I move from the chair to the couch, sitting on her other side so she's between us. My hand finds hers, our fingers intertwining. "I want this," I tell her, my voice low. "I want you. The rest—" I glance at Julian, at our hands, at her still-flat stomach, "—we'll just see where it goes."
The smile that breaks across her face is like sunrise, bright and full of promise. She squeezes my hand, then reaches for Julian's with her free one, creating a closed circuit between the three of us.
"Okay," she says, and there's a new confidence in her voice I haven't heard before. "Together, then."
Julian's eyes meet mine over her head, and I see my own mix of desire and hope reflected there. Whatever this is—this strange, unexpected connection between the three of us—it feels right in a way I never could have anticipated. Complicated, yes. Unconventional, absolutely. But right.
And for now, that's enough.
Chapter 21
Camille
My heart hammers against my chest as Julian's fingers tighten around mine. The weight of Tristan's gaze follows us as Julian leads me toward the bedroom.
This is happening. This is really happening. A flutter of nerves twists in my stomach, but beneath it runs a current of something else—desire, curiosity, the thrill of stepping into uncharted territory with these two men who look at me like I'm something precious.
"We can stop anytime," Julian murmurs, his thumb brushing reassuringly across my knuckles. "Just say the word."
I glance over my shoulder at Tristan, half-expecting to find hesitation in his eyes. Instead, I find heat—a smoldering intensity that makes my skin flush. He gives me a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting in what might be the beginnings of a smile.
"I don't want to stop," I whisper, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
Julian's bedroom is bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon sun filtering through half-drawn blinds. The sheets are rumpled from where I'd napped earlier, and somethingabout that detail—the evidence of my comfort in his space—grounds me.
They position me between them, Julian at my front, Tristan at my back. Four hands move over me with careful reverence—Julian's fingers working the buttons of my blouse while Tristan's palms slide warmly across my shoulders, easing the fabric down my arms. I stand still, breathing shallow, as they undress me piece by piece. They remain fully clothed, and the imbalance heightens everything—my vulnerability, my awareness of being the center of their attention.
"Gorgeous," Tristan breathes against my neck when I'm finally naked. His hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing the curve where they flare out from my waist.
Julian cups my face, tilting it up toward his. "You good?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.
I nod, unable to find words for the tangle of emotions coursing through me. Julian's mouth captures mine in a kiss that's achingly familiar now—playful, generous, his tongue teasing against mine. When he pulls back, Tristan turns my face toward him and claims his own kiss.
Where Julian is playful, Tristan is deliberate—methodical in a way that makes my knees weak. He kisses like he's solving a puzzle, each movement designed to discover what makes me sigh against his mouth.
They guide me to the bed, their hands steady as I lie back against the pillows. Julian immediately moves down my body, settling between my thighs. The first touch of his tongue on me sends electricity up my spine. My eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping my lips.
Tristan stretches out beside me, his weight dipping the mattress. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my sounds as Julian works between my legs. The dual sensation—Julian'stongue circling my clit while Tristan's kisses grow deeper, more demanding—is almost too much to process.
"Her breasts," Julian says, lifting his head briefly. His hair is mussed, his lips wet. "Be gentle with them. They're sensitive."
Tristan's eyes meet mine, understanding flickering in their blue depths. His hand moves slowly up my ribs to cup one breast, his touch feather-light. When his thumb grazes my nipple, I gasp at the sharp jolt of pleasure-pain that shoots through me.
"Like this?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.
"Yes," I breathe. "Just like that."
His mouth replaces his fingers, and I arch into the wet heat of it. His tongue flicks lightly across my nipple, careful not to apply too much pressure. The restraint in his movements, the way he holds himself back, drives me wilder than any rougher touch could.
"You like that, don't you?" Tristan murmurs against my skin, his breath cooling the dampness left by his mouth. "Like having both of us focused on making you feel good." His hand kneads my other breast gently. "I've thought about this—about watching you come undone." His teeth graze my collarbone, just sharp enough to make me shiver. "About making you so desperate you can’t think straight."
His words wash over me, stoking the fire building low in my belly. Between my legs, Julian's rhythm intensifies—his tongue moving in deliberate patterns that have me clutching at the sheets. Pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until I'm right on the edge, my breath coming in short gasps.
And then he stops.
I whimper at the sudden absence, my hips lifting in a plea.
Julian chuckles, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh where his mouth now presses. "Patience," he murmurs, his breath teasing across my wet flesh.
