didn’t you?"

The words hit the air like a confession, and I felt heat climb up my neck.

"How did you—"

"I'm not stupid,"

Enzo said, his voice gentle but implacable.

"I heard the phone calls, and I know what they wanted to charge you to add another passenger to the cruise fare."

Gemma was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read, her wine glass forgotten in her hands.

"Is that true? You paid this much for me to go?"

I wanted to deflect, to minimize what I'd done, but something in her eyes stopped me.

"Once Enzo and Imogen came up with the idea, I couldn’t let it go, no matter how much it was going to cost," I said.

"You deserved better than what Jake did, and he’s my brother. I felt responsible… It was a simple matter of selling my car."

“You sold your car?”

Enzo yelled. “Dude.”

“And… perhaps quit my job.”

I muttered, not meeting their eyes.

"You quit your job,"

she repeated, like she was trying to make sense of the concept.

"You sold your car. For me. When you barely knew me."

"It’s just a job. Accounting jobs aren’t that hard to find. And I didn’t like my boss, anyway."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with implications. Then Gemma was moving, setting down her wine and crossing to where I stood. Her hands found my face, fingers tracing the lines of exhaustion I knew were etched around my eyes.

"You take care of everyone,"

she whispered, echoing Enzo's words.

"But who takes care of you?"

"I don't need—"

"Yes, you do,"

she interrupted, her voice taking on that authoritative tone that made my cock twitch despite my exhaustion.

"Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes. Even you."

Enzo moved to stand behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders with familiar warmth.

"Let us,"

he said, his voice low and compelling.

"Let us take care of you for once."

Before I could protest, they were guiding me toward the bedroom, their hands gentle but insistent. The space was dominated by a massive bed draped in cream silk, with windows that offered a panoramic view of Bath's historic rooftops. But I barely noticed the elegant surroundings, too focused on the way these two incredible people were looking at me—with love, with gratitude, with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

"Lie down,"

Gemma said, her voice soft but brooking no argument.

"Let us show you how much you mean to us."

I found myself obeying, sinking onto the silk sheets as they positioned themselves on either side of me. Enzo's fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt with practiced efficiency, while Gemma's hands moved to my belt, her touch reverent and careful.

"You're always so controlled,"

she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my exposed collarbone.

"Always thinking about what everyone else needs. But right now, we're going to focus on what you need."

My shirt disappeared, followed by my pants and briefs, until I was naked beneath their fully clothed bodies. The contrast was intoxicating—their warm hands on my bare skin, the soft fabric of their clothes brushing against me as they moved. I felt vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with nudity and everything to do with the way they were looking at me.

"Beautiful,"

Enzo breathed, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear.

"So fucking beautiful."

Gemma's mouth traced a path down my chest, her tongue flicking against my nipples before moving lower. I could feel my cock hardening under their combined attention, but this wasn't about desperate need or overwhelming passion. This was about being worshipped, about having my worth measured in soft touches and gentle kisses.

"Just relax,"

Gemma whispered against my skin.

"Let us love you."

They worked together with the kind of coordination that came from weeks of learning each other's bodies, each other's rhythms. Enzo's mouth claimed mine in a kiss that was all heat and tenderness, while Gemma's lips moved lower, pressing soft kisses to my stomach, my hip bones, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

When her mouth finally wrapped around my cock, I couldn't hold back the groan that tore from my throat. She took me deep, her tongue working magic while Enzo's hands roamed my chest, pinching and teasing until I was writhing beneath them.

"That's it,"

Enzo murmured against my ear.

"Let go. Let us take care of you."

I felt myself building toward climax faster than I'd expected, the combination of their attention and the emotional intensity of the day pushing me rapidly toward the edge. But instead of the desperate, overwhelming orgasms we'd shared over the past weeks, this felt different—deeper, more profound, like they were drawing pleasure from some well I'd never known existed.

"I'm close,"

I gasped, my hands fisting in the silk sheets.

"Good,"

Gemma said, lifting her head just enough to speak.

"Come for us, Brian. Let us see you fall apart."

Then her mouth was on me again, and Enzo's lips found mine, swallowing my cries as the orgasm crashed through me with devastating intensity. I came harder than I had in weeks, my body convulsing as they held me through the waves of pleasure, their hands and mouths never stopping their gentle worship.

As I came down from the high, they curled around me on the silk sheets, their bodies warm and solid against mine. For the first time in my adult life, I felt truly cared for—not just desired, but cherished. Protected. Loved.

"We're going to figure this out,"

Gemma said softly, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

"Whatever it takes, we're going to make this work."

I closed my eyes, feeling more content than I had in years.

"Yes,"

I agreed, my voice rough with emotion. "We are."