Page 114 of Better When Shared
For the first time in my adult life, I wasn't alone.
And it felt like the beginning of everything.
Epilogue
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.”
