Page 97 of Better When Shared
The transformation in Tristan was intoxicating. Gone was the controlled CEO—in his place was a man driven by pure hunger, his hands roaming my body like he was trying to memorize every curve through touch alone. The cashmere of his creation felt like a second skin, making me powerful and desired in ways that went straight to my head.
"More," I gasped against his mouth, my fingers clawing at the cotton of his shirt. I needed skin, needed the heat of his skin against mine.
His shirt joined the growing pile of discarded clothing, revealing the kind of muscled chest that spoke of private gym sessions and careful maintenance. Dark hair dusted his pectorals, trailing down his flat stomach to where his cock was hard and leaking between us. The sight made my mouth water, made my pussy clench with want that bordered on pain.
"Look at you," Marco's voice cut through the haze of sensation, warm and approving. "Fucking gorgeous. Both of you."
The encouragement sent heat racing through my veins. I loved that Marco was watching, loved that he wanted this, too. My husband's dark eyes tracked every movement as Tristan's mouth found my throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in ways that made me arch into his touch.
"That's it," Marco continued, his voice dropping to that rough timber that meant he was getting as turned on as I was. "Show her what you've been thinking about. All those fantasies you've been hiding."
Tristan groaned against my neck, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. His hands found the strategic openings in the dress he'd made, fingers sliding through gaps designed specifically for this purpose. The yarn parted like water under his touch, revealing my breasts.
"Fuck," he breathed, staring at my exposed flesh like he was seeing art in a museum. "You're perfect. So goddamn perfect."
His mouth replaced his hands, lips closing around my nipple with a desperate hunger that made my knees weak. The contrast was maddening—soft cashmere against most of my skin, hot mouth on the peaks of my breasts, cool air everywhere the dress allowed access. He'd created something that would let him worship my body while keeping me wrapped up in his craft.
"Marco," I gasped as Tristan's teeth grazed my nipple, sending electricity straight to my clit.
My husband was beside me in an instant, his familiar warmth balancing Tristan's desperate intensity. When Marco's mouth found mine, when his tongue swept against my lips in the kind of kiss that spoke of years of practice, I thought I might come from sensation overload alone.
Two sets of hands, two mouths, two different kinds of hunger focused entirely on my pleasure. Tristan's touch was all desperate discovery, like he was afraid I might disappear if he stopped touching me. Marco's touch was familiar and confident. He knew exactly what would make me arch and moan and beg for more.
"Such a good girl for us," Marco murmured against my lips, sharing the flavor of my mouth with words that made Tristan moan against my breast. "Wait until you taste her pussy."
The suggestion made Tristan's whole body shudder against mine. His hands slid lower, finding more strategic openings in the dress that allowed access to my hips, my thighs, the slick heat between my legs that was already soaking the cashmere.
Tristan dropped to his knees, his hands pushing the dress up around my waist. The movement revealed my pussy to his hungry gaze, and the sound he made was pure worship.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his breath hot against my inner thighs. “So fucking tempting.”
The first touch of his tongue against my clit made me cry out into Marco's mouth, my hips bucking against Tristan's face with desperate need. He was skilled—more skilled than I'd expected from someone who projected such careful control. His tongue moved in patterns that suggested plenty of experience, lapping at my pussy like he was starved for my taste.
"That's it," Marco encouraged, his hands cupping my breasts through the openings in the dress while his mouth moved to my neck. "Look how good you're making her feel. She's so wet for you already."
Tristan pressed in, his tongue diving deeper, exploring every fold and crease like he was mapping territory he planned to claim permanently. When he found that spot just inside that made me see stars, when he pressed against it with exactly the right pressure, I screamed his name loud enough to echo off the oak-paneled walls.
The combination was overwhelming—Marco's familiar touch on my breasts, his teeth scraping against my throat, while Tristan's tongue worked my pussy with the desperate intensity of a man finally allowed to indulge his deepest fantasies. The cashmere dress clung to my skin where I was sweating, the fabric somehow making every sensation more intense.
"I'm going to come," I gasped, my hands fisting in Tristan's hair as pressure built low in my belly. "Please don't stop. Don't fucking stop."
Tristan's response was to seal his lips around my clit and suck with exactly the pressure I needed while his tongue continued its relentless assault. Marco's mouth found my nipple through the dress opening, biting gently while his hands roamed over every inch of skin the garment revealed.
My orgasm hit like a freight train, pleasure tearing through my nervous system with enough force to make my vision white out at the edges. I screamed both their names as I came, my body convulsing against Tristan's mouth while Marco held me steady against the wall. Wave after wave of sensation crashed over me, leaving me shaking and gasping and completely wrecked.
Tristan didn't stop until the last aftershock faded, his tongue gentle now as he cleaned every drop of my release. When he finally pulled away, his face was glazed with my juices, his green eyes wild with satisfaction and renewed hunger.
"Perfect," he said, his voice wrecked. "You taste perfect."
Strong arms lifted me from the wall, Marco and Tristan working together to carry me the few steps to the massive four-poster bed that dominated the room. My legs felt like water, aftershocks still rippling through my core as they laid me back against pillows that smelled of lavender. The cashmere dress now clung to my sweat-dampened skin and had shifted to reveal even more of my body.
Tristan loomed over me, his cock jutting thick and proud from his hips, pre-cum glistening at the tip in a way that made my mouth water. But as Marco began stripping off his ownclothes with efficient movements, something shifted in Tristan's expression. The wild hunger flickered, replaced by a flash of his old careful control.
"I don't have—" he started, then stopped, color flooding his sharp cheekbones. "I didn't bring protection. Condoms."
The practical concern hit like cold water, threatening to shatter the heated bubble we'd created. But behind it was concern and care for me that made me smile.
"I need your cock inside me," I said, my voice rough with desperation. "Right fucking now."
