Page 84 of Better When Shared
"Mm, of course," she said. "We wouldn't do anything forbidden without your permission."
My breathing hitched as she settled more tightly against him, her movements creating new ripples that caught the light. Even through the water's distortion, the lights in the pool revealed everything. I could see the way their bodies fit together, the hard shadow of his cock.
This was wrong. Inappropriate. Against every rule I'd ever been taught. I couldn't give them permission.
But I also couldn't look away.
I gritted my teeth as I fought back primal, inappropriate urges. Because the truth was, I wanted to watch them fuck, almost as much as I wanted to rip off my clothing and join them in the pool. I met her eyes and gave one brief nod.
That was all it took for her to feel satisfied she had my consent, and she turned back to him. Their bodies were backlit by a bulb built into the wall just beside him, and it highlighted every detail as she reached under water and stroke him in a way that made him groan. I watched the moment when she took him inside her. She shifted in his lap, reaching between them to guide his cock into her pussy, sinking down slowly.
Her face changed as she took him inside herself. The pure bliss that crossed her features made my knees weak, and I had to grip the back of the chair even tighter to keep from surging forward and joining them, forcing my cock between her softly parted lips and showing her what it felt like to take two men at once.
"That's it," Marco encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Ride me just like that. Show Tristan what you need. Do you want him, too?"
I tightened my grip on the chair to stop my hand from roaming between my legs. I couldn't possibly jerk off to a pair of hotel patrons in our pool. That would be beyond absurd.
"Yes," she whined. "He's so beautiful. I want him inside me."
My vision blurred at the edges as blood rushed south, leaving me dizzy and aching. The veins in my forearms stood out in sharp relief where I gripped the wooden door chair, like it was the only thing that might tether me to sanity.
Juniper's movements were becoming more urgent now, her hips rolling against Marco's in a rhythm that made the water splash gently against the pool's edges. Her breasts swayed with each motion, and I found myself memorizing the way the underwater lights played across her skin, the way her wild curls moved as she threw her head back in pleasure.
"Please, Tristan," she breathed, her eyes finding mine across the water. "Oh fuck."
My name on her lips was like a punch to the gut. It was like a prayer, like something sacred and secret had spilled out. Her fantasy included me, and there was nothing more I wanted in that moment than to indulge her. I held onto the last threads of my restraint with everything I had.
Juniper's pace increased, her breathing becoming shallow and quick. I saw the tension building in her body, watched the way pleasure painted itself across her features in real time. She was close, riding the edge of orgasm while staring straight at me like I was the key to her release.
Her climax hit like a storm breaking. Her back arched completely out of the water, a cry of pure ecstasy tearing from her throat as her body convulsed against Marco's.
The sight of her coming undone, naked and sensual and utterly without shame, nearly destroyed what little sanity I had left. My cock was so hard it was leaking pre-cum, and I could feel it making a mess of my boxer briefs, my hands shaking where they gripped the chair, my breathing reduced to harsh pants that fogged in the cool night air.
For one wild moment, I almost gave in. Almost shed my jacket and tie and dove into that steaming water to claim what they were offering. I almost let myself believe that some things were indeed more important than rules.
But as Juniper's orgasm crested and began to ebb, cold reality crashed back over me like an ice bath. This was my hotel. Myresponsibility. My reputation on the line if anyone discovered the CEO skinny-dipping with naked guests after hours.
I took a step backward, then another, my legs unsteady beneath me.
"This cannot happen again," I said, my voice hoarse with strain and denied desire. "The spa closes at nine. That rule exists for a reason. Please clean up and leave before I send security up."
Before either of them could respond, I turned and walked away on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
Chapter 8
Juniper
Tristan was stiff and awkward as he led us through the mill's weathered entrance, his jaw set so hard it must have been difficult to talk. He looked like he was conducting a hostile takeover, not showing us a charming historic property.
Like he was trying to forget about what he'd seen last night. What he'd agreed to.
Why had he come on this tour, though? Why hadn't he backed out?
"The mill dates to 1843," he said. "Original Cotswold stone construction, with a restored waterwheel mechanism that is still functional."
His tone was all business, but I caught the way his eyes flicked toward me before darting away again. Perhaps he was afraid thatlooking too long might crack the careful composure he'd rebuilt since fleeing our impromptu pool party last night. It made me all the more convinced that there was a real, vibrant, passionate man in there somewhere behind the carefully constructed facade. Heat curled through my belly at the memory of fucking Marco in front of him.
I hadn't decided if I was an exhibitionist, or if Tristan Bancroft drove me to new heights of depravity, but I definitely got off on him watching. His eyes had been full of undeniable want, knuckles white with the effort it took to hold himself back. His restraint was impressive, really. From the way his suit pants had strained at the seams, he was definitely interested.
