Page 33 of Triple Tidings
“Can you feel—” I manage to gasp, but my words falter, turning to a whine as Wells tilts my hips just right, dragging my swollen clit over the coarse hair at his base.
August’s teeth graze my shoulder. “Yeah, baby. I can feel you both. Do you want me to show you how to get him off extra hard?”
Beneath me, Wells’ jaw tightens.
Though I can’t see him, I can hear the mischief in August’s voice. “Call him what you did downstairs.”
The memory comes back to me, and in this context, no longer colored by the embarrassment of the moment it happened, I imagine I can see the flash of desire that appeared in Wells’ face when I said… that.
Heat is tightening and tightening in the lowest part of my belly, becoming unbearable as the two men continue rutting into me, desperate and relentless.
My teeth graze the patch of tender skin below Wells’ ear as I moan the words I know he wants to hear. “Come inside me, daddy.”
And he does.
Hard.
Fourteen
Wells
“Do all your guests have to make their own breakfast?”
Across The Chestnut’s small but well-equipped kitchen, Lacey abandons her inspection of August’s egg scrambling technique to glare playfully over at me.
“You’re spreading butter on toast,” she counters, fighting a smile. “Is that too much of a burden for you,Mr. Davis?”
It’s hard to even pretend I’m annoyed with her when she looks like this, bare-faced and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her curls already escaping from the messy bun she pulled them into before we left the room.
Outside the kitchen window, glittering snowflakes are drifting down from the oak trees bordering the property. According to the weather report, it’s below zero outside, but I’m not bothered.
There is nowhere I need to go.
“It does seem like a questionable hospitality practice, pulling your guests out of bed to help with the cooking. On Christmas Day, too,” August teases, grinning at me over her shoulder. “I’ll have to mention this in my online review.”
Lacey shudders. “Oh my god, don’t even joke. Our rating went down last month because a guest gave us a one-star rating.The reason?” She shakes her head, looking disgusted. “They didn’t likehow close the building is to the trees. Apparently, in the pictures online, it lookedmuchfarther.”
It seems ominous that my first impulse is to track down that asshole guest and give them a piece of my mind.
“That’s ridiculous. The Chestnut is about a mile ahead of any other place around here.” I scoff, turning my attention back to the task she set me. How anyone could take a single step inside this business and not be amazed at the love Lacey and her family put into it is beyond me. Even the damn butter is freshly churned, and the bread is baked locally.
To my surprise, a pair of fluffy, robe-clad arms wrap around my waist, hugging me from behind. “You’re secretly a big cinnamon roll, aren’t you, Wells Davis?”
Lacey pulls away, returning to the tray of maple-glazed bacon she just pulled out of the oven, but not before pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Lace,” I tell her gruffly, my chest a little tight.
We haven’t talked about what, if anything, comes next for us.
Tomorrow, the plumber promised to have the part for my furnace ready to go, August is getting on a flight back to California, and Lacey’s staff is coming back to work, along with a fresh wave of guests.
Unconventional as it might be, being with these two people has been easier than any relationship I’ve ever had with a single one.
August and I are in different places in our lives than we were when we first met. We’ve changed, but the connection between us hasn’t. Then there’s Lacey, and even if seeing each other doesn’t present any immediate logistical challenges, she hasn’t mentioned a single thing.
All of this is so damn new. Right now, we’re caught up in our holiday fling, but no matter how good or easy it is, that doesn’t mean it will continue on after Christmas at The Chestnut.
It’s becoming harder and harder to convince myself I’m fine with that. After spending so long on my own, that time interspersed with the occasional date or relationship that went nowhere, feeling this way about not just one person but two is unsettling as hell.
“Alright,” August announces, sliding the pan from the burner, “I think we’re good on my end.”
