Page 102 of Better When Shared
Marco
I paused in the doorway to the room we'd claimed as our own, a tray of food in my hands, struck by the tableau before me. Juniper sat propped against the carved headboard, her brown skin luminous in the lamplight, wearing nothing but the white shirt Tristan had been wearing on the first day. It hung open and loose on her frame, revealing the curve of one shoulder and hinting at treasures beneath. Her fingers moved through Tristan's hair, massaging his scalp with with gentle, repetitive strokes that spoke of comfort rather than seduction.
After two days of passionate sex, we'd learned that Tristan had struggled silently with anxiety for years. His panic attack had hit suddenly and all at once, when we'd started to talk about returning to Bat
Now, Tristan lay with his head in my wife's lap, relaxed and a little zoned out. It looked like her massage was working wonders. His sharp features relaxed in ways I'd never seen.But it was his expression that made my chest tight—vulnerable and peaceful, like he'd finally found permission to simply exist without performing.
"You're doing a good job of taking care of him," I said softly, not wanting to break the spell but needing to acknowledge what I was seeing.
Juniper's smile was tender. "The panic attack was a little scary. But I get it. All that control, all that responsibility. It's exhausting. Sometimes you just need someone to rub your back and tell you it's okay to rest."
Tristan made a grumpy sound. "I've never had a panic attack in front of someone before." Something warm and complex bloomed behind my ribs, followed by a pressure behind my eyes as I realized how scary his panic attacks must have been to manage on his own. I wanted to hug him close, to make him understand it was okay. I wondered where his parents had been through all of this. He'd said something about their early retirement and travel, but that was all I knew. Juniper probably understood better than anyone. She had little in the way of family. My parents were wonderful, warm and sweet, and they'd likely adopt Tristan as their own the moment they met him. As I watched them cuddle, I realized that this was what I'd hoped for without quite knowing how to name it. It wasn't just a sexual connection, but genuine care. The kind of intimacy that meant seeing someone's needs and meeting them without being asked.
I set the tray carefully on the mattress, arranging plates and glasses with the same attention I'd given the cooking. "The internet said that getting a good meal can help with anxiety.Moderate the blood sugar levels and give you a nice hit of happy hormones. So dinner is served. It's nothing fancy, but it should restore some essential nutrients we've lost with all the sex."
Tristan stirred, lifting his head to survey the spread with obvious appreciation. "It smells incredible. I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me without being paid for it."
The admission, like his panic attack, hit harder than I expected it to. Here was a man who could afford any restaurant in the world, any chef or service he desired. But no one was taking care of him just because they wanted to.
We ate directly from the tray, sharing portions and stealing bites from each other's plates with the kind of casual intimacy that usually took years to develop. With Mr. Donnelly's help, I'd cobbled together ingredients for a stir fry that was exactly what our bodies needed; savory and satisfying without being heavy. The kind of food that reminded you that eating could be pleasure instead of mere sustenance.
Tristan reached for his water glass with movements that were looser than his usual precision. The recovery from his panic attack had mellowed his rigid edges."Let's stay," Juniper said. "One more night. And to be clear, we'll still want to fuck you in Bath."
I grinned. "Or wherever else we may be."
I watched something shift in his expression, relief washing over his features. Maybe Tristan was learning to want thingsfor himself instead of just accepting what duty demanded. He nodded. "I suppose it would be impractical to attempt the drive in questionable conditions."
"Absolutely impractical," I agreed, hiding my grin in Juniper's hair. "Downright irresponsible, even.”
Juniper's grin turned wicked, an expression that meant she was about to say something that would make us both blush. "Speaking of irresponsible things, you haven't eaten your strawberries. You need your vitamins, Tristan." She reached for one, holding it out to him. "Be a good boy and open up," she commanded softly, holding the bread just beyond Tristan's reach.
His lips parted automatically, pupils dilating as she placed the bright red berry against his soft, pink lips. I watched, mesmerized, as he took a bite, and she traced the curve of his lower lip with the juicy fruit, letting the sugary sweetness coat his skin.
She dragged the berry across her chest, dripping sticky juice in places that made my mouth water, then popped it into her mouth, chewing with a soft moan of pleasure.
“You made a little mess,” she whispered, licking his lips, then pressing her sticky finger between them.
Tristan's response was immediate and desperate. His lips closed around her digit, tongue swirling against sensitive skin while his eyes fluttered shut in concentration. He kissed his way upher wrist, licking and nipping, then followed the sticky trail down the hollow between her breasts. The sight sent heat racing straight to my cock. There was something primal and possessive about watching him submit to her gentle dominance, about seeing his careful control dissolve under her control.
I took another berry from the tray, biting into it, then gliding it over the curve of her breast and coaxing him to lick her clean. Juniper's breath hitched as his mouth closed around her nipple, working it with increasing confidence.
"Fuck," I muttered, moving to clear the tray from the bed. Plates and glasses were relocated to the nightstand with more haste than care, because suddenly food was the last thing on any of our minds.
"He's a natural," Juniper observed, her voice thick with arousal as she watched Tristan worship her tits. "Look how eager he is to please. How good he is with his mouth."
The praise made Tristan moan around her nipple, his hips shifting restlessly against the mattress.
Juniper’s gentle control was working wonders, making him forget all about the panic attack, focusing him on one thing: her body. And I wanted to help.
"Let me show you something," I said, moving closer until I could feel the heat radiating from both their bodies. My hand found Tristan's shoulder, fingers tracing the defined muscle while he continued his devoted attention to Juniper's breasts.
"She likes it a little rough," I murmured, tracing the line of his jaw as he worked my wife's breast in his mouth. "Feel how hard her nipples get as you nip at them."
Tristan followed my instruction with reverent care, his teeth grazing her skin. Juniper's head fell back against the pillows, a soft sound escaping her throat that made us both want to hear more.
"That's it," I encouraged, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Just like that. Now try the other side."
Finally, she fed him the rest of the berry, like it was a reward for his hard work, and he ate it, moaning softly as he stared down at her like he was witnessing art, his breathing rough and uneven. "You're beautiful," he said, the words carrying the weight of genuine reverence. "Both of you. I can't believe this is real."
