Page 163 of Better When Shared
"Are you going to film the wedding too?" Brian asked as he reached the top of the steps, his blue eyes immediately finding mine with that familiar mix of affection and concern that made my chest warm. "And more importantly, are you wearing sunscreen? That Pacific Northwest sun is deceptive."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't suppress my grin as he moved closer and planted a kiss on my cheek, probably sniffing for sunscreen while he was at it.
"Yes, mother," I said, tilting my head to give him better access. "I'm wearing SPF 50, I've been staying hydrated, and I promise I won't run with scissors."
"Smart ass," he murmured, but his lips found the spot behind my ear that always made me shiver. The kiss was soft, possessive, and entirely inappropriate for a professional setting, but I didn't give a fuck. Let the whole hotel see how much my boyfriend loved me.
Caleb cleared his throat with exaggerated awkwardness. "Right, well, I should probably go find Julian and Nisha before they start wondering where I've disappeared to," he said, shouldering his laptop bag. "Thanks for the footage, Enzo. Text me when you've got the rough cut ready."
"Will do," I said, watching him head toward the main building with that easy stride that seemed to run in the Bancroft family. It was still surreal sometimes, being part of this world where million-dollar hotel renovations were casual conversation topics and private jets were used for weekend getaways. But somehow, with Brian and Gemma beside me, I belonged.
As Caleb disappeared through the hotel's main entrance, I became acutely aware of Brian's hand sliding down my back, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine through my t-shirt. I could feel his gaze on my ass, and the heat in his eyes made my cock twitch with interest despite the public setting.
"See something you like?" I asked.
"Always," Brian said. "Especially when I can still imagine the marks I left on you this morning."
The memory hit me like a physical blow—Brian's hands gripping my hips as he fucked me into the hotel room's expensive mattress, his cock stretching me open while Gemma watched with hungry eyes. I'd been face-down in the pillows, my ass in the air, while he pounded into me with the kind of desperate intensity that left me shaking and satisfied in equal measure.
"Fuck," I breathed, my body responding to the memory with embarrassing speed. "You can't just say shit like that when we're in public."
"Are you going to pretend to be a prude now?" Gemma asked, stepping in close and standing on her tiptoes to kiss me on the lips. "I seem to remember you being quite vocal about what you wanted this morning. Something about being Brian's 'personal fuck toy,' if I recall correctly."
The heat that flooded my cheeks was immediate and intense, but it was nothing compared to the arousal that shot straight to my cock as she looked around to make sure we were alone, then palmed me through my jeans.
She was right—I'd been practically begging for it this morning, my body still loose and satisfied from the night before but already craving more. There was something about the way these two could reduce me to desperate need that never got old.
"You're both insatiable," I said, but I was already moving closer to them, wrapping my arms around them, drawn by the gravitational pull of their combined presence. "Absolutely fucking insatiable."
"You love it," Brian said, his arm sliding around my waist with casual possessiveness. "You love us."
The simple statement hit me with surprising force. He was right, of course. I loved them with an intensity that still surprised me sometimes. But more than that, I loved the life we'd built together, the way we fit into each other's spaces and dreams and daily routines like puzzle pieces finally finding their proper places.
Six months ago, I'd been a drifter with a storage unit full of winter clothes and a talent for finding beautiful places without ever fitting in to any of them. I’d been searching for a sense of purpose and belonging that had always seemed just out of reach.
Now, watching the sunset paint the Salish Sea in shades of gold and pink while Brian's thumb traced circles on my hip and Gemma wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my chest, I finally understood what I'd been looking for all along. It wasn't one perfect career or one ideal location or even one consuming passion. It was these two people, this partnership, this sense of being understood and accepted and cherished for who I was without trying to fix me.
The drone work still excited me, combining my love of travel with technical skills I'd never realized I possessed, but I’d cometo understand that my true passion was learning new things, and I was taking other classes that related to my work — marketing, photography, even a drawing class.
The merged Bancroft-Bindery brand meant I got to document the creation of unique spaces, capturing the moment when abandoned buildings became something beautiful and new. But more than that, it meant I got to work alongside Brian, whose analytical mind had found its perfect match in the complex financial structures of international hospitality, and Gemma, whose vision and drive had elevated both hotel chains to new heights.
"You're thinking too hard," Gemma said. "I can practically hear the gears turning."
"Just thinking about how much has changed," I said. "Six months ago, I was convinced I was better off alone. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else."
"Good,” Brian’s grip on my waist tightened. “Because you're stuck with us now. No more running off to photograph glaciers in Iceland or surf breaks in Indonesia."
Gemma’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. "Not unless you take us with you. I've always wanted to see the Northern Lights."
The casual assumption that our future would include shared adventures, that they wanted to be part of whatever crazy scheme I dreamed up next, made something warm and settled unfurl in my chest. This was what partnership looked like—notjust the incredible sex and emotional support, but the practical reality of building a life together, of making decisions as a team rather than as individuals.
"I can arrange that," I said, my voice carrying a promise that went deeper than vacation planning. "I can arrange anything you want."
Before either of them could respond, I heard footsteps pounding up the wooden steps, accompanied by the kind of breathless panic that usually meant wedding-related emergencies. Imogen appeared at the top of the stairs, her usually perfect hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed with exertion.
“Are you quite all right, Imogen?” Gemma asked.
"Oh, yes, it’s going swimmingly," she gasped. "Planning weddings is quite exhilirating, isn’t it? Shall we get to yours next?”
