Chapter 26 – Braxton
brAXTON
My insides feel like they’re being pummeled.
I’m angry. No, I’m fucking furious. For one, I should have expected this.
I really should have known. For another, I can’t resent his decision.
I don’t have a family, let alone a family like Tristan’s.
I’m all too aware of the pressure and obligations he has.
But the thought of losing my best friend, of him moving to another country, guts me.
I don’t have a lot in my life, but I had Tristan. He was the only constant other than my work.
I walk over to Waverly and take the seat beside her, looking at the pretty diamonds Tristan got her. I knew he got her those because he matched them to the pendant I bought her. I take her hand and hold it, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
“Are you mad at me?”
“What?” she laughs out, but the sound is sad. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because I pushed you two together. I pushed for the three of us.”
“No. I’m not mad. I’m sad because I liked the three of us, and the thought of losing it hurts. But he’s probably right. How could it have ever worked in real life?”
Because it could have. Because we both love her. Only I can’t say that.
I never cared all that much about social constructs. About socially defined parameters of what’s right and what’s wrong. I believe if a relationship is consensual and safe, then there is nothing morally objectionable to it.
I also believe in fuck anyone who doesn’t like it because that’s their problem and not mine. I wrap my arm around her and tuck her against me.
“I love you,” she whispers. “I know I haven’t said it back yet, and I’m not saying it now because of him. I’m saying it because it’s true. Because I’ve had a major thing for you for two years and never imagined you could ever feel the same way about me.”
“Oh, Sunshine. There hasn’t been a moment since I laid eyes on you where you weren’t already mine.” I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding, my chest inflating like a balloon. I drag my fingers across her cheek. “But you love him too.”
“Yes. I do. I don’t know how it’s possible to love two men at once, but here I am.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. You and I both know that life doesn’t always go the way we want or plan.
Tristan feels he has to do this, and I get it.
I do. Three is complicated. It’s messy. It’s frankly taboo.
And his family is incredible. I’m not sure if I were him that I’d make a different choice than he is.
And as much as I wish it could be reality and fine, I think that was merely a Christmas wish. ”
I don’t know how it would have worked out. I just know I wanted it to. I still want it to. It… fits. It works. I’m not in love with Tristan, but I love what we had, and I loved how it felt for the three of us.
“If you had to choose?”
She frowns. “I’d choose both of you.”
“I would too.”
I cup her face and drag it to me, kissing her lips. I don’t know what I can fight for and what I can’t. Tristan is the sort of man who, when he makes up his mind, that’s it. But maybe I can hold out hope. In the spirit of the holiday, maybe I can hold out hope that there’s a way.
I kiss her like I’m trying to change reality, my fingers threading through her hair.
Waverly sighs against my mouth, her body soft beneath mine on this expensive sofa as I lay her down, and for a moment, I can almost forget that Tristan isn’t here for this.
Almost, but not quite. The ghost of his announcement lingers between us even as I press Waverly deeper into the cushions, my body seeking consolation in the familiar curves of hers.
Waverly’s hand finds my face, her thumb tracing the edge of my jaw with a gentleness that makes something in my chest ache. “Braxton,” she murmurs, just my name, but it holds my world. Understanding. Permission. Invitation. Love.
“I feel stupid that I didn’t expect it,” I admit, my forehead resting against hers.
“Sixteen years he’s been beside me. It’ll be strange not to be able to go to his office or go for a morning run with him or catch a Sox game.
Fuck, even calling him is going to require planning because of time changes. ”
“I know. I’m heartbroken over it too.” She laughs. “Believe it or not, I’m going to miss working for the cantankerous ass.”
I smile then frown, thinking about how much he’s changed this week.
How he let down his guard and didn’t carry his shell around with him everywhere.
I lean in to kiss her again, deeper this time, trying to anchor myself in the present moment rather than the uncertain future.
Her lips taste like tea and strawberries, and underneath that, something uniquely her.
Something that has become as necessary to me as oxygen.
My hands find the hem of her dress, my fingers slipping beneath to touch warm skin. She arches slightly, an unconscious movement toward me that sets my blood humming. Her skin is so soft, I can’t get enough of it.
“I love you,” I tell her, because it’s true and because saying it feels like reclaiming something. Tristan may be leaving, but Waverly is staying. Waverly is mine. The thought is both comforting and electric.
“Show me,” she challenges, eyes dark in the soft light, pupils dilated with desire.
I pull her dress up and over her head, revealing a white bra and panties that complement the paleness of her skin.
The sight of her makes my breath catch. Not because it’s new, but because it isn’t.
I know every inch of her body, have mapped it with both hands and my mouth countless times, yet the wanting never diminishes.
She smiles at my reaction, a small, private curve of her lips that says she knows exactly what she does to me.
Her hair is mussed from my fingers and the static of the dress, falling in unruly strands around her face.
It makes her look sweeter somehow, more angelic, and I’m struck by how completely I’ve fallen for her.
How she’s become the center of my world.
“You too,” she admonishes, tugging at my shirt. “Fair’s fair.”
I comply, tugging my sweater over my head, suddenly impatient. The apartment is warm, Tristan always keeps the heat too high, but goose bumps rise on my skin when Waverly’s cool fingers trace the line of my collarbone.
We both feel Tristan’s absence already, even though he’s only gone out for a bit, giving us space after dropping his news.
There will be time later to process what it means for all of us, the reconfiguration of boundaries and expectations.
But now, in this moment, I need it to be just us.
Just Waverly and me, creating something separate from what the three of us have shared.
I reach behind her to unhook her bra, my movements deliberate now, savoring every inch of skin. The bra falls away, and I lower my head to kiss the slope of her breast, feeling her sharp intake of breath. Her hands find my hair, fingers tangling, guiding without words.
She shivers in anticipation as I suck on her tits, playing with her nipples but pulling away every few seconds because I can’t help myself.
“You’re staring,” she accuses, but her voice is pleased, breathless.
“You’re worth staring at,” I counter, running my thumb along the edge of her underwear, just where it meets the soft skin of her hip. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She laughs, the sound low and intimate in the quiet apartment. “You need to see more things.”
“I’ve seen plenty.” I bend to kiss her stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips. “Nothing compares. No one compares.”
Her laughter fades into a sigh as I continue moving downward, my lips and tongue tracing patterns on her skin. Waverly’s breathing changes as I hook my fingers in her underwear and pull it slowly down her legs.
She helps me out of my remaining clothes, her movements efficient but unhurried. There’s no rush now. We have hours before we have to get ready for the party, and I don’t care if Tristan comes back and sees us. Part of me hopes he does.
When I settle between her legs, skin against skin, the contact draws a moan from both of us.
I pause, propped on my elbows, looking down at her face.
Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
She’s never more beautiful than in these moments of unguarded want.
When she’s out of her head and lost in the moment.
I kiss her with renewed hunger, trying to pour everything I can’t say into the press of my lips against hers. She responds in kind, her body arching up to meet mine, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer.
I drag my finger up and down her slit and groan when I feel how soaked she is.
She shakes her head.
“What?”
“I want you inside of me.”
I push two fingers into her. “Like this?”
She emits a shaky breath. “Yes. But no.”
I shift and slide my cock up through her slit until my head hits her clit. “Like this then?”
Her eyes roll back, and her hands cling to my shoulders. “Brax, please,” she begs. “Fill me up.”
“I want to make you come.”
“You will. All over your cock.”
Shit. I hiss out a wounded breath as a sudden rush of desire slams through me to the point where I nearly come. When I finally push into her, it feels like coming home. Like heaven and magic and fucking pixie dust sprinkled all over me. I hold still, giving her a moment to adjust.
Her hands drag up along my back, holding me close to her, and our lips meet, growing hungry and ravenous. And with that, I can no longer hold still. I have to move. If I don’t, I’ll die.
I thrust up into her, using my feet on the arm of the sofa for leverage so I can push and fuck her. I know exactly how to angle my hips to make her gasp, just as she knows how to tighten her muscles around me to make my vision blur.
“God, I love how you feel,” I murmur against her neck, tasting salt on her skin.
Her only response is a breathy moan and the tightening of her fingers on my shoulders. She’s close already. I can tell from the flush spreading across her chest and the tension in her thighs. I slow my movements, drawing out the moment, wanting to savor every second.
The sofa creaks beneath us, the sound almost comical. I have a sudden flashback to Tristan’s mom essentially catching them the first morning here, and I laugh despite myself.
She peeks open an eye, shifting her legs higher up my hips. “Something funny?”
“Just thinking about if Francine walked in here now.”
“Oh, hell.” She laughs too, but it turns into a whimper as I push my knees into the cushions and really move.
I reach between us, my fingers finding her clit and circling it with the precise pressure I know she craves.
Her reaction is immediate. A sharp intake of breath, her eyes flying open to meet mine with an intensity that burns away all other thoughts.
“Yes. Fuck yes. Keep those eyes on me.”
“Braxton,” she cries, my name becoming a plea.
I feel her beginning to unravel, her body convulsing around mine, and it drives me closer to my own edge.
There’s something profoundly intimate about watching someone come apart beneath you, knowing you're the cause of their pleasure. With Waverly, it’s magnified by the feelings I’ve tried so hard to keep in check.
The love that has grown steadily despite my best efforts to keep things professional.
I rub her faster, feeling the walls of her pussy spasm around my cock.
I thicken, growing harder somehow, and quicken my pace.
She comes with a scream she muffles against my shoulder, her teeth grazing my skin, causing a sharp sting.
The sensation, combined with the rhythmic pulses of her pussy around me, sends me tumbling after her, thrusting two more times and then stilling as I spill everything I have into her in waves that leave me shaking.
We stay like this, me inside of her, breathing heavily, holding each other close.
The apartment is silent except for the distant sounds of Parisian traffic and the hiss of the radiators.
I should move. We’re both sticky, and the position can’t be comfortable for her, but pulling out of her is the last thing I want to do.
I start to pump into her again, thrusting gently, but stopping before I get fully hard again.
I want to fuck her in the shower. I shift to the side, pulling her with me so we’re lying face to face on the narrow sofa.
Her expression is soft, satisfied, but there’s a question in her eyes that mirrors my own uncertainty.
“What happens now?” she asks, giving voice to the thought.
I trace the line of her jaw with my finger, lost in the beautiful contours of her face.
“I don’t know exactly. You don’t work for me, so there’s no issue with that.
I want you in my life as my girl. Not just like this—though God knows I want this too—but all of it.
The messy, everyday stuff. The real stuff. ”
She smiles, slow and genuine. “Even without Tristan?”
“Yes. Though I wish we could have both.”
Waverly nestles closer, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder as if it was designed for her.
Outside, Paris continues its Christmas, lights twinkling in the waning afternoon light.
Soon, Tristan will return, and we’ll have to get ready for the party.
A party I seriously don’t fucking want to go to.
“Merry Christmas,” Waverly murmurs.
I press a kiss to her forehead, my heart full of a complicated mixture of loss and hope. “Merry Christmas,” I whisper back and hold her, ready for us to write whatever comes next.