I moan around Julian's cock, the vibration making him hiss with pleasure. His grip in my hair tightens, guiding me as I bob my head in time with Tristan's thrusts.
"I'm close," Julian warns, his breath coming in short gasps. "So fucking close."
“Me too,” Tristan says. “It feels too fucking good.”
Both men climax at the same time, Tristan inside me and Julian in my mouth.
Afterward, all four of us lie tangled together in satisfied exhaustion. I’m in the center with my head on Alex's chest, my legs draped over Tristan's lap, and holding Julian’s hand. None of us speak but the silence isn't awkward—it's surprisingly comfortable.
I look around at these people who have become my strange, beautiful family. And I think about our baby, growing stronger each day, who will be born into this unconventional but fiercely loving arrangement.
As complicated as our situation might look from the outside, in this moment it feels like the simplest, most beautiful thing in the world.
Chapter 35
Julian
Ithrow my phone across the couch, unable to stomach another word. The article calls Camille a "manipulative gold-digger" and speculates about which of us is the father of her baby. They've crossed the line. No, scratch that—they've taken a flying leap over the line, then doubled back to piss on it.
I've been patient. We've all been patient. But this is the final straw. No more playing nice.
My fingers are already dialing before my brain fully catches up to my decision. Three rings, then my attorney's voice answers.
"Julian, what can I do for you this morning?"
"Martin, I need cease-and-desist letters sent to every media outlet that's run a story about my personal life in the last month. Full legal pressure. I want them scared enough to think twice before printing another word."
There's a pause, the sound of keyboard clicking. "That's quite a list. Any particular language you want included?"
"Make it clear we'll pursue every legal avenue available. Defamation, harassment, invasion of privacy—whatever sticks. And I want them ASAP."
"Consider it done. Anything else?"
I pace the length of my living room, anger still bubbling beneath my skin. "That’s it for now, Martin."
An hour later, I'm sitting across from my PR team—three impeccably dressed professionals with expressions that oscillate between concerned and calculating. My head of PR, a razor-sharp woman named Diane, slides a draft statement across the table.
"This addresses the rumors without engaging directly with the more salacious claims," she explains. "Dignified but firm."
I scan the statement, shaking my head halfway through. "No, this is too... diplomatic." I push it back across the table. "I'm not asking for a polite request that they respect our privacy. I'm telling them to back the fuck off."
Diane purses her lips. "Julian, we understand your frustration, but?—"
"Do you?" I lean forward. "Do you understand what it's like for Camille to read that she's a gold-digging slut? For people to question which of us is her baby's father, as if it's some trashy paternity drama?" My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. "This isn't about me. I don't care what they say about me. But Camille—she doesn't deserve this."
The room falls silent. Diane nods slowly, then begins typing. "Alright. Let's try a different approach."
We spend the next hour crafting a statement that manages to be both dignified and unambiguous. It confirms the nature of our relationship without apology, states unequivocally that Alex is the biological father of Camille's child, and makes it clear that our private life is not up for public consumption or judgment.
As we're wrapping up, my phone rings. It's Martin again.
"Julian, we have a situation. The Daily Exposure is planning a cover story for tomorrow's edition. My source says it's..." he pauses, "extremely damaging. Allegations about Ms. Montclair's past, implications about her relationship with all three of you,and apparently they're running with a theory that she's using the pregnancy to secure financial commitments from all of you."
My blood turns to ice. "Can we get an injunction?"
"Not in time. They're going to press tonight."
I stand, mind racing. "Who owns the Daily Exposure?"
