Page 220 of Better When Shared
The intensity built within me, a rising tide of pleasure amplified by the knowledge that this wasn’t just sex—it was a promise, a beginning, a future I’d never dared hope for. I’d spent years running from commitment, from vulnerability, but caught between these two, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever been afraid.
“Close,” I warned, the pressure building at the base of my spine, my balls drawing tight. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Yes,” Imogen urged, grinding up into me, her pussy clenching around me as she chased her own release. “Let go for us.”
Hamish’s thrusts grew more forceful, more erratic, his breath hot against my neck. “With us,” he demanded, one hand reaching around to pinch Imogen’s nipple, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Together.”
My orgasm hit with devastating force, tearing through me in waves that seemed endless. I felt Imogen convulse around me, her body arching as she cried out my name, then Hamish’s name. Behind me, Hamish thrust deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside me as he found his own release with a hoarse shout.
For several heartbeats, none of us moved, locked together in perfect connection, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Then slowly, carefully, we disentangled, collapsing onto the mattress in a sweaty, satisfied heap.
Imogen curled against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. Hamish pressed against my back, his arm draped over both of us, his lips brushing gentle kisses along my shoulder.
“That was...” I began, unable to find words adequate to describe what had just happened between us.
“Everything,” Hamish finished for me, his voice thick with emotion. “That was everything.”
Chapter 20
Hamish
A crisp January breeze made me shiver as I stood with Makai a few hundred feet from our newly constructed stables, watching him eye the horse pastures with the same trepidation I’d once felt facing my first wave.
Six months into our new life together, Imogen and I were well and truly settled at Strawberry Creek Ranch, horses included.
Between immigration headaches and our international move, it had been a bumpy road to get to a stable place, but once we’d committed, the three of us had been all in, and we’d worked together to make it happen.
After spending most of our time there for months, we’d officially moved into Makai’s house in October. Not long after that, things had started to fall into place. Imogen’s bosses at the Bindery Group had set up a lease agreement on my estate, freeing up the funds we needed to truly settle in here, horses and all.
I still found moments like these surreal—me, the uptight homebody, now attempting to coax my adventure-loving partner toward an animal he’d somehow avoided his entire life. His jaw clenched, that telltale sign of nervousness he thought he hid so well, and I fought back a smile as I reached for his hand.
“All we’re going to do is walk past the horses, nothing more,” I said, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze.
Makai’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting. “Why does that line sound familiar?”
I laughed, the sound carrying across the open space between the horse pastures and the adventure tour barn. “That’s how you taught me to surf, remember? First, we just took a walk on the beach. Then you talked me into trying on a wetsuit.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “By the end of the day, I was on a board.”
“Manipulative bastard,” Makai muttered, but there was warmth in his voice and the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. He glanced toward the thoroughbreds grazing in the distance, then back at me. “The difference is, the ocean never kicked me in the head or stomped on my foot.”
“Neither have any of our horses.” I paused, watching a chestnut mare lift her head to observe us. “Yet.”
“Not helping.”
The sound of footsteps drew our attention, and we both turned to see Imogen approaching from the direction of the smallerpaddock. She led a diminutive Welsh pony with a cream-colored coat and golden mane, its steps delicate and measured beside her confident stride. Butterscotch—named by the previous owners but so fitting we hadn’t bothered to change it—stood no taller than Imogen’s shoulder, making him the perfect starter horse for children’s lessons. Or, as I was hoping, for reluctant surf instructors with an inexplicable fear of equines.
I felt Makai stiffen beside me. His hand slipped from mine as he took a step backward, then another, retreating toward the Salish Sea Adventure Tours barn.
“I love you both very much,” he said, his voice taking on a forced casual tone, “but you guys can handle the horses. I’ll just be over here with the dirt bikes and rock climbing stuff.”
Imogen giggled, adjusting her grip on Butterscotch’s lead rope. “Such bravery from the man who jumps off cliffs for fun.”
“Cliffs don’t have minds of their own.” Makai took another step back. “Or teeth.”
I closed the distance between us, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Baby steps,” I said quietly, taking his hand again and tugging him gently forward. “Just like you did with me. Remember how terrified I was the first time I stood up on that surfboard?”
“You were a natural.” His eyes remained fixed on Butterscotch, who stood placidly beside Imogen, occasionally nickering softly.
“I was terrified,” I corrected him. “But I trusted you.”
