Epilogue
WAVERLY
The morning light spills through our bedroom windows, painting golden streaks across the rumpled sheets.
I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from last night, and place a hand over my still-flat stomach.
Our little secret grows there, beneath my palm, beneath my skin.
I haven’t stopped smiling since we found out.
Braxton appears in the doorway with coffee for him and Tristan and tea for me, his smile soft in the gentle light.
Across the room, Tristan ends a business call in French, his voice trailing into silence as our eyes meet.
Two years together, openly, proudly, and my heart still skips when they both look at me like this.
Like I’m the answer to a question they’ve been asking their whole lives.
“The Paris itinerary is confirmed,” Tristan announces, setting his phone on the nightstand. “I have five days of nonstop meetings with Ouest Hotels when we get there, but after it should be relatively smooth. My family’s chef is already planning a welcome dinner.”
“Does Jolie know she’ll be cooking for three and a half?” Braxton asks, placing my tea on the bedside table before settling beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
I laugh, leaning into his solid warmth. “Let’s hope your mother and grand-mère don’t faint when we tell them, Tris.”
“You’re joking, right? This is what they’ve been waiting on for two years. Hell, since I was born. Heirs.”
I roll my eyes at that term. Even if their last name will be Ouest. A deal the three of us worked out. I married Tristan. But Braxton and I had a private ceremony where we exchanged vows. He and I might not be legally married, but for our purposes, we are.
Our Boston apartment sprawls around us, unfortunately not decorated for Christmas as I would have liked since we won’t be here, and a tree felt impractical.
The master bedroom alone is bigger than my old apartment—not that that’s a shocker or anything—with a custom bed that accommodates three without compromise.
Two years ago, when we decided to acknowledge what we had found in each other, I braced for the storm.
OuestHicks Pharmaceuticals trembled briefly under the weight of scandal—the CEOs in love and tangled in the sheets with the new COO.
The board meetings grew tense, stock prices wobbled, and even Ouest Hotels got shaky.
But Tristan stepped forward, unapologetic and resolute.
He leveraged his influence as a Ouest and made public statements about love transcending convention, about building families on foundations of trust rather than tradition.
Braxton worked quietly behind the scenes, ensuring our company remained stable while I faced the press with rehearsed smiles and unshakable conviction.
Now, the whispers have faded to background noise.
OuestHicks is posting record profits, Ouest Hotels has expanded into South America, and everyone seems to be doing well.
Even Nana. I went to visit her yesterday, and though she doesn’t know who I am, she no longer thinks I’m her dead daughter.
Just that I belong to her, and I’ll take it.
Being able to spend time with her again, getting to hug her, and having her meet my guys has been everything.
“What time is our flight tomorrow?” I ask, sipping my tea. The ginger blend soothes the slight morning queasiness that accompanies our growing secret. My OB gave us the green light to fly, and I’m excited. I was worried I’d miss Christmas in Paris.
“Seven thirty departure,” Tristan answers, sitting on my other side. His hand finds mine, thumb brushing over the platinum band on my finger. Official, legal, documented. On my right hand is a matching band from Braxton. Unofficial, meaningful, sacred in its own way.
Braxton takes my tea, setting it aside. “Which means that now that Tristan is done with his calls, we have all morning to ourselves.” His lips find my neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
I shiver, warmth spreading through me. “Again? After last night?”
“Last night was last night,” Tristan murmurs, his hand sliding beneath the thin fabric of my T-shirt. “This is now.”
There’s a rhythm to us now that we’ve perfected over the years. Braxton is patient, sweet, and endlessly considerate. His touch builds slowly like a symphony working toward a crescendo. Tristan, on the other hand, is intense and focused, with every movement deliberate and precise.
Between them, I’m alive. Found. Whole.
Braxton’s fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head back for his kiss.
His lips are soft, tasting of coffee and morning, while his free hand traces patterns up my thigh.
Tristan watches, blue eyes darkening, before sliding my T-shirt up and over my head in one fluid motion.
The cool air pebbles my skin, but I’m far from cold with their heated gazes traveling over me.
“Look at our girl,” Tristan breathes, taking in my naked form. “Carrying our child and even more beautiful for it.”
Braxton hums agreement against my neck, his hands now free to explore. They wander over the landscape of my body. The slopes of my larger and more sensitive breasts, the valley of my waist, the gentle rise where our child grows. Every touch leaves trails of electricity in its wake.
“Lie back,” Tristan whispers, ever one to demand, and unlike before, where I would have told him where to stick it, I comply instantly, sinking into the pillows.
They undress unhurriedly, revealing bodies that still make me drool. Brax kisses the three interlocking circles inked on my inner arm. A present to myself after our first anniversary together.
Tristan moves behind me, replacing my pillows with his body so I can recline against his chest. His arms encircle me, hands cupping my tits with enough pressure that I moan and writhe. Braxton kneels between my legs, pushing them gently apart, his expression sinfully dirty.
“Do you know what I love about you being pregnant?" Tristan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as his fingers tease my nipples into tight peaks. “How fucking hard you come.”
“Don’t forget how wet her cunt gets.”
“Right. That too. I can’t wait till you start showing. You think we can’t keep our hands off of you now. Just wait.”
Braxton kisses along my inner thighs, each one closer to where I’m already wet and wanting. Tristan isn’t wrong about that. Last night I was wild and had them making me come for hours.
“More irresistible,” Brax agrees. “More insatiable.” His voice is rough with desire. “I just have to think about you being pregnant, and I’m hard.”
His mouth covers my pussy, giving it a big, swirling French kiss.
I gasp, arching against Tristan as Brax’s tongue works me like I’m made of ice cream.
He circles and flicks, making me tremble, already bringing me close.
Tristan’s hands continue on my breasts, occasionally sliding up to tilt my chin for deep, consuming kisses that swallow my moans.
He’s so hard. So fucking hard, and I want his cock in me.
“That’s it, Princess,” Tristan encourages as my hips begin to rock against Braxton’s mouth. “Let us take care of you.”
Braxton slides two fingers inside me, curving them just so while his tongue continues its relentless rhythm. Tristan pinches my nipples lightly, the hint of pain amplifying the pleasure building low in my belly. Between them, I’m climbing higher, faster, my breath coming in short pants.
“Fuck, I can smell how turned on you are. Come in Brax’s mouth. Make him messy.”
I can only nod, words beyond me now. Braxton growls, loving that idea more than I do as he increases his pace. Tristan whispers encouragement in my ear. Filthy promises of what’s to come, sweet declarations of how beautiful I am when I come apart for them.
The orgasm crashes through me like a wave breaking against the shore, powerful and inevitable. I cry out, my back arching and my fingers clutching at Tristan’s thigh beside me and Braxton’s hair between my legs.
Before I can fully recover, they’re shifting positions. Braxton takes Tristan’s place behind me while Tristan moves between my thighs, his cock hard and glistening with precum. I lick my lips, wanting to take him in my mouth, and he smacks my lips with it.
“Not this morning, Princess. Maybe if you’re a good little slut for us now, I’ll let you have it later.”
God, why do I love that so much? I don’t even care if it’s degrading. It’s shamelessly fucking hot to me.
Tristan shifts my hips, his knees digging into the bed as he enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size.
Behind me, Braxton’s hands replace Tristan’s on my breasts, his lips trailing fire along my neck and shoulders.
I’m surrounded, filled, held in a cocoon of sensation, but it’s not enough.
Tristan begins to move, his strokes measured and deep. His eyes never leave mine, intense and focused. “You feel incredible,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “So perfect for us. But you want Brax too, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Braxton’s hands wander lower, one sliding between Tristan and me to circle my still-sensitive clit. “Is that what you need?”
Their words fuel the fire within me, and I cry out, barely able to get a nod in, already so lost. Everything with my body is hypersensitive, and I can’t get enough.
The rhythm changes as Tristan pulls out of me, moving up to kiss me deeply before trading places with Braxton once more, who thrusts into me like a man already on the edge.
“Fuck, that’s good.”
He starts to pound into me, fucking relentlessly, using his knees and feet on the bed for leverage. Tristan’s wet cock grinds between my ass cheeks, adding another layer and making this more intense.
Tristan’s hand slips between my legs, his talented fingers circling in time with Braxton’s thrusts. My second orgasm builds more slowly than the first, a gradual ascent rather than a sudden climb.
“I want you both,” I beg, plead. “All of us. Please.”
Tristan nods, understanding the request. He moves behind me, going for the bedside table. I hear the pop of the lube, and a moment later, he’s adjusting me, using a slick finger to prep me for what’s to come.
“You ready?” Brax asks, always checking, always ensuring my comfort above all else. Sweat clings to his brow, and I pull him in, wanting his mouth on mine.
“More than ready,” I assure him, panting into his mouth as I feel Tristan adjusting his cock for my back entrance.
The initial pressure is intense, my body stretching to accommodate them both.
Braxton holds still above me, his hands steady on the bed on either side of my thighs that are looped around Tristan’s.
Tristan pushes in, then uses his grip on my hips to pull out.
His harsh breaths and whispered encouragements have me relaxing, and then they’re both fully seated within me, filling me completely.
“God, I love you,” Braxton groans, his face tight with pleasure and emotion. “God, how I love this.”
They begin to move in tandem. Braxton withdrawing as Tristan pushes forward, then reversing, never leaving me empty, never allowing the connection to break. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure bordering on transcendence.
Braxton captures my mouth in a desperate kiss, swallowing my increasingly frantic moans.
One hand is behind Braxton’s neck, holding him close, the other is at the back of Tristan’s head.
I can’t do anything but lie here on Tristan’s cock while I’m filled with Braxton’s.
Tristan’s hips pummel up while Braxton’s pummel down, and I’m stuck between them.
Utterly blissed out. Never wanting this to end.
“Oh, hell,” I cry as I shatter between them, screaming out their names as pleasure relentlessly shoots through me. They follow me over the edge, first Braxton with a deep groan against my lips, then Tristan with a shuddering gasp against my neck.
For a long moment, we remain joined, a tangle of limbs and racing hearts and shared breath. It’s sticky, and I’m filled with their cum. But none of us care enough to move. Not yet.
We shift so I’m on my side, Tristan still behind me and Braxton in front. Their hands find my stomach, resting protectively over the new life we’ve created together.
“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Braxton asks, his voice soft with wonder.
“I don’t care,” I answer honestly, covering their hands with mine. “As long as they have your dimples and Tristan’s eyes.”
“And your fire,” Tristan adds, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Your bravery and willingness to forge your own path, regardless of what others think.”
We lie in comfortable silence, listening to each other breathe, feeling the sunlight warm our skin.
“We should pack,” Tristan eventually says, though he makes no move to get up.
“Later,” Braxton and I reply in unison, and we all laugh, the sound filling our bedroom.
Tomorrow we’ll fly to Paris, our second home, to share our news with Tristan’s family. I can’t wait to tell Grand-mère. The old spitfire will be beyond words.
I close my eyes, savoring the weight of my husbands’ hands on my stomach, the heat of their bodies surrounding mine.
Two years ago, we stepped into the light, refusing to hide what had grown between us.
Now, we prepare to expand our unconventional family, adding a new branch to our intertwined lives.
Different, yes. But no less valid, no less loving, no less meant to be. Because that’s exactly what we are.
Thank you for reading Bossing My Holiday. I hope you enjoyed it!