Chapter 27
Camille
The elevator doors slide shut and my body betrays me. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking, but it doesn't help. The image of Fiona standing there, her smug smile, her casual reference to her and Alexander's conversation "last night"—it's too much for me to deal with.
"Fuck," Julian swears under his breath. He reaches for me, arms opening. "Come here."
I fall against him, letting his warmth envelop me.
His heartbeat is steady against my ear, a contrast to the erratic pounding in my chest. Tristan stands on my other side, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back.
The elevator descends, numbers blinking by in reverse, each floor taking us further from Alexander but not from the pain of what just happened.
"I knew it," I whisper into Julian's chest. "I knew they were together."
"We don't know anything," Tristan says, his voice low and measured. "She could have been lying."
I shake my head. "He didn't deny it."
The elevator reaches the lobby. Julian keeps his arm around me as we cross the marble floor, past the curious eyes of the receptionist, out into the bright afternoon sunshine that feels like a mockery of my mood.
Tristan steps ahead to the curb, raising his hand for the waiting car. The driver opens the door, and Julian guides me inside, sliding in after me. Tristan follows, shutting the door with a soft click that somehow breaks something loose inside me.
The first sob catches me by surprise, rising from somewhere deep and painful. Then another. And another. Until I'm gasping, drowning in tears I've been holding back. Julian pulls me closer, my face pressed against his shoulder, his hand stroking my hair.
"Take us to my place," Tristan tells the driver, his voice steady but tight with what might be anger.
"I'm sorry," I manage between sobs. "I don't know why I'm—"
"Don't apologize," Julian murmurs against my hair. "There’s no need."
The car moves through midday traffic, the city passing in a blur outside the tinted windows. I close my eyes, focusing on Julian's arms around me, on Tristan's hand finding mine and squeezing gently. Their solid presence anchors me when everything else feels like it's dissolving.
"Did you see how she looked at me? Like she'd won something." I pull back from Julian's chest, wiping at my face with trembling hands. "God, I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Julian says fiercely. "You're the one who's moved on. You're the one building something real with us."
The car turns down a tree-lined street, slowing as it approaches Tristan's building.
"I don't want to be alone," I whisper.
Tristan's fingers tighten around mine. "You're not alone. Not for a second."
We ride the private elevator up to Tristan's penthouse. I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted down to my bones. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind a hollow weariness that makes my limbs feel heavy, my thoughts sluggish.
I've usually love the way the afternoon light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows at his place, the way you can see the tops of trees from his living room, a green oasis in the concrete city. Today, I barely notice any of it.
"This way," Tristan says, his hand on my back guiding me down the hallway to his bedroom.
I lie down on his bed, curling onto my side. The mattress dips as Tristan sits beside me, reaching to brush hair from my face with gentle fingers.
"Rest," he says. "You're mentally and physically exhausted."
I nod, too tired to speak. Julian appears in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He sets it on the nightstand, then disappears again, returning moments later with a soft blanket that he drapes over me. The weight of it is comforting.
"We'll be right outside if you need us," Julian says, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple.
But I don't want them to leave. I reach out, catching Julian's wrist. "Stay? Just until I fall asleep?"
They exchange a look over my head, then Tristan nods. "Of course."
He stretches out beside me, careful to leave space between us, respecting my vulnerability even now. Julian sits on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine atop the blanket.
Despite their presence, my mind drifts back to Alexander's office.
To Fiona's calculated entrance, her deliberate words.
The way Alexander looked—irritated by her interruption, yes, but not surprised by her presumptuous familiarity.
Are they sleeping together? Did she stay the night? How long has this been going on?
My eyes burn with fresh tears, but I'm too exhausted to cry anymore. The pregnancy has already been draining my energy, and this emotional upheaval has depleted whatever reserves I had left. My body feels heavy, sinking into Tristan's expensive mattress.
"I'm just so tired," I murmur, the words slurring slightly.
"Sleep," Tristan says, his voice a low rumble beside me. "We'll be here when you wake up."
I keep my eyes on Julian's face, on the worry etched in the lines around his mouth, the gentle concern in his eyes. Behind me, I feel Tristan's steady presence, solid as stone. They're here. They're real. Whatever Alexander is or isn't doing with Fiona doesn't change that.
My eyelids grow heavy, impossible to keep open. The last thing I register before sleep claims me is the sensation of being held, of being safe, even as my heart continues its dull ache beneath my ribs.
Some time later I wake slowly, blinking in the soft light filtering through Tristan's bedroom windows. The heaviness in my limbs has eased, though the memories of Alexander's office still linger at the edges of my mind.
I stretch, my body arching under the soft blanket, and realize I feel different. Not healed—not yet—but somehow steadier, as if sleep has patched something that was beginning to unravel inside me.
A soft knock at the door draws my attention. Julian's head appears, his expression gentle as he takes me in.
"Hey there," he says quietly. "How are you feeling, babe?"
I push myself up against the pillows. "Better, I think."
He steps into the room, Tristan following close behind. They move in sync, coming to sit on either side of the bed, creating a circle of warmth around me. Julian settles on my right, while Tristan takes my left, his hand finding my thigh over the blanket.
"You slept for a few hours," Tristan tells me, his thumb tracing small circles against the fabric. "We were starting to think you might sleep through the night."
I lean into Julian, resting my head against his shoulder, letting his familiar scent—clean cotton and something spicy—invade my senses. "Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for what I'm feeling. "Both of you. For being here."
Julian's arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "Where else would we be?"
The simplicity of his response makes my throat tight with emotion. Tristan's hand squeezes my thigh gently, a silent echo of Julian's sentiment. They're here. They've been here all along, steady and present in ways Alexander will probably never be.
I turn my face toward Tristan, reaching out to cup his cheek with my palm.
His eyes meet mine, those piercing blue depths filled with something that makes my heart race.
I lean forward and press my lips to his, a gentle kiss that quickly deepens as he responds.
His hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck, holding me close as his tongue meets mine.
When I pull back, breathless, I find Julian watching us, his eyes dark with desire. I shift toward him, my hand finding the nape of his neck, drawing him to me. His kiss is different from Tristan's—playful where Tristan is intense, teasing where Tristan is deliberate. Both leave me wanting more.
"I need you," I whisper against Julian's mouth. "Both of you. Right now."
They exchange a look over my head, communication passing between them in that silent way they have. Then Julian is lying down beside me, guiding me back against the pillows, while Tristan stands to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the lean muscles of his chest.
Julian's hands find the hem of my blouse, his fingers skimming the skin beneath, a question in his touch.
I nod, lifting my arms to help him slide the fabric up and over my head.
My pants follow, Julian's hands gentle but sure as he undresses me.
Soon I'm lying in just my underwear, my skin prickling with goosebumps that have nothing to do with cold.
Tristan sheds his pants, standing now in just his boxer briefs that do little to hide his arousal. Julian stands to undress as well, his movements more fluid, less restrained than Tristan's. They're so different, these two men, in ways that complement each other perfectly.
"Look at you," Julian murmurs, his eyes tracing my body as he returns to the bed. "So damn beautiful."
Tristan joins us, settling on my other side.
They're both naked now, and I take a moment to appreciate the sight.
Julian's body bears the evidence of his athletic past—broad shoulders, powerful thighs, the defined muscles of a man who still trains like the professional he once was.
Tristan is leaner, his strength more concealed, but no less impressive.
My breath catches as I reach out, one hand to each of them, trailing my fingers down their chests. This is real. They are real. Whatever happens with Alexander, this connection, this moment—it belongs to us alone.
Tristan leans down to kiss me again, his hand sliding to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my bra. His touch is careful, mindful of how sensitive pregnancy has made me. When his thumb brushes across my nipple, I gasp into his mouth, moving toward the sensation.
Julian moves lower, his lips trailing kisses down my stomach, lingering briefly at the slight swell where our baby grows.
His hands find the waistband of my underwear, easing them down my legs with deliberate slowness.
Then his mouth is between my thighs, his breath warm against my most sensitive skin.
"Is this okay?" he asks, looking up at me with eyes gone dark with want.
"Yes," I breathe. "Please."
Tristan unclasps my bra, helping me out of it before his mouth replaces his hand on my breast. The dual sensation—Tristan's lips and tongue teasing my nipple while Julian's mouth finds my center—sends sparks of pleasure coursing through me.
I thread my fingers through Julian's hair, my other hand reaching to stroke Tristan's erection.
Julian's tongue circles my clit with practiced precision, drawing patterns that make my hips lift from the bed. I feel Tristan's sharp intake of breath as my hand tightens around him, stroking from base to tip.
"Tristan," I manage, my voice breaking as Julian slides a finger inside me. "I want you inside me."
Julian pulls back, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh before moving up the bed to lie beside me.
Tristan shifts between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs wider as he positions himself.
The first press of him entering me pulls a moan from deep in my throat.
He fills me completely, stretching me in a way that borders on too much but never crosses the line.
"You feel incredible," Tristan murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So tight, so wet."
He begins to move with slow, deep thrusts. Julian's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining as he watches Tristan and me with heated eyes. I turn my face to kiss him, the taste of myself on his tongue adding another layer to the building pleasure.
Tristan's rhythm increases, his control fraying at the edges as he drives deeper. Each thrust sends waves of sensation through me, building toward a crescendo that feels inevitable. When his thumb finds my clit, circling in time with his movements, I break away from Julian's kiss on a gasp.
"That's it," Tristan says, his voice rough. "Let go, Cami. Come for me."
The command in his tone pushes me over the edge. My body tightens around him as pleasure crashes through me, intense and overwhelming. Tristan follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he presses deep and holds, a groan escaping him.
As I come down from the high, Julian's hands are already on me, turning me toward him. Tristan withdraws carefully, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before moving to lie beside me, his hand stroking my hair as Julian takes his place between my thighs.
Julian’s smile is mischievous as he pushes slowly into me. The oversensitivity from my first orgasm makes me gasp, my hands clutching at his biceps.
"Feels good?" he asks, pausing.
I nod, unable to form words. He begins to move, his strokes shallower than Tristan's but faster, creating a different kind of friction that has me building toward another peak almost immediately.
"God, look at you," Julian says, his eyes never leaving my face. "I could fuck you all night long."
Tristan's hand finds my breast again, his touch adding to the sensations Julian is creating. I'm surrounded by them, filled by them, their attention focused entirely on my pleasure. It's heady and overwhelming in the best possible way.
Julian's rhythm grows erratic as he nears his own release.
His hand slips between us, fingers finding my clit.
The dual stimulation sends me spiraling into a second orgasm, my body arching off the bed, a cry torn from my throat.
Julian follows immediately, his face buried against my neck as he pulses inside me.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. Tristan pulls me close against his chest while Julian sprawls beside us, his hand resting on my hip. In this moment, wrapped in their warmth, the pain of seeing Alexander with Fiona feels distant and almost manageable.
I'm not alone. Whatever happens next—with the baby, with Alexander—I have this. I have them. And for now, that's enough.