Page 61 of Better When Shared
For several long moments, we clung to each other, heartbeats slowing. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a tenderness that made my throat tight.
"Was that..." he began.
"Perfect," I finished for him, pressing my forehead to his. "And I'd better buy this lingerie. We made a mess of it."
His laugh, soft and intimate, vibrated through both our bodies. "Besides, you look beautiful in it. Best Christmas shopping trip ever." He tugged off the tag. “We’ll tell her you decided to wear it home.”
Chapter 11
Julian
I scattered rose petals across our bed, the cliché of it all making me laugh, then wonder if he’d take it the wrong way. Was it too romantic? Valentine's Day with my wife and our... what? Lover? Friend with benefits? The words felt inadequate, clinical labels for the fire Caleb had ignited in us. But I was still afraid to ask him to be more, despite Nisha’s constant nagging.
He'd be here in thirty minutes, flying in just for forty-eight hours before jetting back to London, and already my cock strained against my zipper at the thought of his hands, his mouth, the way he said my name when he came.
"Rose petals? Someone’s excited," Nisha said from the doorway, startling me. She leaned against the frame in that emerald lingerie set she'd come home with in December, the one she'd whispered was Caleb's choice while I fucked her that night, the one that made me remember what her pussy tasted like when he’d just come inside her. My mouth went dry at the sight of her — tan skin glowing against deep green lace, her curvesaccentuated by strategic cutouts that revealed glimpses of flesh I knew by heart but never tired of.
"Just making things perfect," I said, adjusting my glasses.
She crossed to me, pressing her body against mine as her fingers traced the line of my jaw. "It's already perfect any time we’re together. All three of us."
My hands found her waist, the delicate lace rough beneath my palms as I pulled her closer. "For forty-eight hours."
"Don't," she whispered against my lips. "Don't count the minutes before they've even started. Especially when you won’t ask him to be more to us. My friend Lila and her—"
I held up a hand. “We have to be gentle with him, to take it slow.”
“It’s been six months, Julian. I think we’re past taking it slow.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I think he feels the same. Don’t you?”
I claimed her mouth, silencing my own doubts with the familiar taste of her — mint toothpaste and that spiced tea she drank before bed. Her body melted against mine, soft where I was hard, yielding where I pushed. We'd been married for years, but kissing her still felt like discovering something precious and new, especially now, knowing what waited for us.
The doorbell rang.
We broke apart, both breathing harder than the brief kiss warranted. Nisha's eyes sparkled with mischief and somethingdeeper, something that made my chest ache with emotions I wasn't brave enough to name.
"Go get him," she said, pushing me toward the door. "I'll wait here."
I stumbled down the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like a teenager on his first date. When I yanked open the front door, Caleb stood there with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a small gift bag in the other, his blond hair damp from the February drizzle, cheeks flushed from the cold or perhaps anticipation.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, fiddling with the bag in his hands.
"You made it," I replied stupidly, as if there had been any doubt.
"Of course I did." His smile turned wicked. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
I pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind him before pressing him against it, my mouth finding his with desperate hunger. He tasted like airport coffee and mint gum, his stubble rough against my skin. The champagne bottle pressed cold against my back where his hand had moved to pull me closer.
"Missed me, did you?" he laughed against my lips when we broke apart.
"Shut up," I growled, taking the bottle and bag from him to set aside before helping him out of his wet coat. "It’s been more than a month — since just after Christmas."
"Thirty-eight days," he corrected, hanging his coat on the hook by the door with familiar ease, as if he lived here. As if this was his home too. The thought scared me as much as it thrilled me. "But who's counting?"
"Not me," I lied, leading him upstairs where Nisha waited.
When we entered the bedroom, Nisha had positioned herself on the bed, surrounded by the rose petals I'd scattered. Caleb's sharp intake of breath was gratifying — at least I wasn't the only one reduced to adolescent arousal at the sight of her.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, voice dropping an octave.
