Page 67 of Bossing My Holiday
“Stop dimpling me. You’re making me nervous.”
He laughs. “But it’s my dimples that sell you, Sunshine.”
There are certain moments in a woman’s life when she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing will ever be the same after it. This is one of those moments, and I don’t just mean the sex. I mean the two men looking at me with something in their eyes that makes my heart speed up and my chest clench at the same time.
Tristan grabs a tie he has sitting out, one he left out the other day and never bothered to put away. The cool silk goes over my eyes, and he kisses me as he ties it behind my head. “If you don’t like anything, you simply tell us to stop.”
“And if I like everything?”
“Then we might have to marry you.”
I smile at his teasing tone. There will be no marriage with this. I already know it’s sex and that when we return to Boston, this fantasy is over. It has to be. There’s no way the three of us could be real in the real world. It doesn’t exist. Not with men like them. Not with situations like ours.
Besides, I overheard Tristan’s mom and grand-mère mention how Alain had called them into his office to talk to Tristan about how it’s time he moved back to Paris now that we’ve taken over Smithfield. So I can’t give him my heart. My world is in Boston.
Braxton is another matter, but he’s also still my boss, and there are rules about that sort of thing. But for now…
“Such a good little princess for me,” Tristan murmurs and kisses me.
I hear Braxton move, the metal sound of a purse unclasping, and then the telltale buzzing of a vibrator. Holy shit.
“What about the asshole spray?”
“I figured you used it all the first night you slept in my bed as an incantation.”
I laugh and bite my inner cheek as the buzzing draws closer. “But you fucked me the next morning.”
“Pleased to say it didn’t work. We’re going to make you come. Then we’re going to take turns fucking you.” The crude words almost have me coming on the spot. “And then, if you’re very good, we’re both going to have you at the same time. Now open your pretty mouth for me.”
I open my mouth, and the vibrator slips between my lips. Just for a minute. Just so I can suck on it enough to get it wet, and then it’s gone, and something else replaces it. A dick. There’s a dick in my mouth when there was a vibrator before it, and how is this my life?
I hum, my lips stretching and my tongue flattening as the vibrator reaches my clit. I’ve never used a vibrator before. It sat in my purse after Jennie gave it to me, and before that, I couldn’t afford one. Those bitches can be damn expensive, and I figured my fingers were good enough.
Well, let me tell you, my fingers were clearly not good enough.
Becauseoh wow.
I instantly start rocking into the toy as the cock in my mouth starts fucking me. I’m chasing both sensations, unable to grapple with which one to focus on the most. But then there’s the other thing. The way I’m being moved and positioned, and suddenly I’m bending forward and…
“Oh, fuck!” I garble around the dick that I think belongs to Tristan if we’re going by the way he’s fucking my mouth and groaning above me because Braxton’s big dick is in my pussy and his wet—lubed?—finger is in my ass and there’s a goddamn toy on my clit.
My knees shake only to buckle, and suddenly the dick is gone from my mouth, and I can breathe, but I’m on my back with my legs spread, and “Oh!”
Because someone is inside of me again, pumping slowly as the toy buzzes and hums aggressively against my clit. My toescurl, and my hands lash out, needing to grab… something. Anything.
The one inside of me pulls out, and then another is in me, fucking me, and this feels so dirty. So depraved. I feel used, and it should be shameful, but it’s not. It’s goddamn glorious, and I revel in the filth of it. I want them to use me. I want to do every imaginable thing they can conjure up in their brilliant minds.
And I don’t want them to stop. Maybe not ever.
23
TRISTAN
The Paris lights twinkle beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring in the December mist. It’s Christmas Eve, and all I want to think about is Waverly’s moans and Brax’s face as he fucks our girl. My father’s words from yesterday still echo in my ears like an unruly teen who won’t be turned away or put in their place. But as I watch Waverly laugh at something Braxton whispers in her ear, only to hear it slip into a moan as he thrusts into her, her cheeks flushed from expensive Bordeaux and wild lust, I realize I’m exactly where I want to be.
With the two of them.
It’s as simple and complex and impossible as that.
