Chapter 11 – Braxton
brAXTON
“You’ve never let my girlfriends sleep in the same room as me before,” Tristan counters.
His mother makes a dismissive noise. “You’re thirty-four years old, Tristan. I think I know you already sleep in the same bed as Waverly when you have sleepovers.”
I help Waverly stand because suddenly she looks like she’s about to pass out, and I don’t know if her legs can hold her.
“Sounds good,” I state. “I could use a nap to recharge.”
Tristan is on the other side of her, holding onto Waverly, and reluctantly, I release her because right now, she’s his and not mine, but I’m planning to change that when we get to the suite.
“Right. That’s great,” Tristan murmurs absently, and we head for the exit.
We step back onto the elevator and press the button for eleven.
“Um,” she says the moment the doors close. “You told me we’d have separate rooms. Separate beds.”
“Because I assumed we would. What do you want me to do?” he hisses, his voice low. “Go back up there and tell everyone I can’t share a bed with my girlfriend?”
“It was part of our deal. You promised.”
He throws his hands up. “Because she’s never let me before.
Not until Dianna and I were married were we allowed to share a bed.
I didn’t think this time would be any different, but I can’t exactly ask you to stay in one of the guest rooms, and I can’t request a hotel room, though I doubt there are any since it’s fucking Christmas!
” He blows out a breath and attempts to calm himself down.
“Trust me, Waverly. Sharing a bed with you is the last thing I want to do, but I don’t see how we have a choice. ”
“I hate you.”
He rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, I know. You’ve only told me about a dozen times now. Get over it. You’re not my favorite person either, though you are my family’s, so thanks for that.”
“You’re both being ridiculous,” I comment, and their heads snap over to me. How they don’t see it, I don’t know. The reason they’re so upset is that they know something will happen if they’re in one bed together. “You sound like an old married couple.”
They ignore me.
“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” He’s genuinely offering, and I laugh. Yup. Fucking ridiculous.
“I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“No, you won’t,” I tell her. “That will be caught in a minute. You have to share a bed.”
She groans and runs her hands through her hair. “Ugh. Fine. You better not be a cuddler,” she hisses at him.
He snickers. “Do I strike you as the cuddling type?”
“No. In fact, I didn’t think you slept at all. I thought vampires never slept.”
“Shut up,” I snap as the doors open and we walk down the hall toward Tristan’s apartment. “Seriously. Both of you. This is so fucking stupid I can hardly stand it.”
How do they not see what this is? That all their fighting is actually sexual tension they’re doing their best to ignore and pretend away.
“You’re telling me to shut up?”
“If I told you to kiss her, would you listen?”
He glares, and I toss my hands up.
“See. So why should telling you to shut up be any different? And they say I’m the immature one,” I grumble under my breath.
Tristan unlocks the door, and I’m relieved to find all of our things here and already unpacked for us by the butler. Waverly looks around the apartment, taking in the large living space, kitchen, and dining area. She’s eying the sofa like she’s still considering it, and I’m done. So fucking done.
I turn on her. “Do you regret it?”
“What?” she sputters, still out of sorts.
“Me kissing you. Do you regret it? Did you not enjoy it or not want to do it?”
“Um, I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“I changed my mind. Answer me. Is it something you’d want to do again?
Possibly do a lot more of. Because I liked it and I like you and I’m too old to play games with this.
Yes, you’re a lot younger than us, and you’re going to be my assistant, and yes, that adds complications, but it doesn’t have to mean we can’t do this.
Unless that’s not what you want. If you tell me no, it won’t impact anything.
Your job, our relationship, it’s all good and intact.
But to me, I’d like more.” I glance over her head.
“It’s as Tristan said, when you spend enough time with someone, feelings become inevitable. ”
I look back down at her, and she’s gnawing on her lip.
“You can tell me the truth. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
“I don’t regret it,” she says, her voice small. “I liked it. I like you. But—”
“But you’re here with Tristan.”
“Yes. I’m here to be with him.”
“Good. That’s what I want too.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Tristan does,” I say, and his jaw clenches. “He just doesn’t know how to get out of his own way sometimes. It seems you have that problem too. But it’s basic math. Science. We’re orbiting electrons forming an ionic bond. The three of us.”
Tristan walks toward the large doors that lead out onto the balcony and stares out at the Parisian skyline, his hands on his hips. “Brax, what are you doing?”
“What you’ve wanted to do since you first laid eyes on her.
” I run my hand into her hair and draw her to me so I can bend down and kiss her.
Her hands grip my arms, and I can feel her struggle even as she kisses me back.
I pull her into me and split her lips with my own, tasting her again.
Kissing her the way I’ve wanted to for so long. Deep and thorough and with intent.
I open my eyes and glance over toward the window, and sure enough, Tristan is watching us. I smile against her lips and pull away to trickle down her neck. She’s already breathless and trembling, and I think a lot of that is uncertainty and fear.
But there’s none of that with Tristan. His expression is tormented with want and anger.
“Anything you’d like to see?” I ask him, and he grunts, blows out a heavy breath, and storms off toward his bedroom.
Waverly pulls back from me, nerves all over her face. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I signed a contract with him. We shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, we should have. He wants this, Waverly. He wants you. It’s like I told you, he’s just afraid to lose you.”
“Are you saying… it sounds like… like…”
“A threesome?”
She bites her lip, and I pick her up and walk her over to the sofa so I can sit us down with her straddling my lap. Her hair is so pretty as it frames her face, but I brush it back over her shoulders so I can really read her.
“Is the thought so awful to you? Having us share you?”
“I don’t understand how you can ask that. He doesn’t want me, Brax. He doesn’t even like me. We can hardly stand to be around each other for five minutes without fighting.”
“Tristan is a complicated guy, and I can’t convince you of something he’s unwilling to show. Just let the idea sit in your mind. Because I think it could be incredible for all of us.”
“I… I don’t even know how to wrap my mind around that.”
“For now, don’t discount it. That’s all I ask.”
I cup her face and bring it back to mine. I’m not going to fuck her. Not out here and not with Tristan throwing a temper tantrum like a child. He saw me kiss her, and I know how he works. But I want to make her come if she’ll let me.
“This feels wrong,” she murmurs against my lips.
“It’s not. I promise. Complicated, yes. Wrong, no.” I swirl my tongue with hers, kissing her deeper, holding her hips, and rocking her gently against my hard cock. She moans into me, and her arms wrap around my neck as she finally relaxes and allows this to happen.
The apartment is quiet except for our breathing and the occasional creak from behind the bedroom door, where I know Tristan is listening. I smile against Waverly’s mouth as I pull her closer, savoring the knowledge that we have an audience.
“What’s that smile for?” she whispers, her fingers trailing along my jawline.
“Nothing,” I say, but my eyes flick toward the bedroom door, and she follows my gaze, understanding dawning in her expression.
Her mouth forms an O-shape. “Is he...?”
I nod, just barely, and watch as her pupils dilate. I doubt she’s even aware of her body’s reaction to that. “Should we stop?”
“Absolutely not.” I use my grip on her hips to move her deliberately, the friction between us sending sparks along my spine. Her technical title might be my future assistant, but we both know that’s just the surface of what I want from her. What I hope she wants from me. From us.
Waverly leans down and kisses me, tentative at first, then with growing hunger.
Her lips are soft, tasting faintly of the chocolate she had earlier in the shop.
I slide my hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater.
She sighs into my mouth, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, my tongue meeting hers in a dance we’re still learning the steps to.
The knowledge that Tristan is just behind that door, probably with his ear pressed against it, sends a thrill through me.
In one fluid motion, I grip her waist harder and flip our positions, laying her back against the cushions of the sofa.
Her dark hair fans out beneath her like spilled coffee, her breath coming faster now.
I hover above her, taking in the flush that spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, and disappears beneath the collar of her sweater.
“Braxton,” she breathes, and it sounds like a plea.
I lower myself to kiss her again, more demanding this time.
My hand finds the hem of her sweater, and in one fluid motion, I pull it up and over her head.
She gasps, still with that hint of uneasiness in her, but it quickly fades as I trace the edge of her bra with my fingertip, watching goose bumps rise on her skin.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against her throat as my tongue swirls patterns against her rapidly bouncing pulse.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. “It shouldn’t be, but I want it.”