Page 105 of Better When Shared
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.
