Epilogue
Nothing had ever quite felt like home to Graeme the way the gardens of Hawthorne House did.
He’d watched seasons come and go at the grand estate and seen the things he’d planted take root and blossom into something beautiful and satisfying.
The kitchen garden was now a teaching garden, both for the young crew members he’d signed on to RAG Gardens, his thriving garden design business, and for the culinary students Leland Page taught as well.
The rose garden had been completely replanted, and the walking garden was now practically a tourist attraction, it had become such a feature of the estate.
The walking garden had personal significance, too, because one part of it formed the side garden for the newly-reconstructed gamekeeper’s cottage.
It had been an amazing feeling to work with Ryan, Art, and an architect to build a new structure on the site of the old one, once Art had finished his excavation and written his book about the place.
The new cottage looked exactly like the old drawings they’d discovered of the place in Hawthorne House’s attic.
At least from one aspect. The new building had actually been made three times as big and now held a full, modern kitchen, lounge, two bedrooms, and a design studio that Ryan and Graeme shared.
The three of them had moved into the cottage just as Ryan had scored a deal with a popular high street retailer to design an exclusive line for them, and as Art’s book about the secret lives of the Victorian aristocracy had made a big splash in the archeology and anthropology world.
One that had impressed even Dr. Renfer, and more importantly, the tenure committee.
All in all, within the space of a relatively short few years, Graeme’s life had gone from one of stress and self-loathing to the happiest existence he could have imagined.
Which was underscored by the way he woke up into a beautiful, spring world, sunlight coming in around the edges of the curtains and through the concealed skylight of the cottage’s main bedroom, Art sprawled halfway across him in the king-sized bed.
Graeme smiled up at the blue sky beyond the skylight as he stroked a hand up and down Art’s back.
He was so content that it was probably a grievous sin.
Art’s body was as familiar to him as his own now, and he’d become super familiar with his body’s wants and needs over the past couple years.
Art’s scent was all around him, along with the leftover musk from their exuberant activities the night before.
All that, and Art’s morning wood still pressed against his thigh eagerly.
Graeme turned enough so he could kiss the top of Art’s head, nuzzling his face into his lover’s disheveled hair. Art groaned in reply and snuggled tighter against Graeme’s side.
“Is it morning already?” he groaned hazily.
“Just about,” Graeme replied, resuming his feather-light strokes over Art’s skin. Art groaned and buried his head against Graeme’s neck, like he was trying to hide. “I’d’ve thought you’d be excited,” Graeme said, laughing gently. “Ryan gets back from New York today.”
That won a more interested moan from Art.
Their partner had been gone for two weeks, attending a series of prestigious events and even dressing one of Hollywood’s A-list celebrities for the Met Gala.
Graeme had missed him tremendously, missed Ryan’s steadiness and grounding presence, but he’d had Art to stop him from feeling completely alone.
Although Art had been incredibly needy in Ryan’s absence.
“I’m certainly happy Ryan is coming home,” Graeme went on with a happy sigh. “I miss him so much when he goes away. It sucked that he wasn’t there for the family’s Beltane celebration the other day.”
“That was fun,” Art said, his energy growing as he shifted to lie spread over Graeme like a blanket.
Graeme laughed and slid his hands down Art’s sides and hips to grasp his backside.
That was another surprise of the last couple years, one his family would hate him for even more, if they had any contact with him at all anymore.
He’d joined the Hawthorne family coven, taking up Paganism along with the rest of them.
And really, it was a faith practice that made all the sense in the world to him.
What better way to celebrate the Divine than through the seasons and the natural cycles of the Earth and heavens?
“I miss our man,” Art said, still snuggling his face against Graeme’s neck, but rubbing his hardening morning wood against Graeme’s belly and his own interested cock. “I think I’ve probably worn you out these last two weeks.”
“No, me?” Graeme asked, dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, you,” Art said, then kissed his neck, probably leaving a mark.
He kissed his way around Graeme’s shoulder and up his throat to his jawline as well.
Graeme vocalized his appreciation in the way he knew Art liked, then reached up to the small cabinets built into the headboard—which was a unique feature Art had thought up when they were designing the cottage—to grab first a small spray canister of minty breath mist, and then the bottle of lube.
Art used the breath spray as well, then practically dove onto Graeme, smothering him with kisses. The breath spray wasn’t foolproof against morning breath, but it was better than nothing.
“I love you,” Art panted between kisses, reaching between them to handle their cocks together. “You and Ryan are the best thing that ever happened to me. You make me so happy.”
“You’re adorable,” Graeme sighed, clicking open the bottle of lube. “Now get up there and ride my cock until we’re both gushing.”
Art laughed, taking the bottle of lube and scooting back so he could squirt some on Graeme’s cock. “We’ve thoroughly corrupted you, I see,” he said, pupils blown as he gazed down at his handiwork. “You can’t get enough these days.”
“No, I can’t,” Graeme said, taking the bottle to speed Art along and squeezing a bit of lube onto his hand.
He let out an almighty groan a few seconds later, as Art positioned himself and lowered his body onto Graeme’s cock.
It felt so good and so familiar. He was greedy for more, more friction, more tightness, more heat.
The best way to get that was to wrap his slippery hand around Art’s dick and to fist it as Art found his rhythm, bouncing on him to fuck himself.
“Well if that isn’t a gorgeous sight to come home to, I don’t know what is,” Ryan’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure that was skating like lightning toward an orgasm.
Art stopped bouncing, and he and Graeme both turned to see a travel-weary Ryan striding into the room.
“Darling,” Art panted, sitting back a bit with Graeme deep inside him, and stroking his cock while grinning at Ryan. “You’re home.”
“Welcome back,” Graeme said, giggling at the absurd moment.
“And what a welcome it is,” Ryan said, shrugging the backpack he had with him off his shoulder and going straight for his clothes. “Got room for one more?”
“Always,” Art said, moving just enough on Graeme to tease Ryan and send white-hot pleasure through Graeme.
In seconds, Ryan was naked and climbing into bed with them.
He grabbed the lube and pumped his cock until he was as hard as Art and Graeme were.
There was a moment of coordination confusion as they figured out a new configuration, but that was solved when Ryan slid in behind Graeme, lifting his hips and pulling him back onto his cock.
Graeme grabbed hold of Ryan behind him with one hand as best he could, then gripped Art as he shimmied forward and impaled himself on Graeme’s cock again.
It was wild and mind-melting, but they had a lot of practice in the three of them having sex together by now.
And Graeme always loved being the middle.
He couldn’t really move, he just let his men take what they needed from him while giving him so much pleasure he was the first to burst. And what a sweet orgasm it was, too!
He was surrounded by the men he loved, his heart overflowing, and his body soaring along for the ride.
“Sweetheart,” Art gasped, moving off of Graeme and stroking himself until he spilled in spurts all over Graeme’s chest.
“I missed you two,” Ryan gasped in a tight, strangled voice that told Graeme he was coming as well.
The climax swallowed them all, and after a few minutes of drowsy, sweaty sprawling, they all cuddled together under the sheets.
“We definitely need to do laundry today,” Graeme laughed.
“We need to do laundry practically every day,” Ryan laughed.
“That’s why we designed this place with the best washing machine,” Art laughed, rubbing his face against Ryan’s chest, like a cat scent-marking its owner.
“Did you have a good time in New York?” Graeme asked, stroking Ryan’s side and trying not to let Art hog his body.
“It was okay,” Ryan said. “I got a lot of business done. But I missed you both terribly.”
“Well, you’re here now,” Art said. “And I’ve worn Graeme out these past two weeks, so it’s your turn to keep me satisfied.”
“I’ll do that,” Ryan promised. “Just as soon as I recover from the jetlag.”
Graeme laughed and closed his eyes, hoping for a few minutes more sleep, now that the three of them were back together.
He’d argue that he’d taken very good care of Art in Ryan’s absence later.
Art would insist he’d been the one to make sure Graeme had been safe and satisfied the whole time, too.
And Ryan would tell them that everything would be okay, now that they were together.
He'd be right. Life was amazing when the three of them were together, making an impossible but beautiful life for themselves.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Ryan, Graeme, and Art’s story!
Honestly, I didn’t realize this one was going to be a throuple story when I started planning it!
Art was potentially going to be the antagonist, but the man was just so cheeky and lovely that I had to throw him into the mix with Ryan and Graeme.
And that’s what happens when characters write themselves!
Coming up next? Find out what happens when the most embarrassing “meet-ugly” London has ever seen leads to ex-model Javier striking a deal with mysterious billionaire, Desmond White, to pretend to be his boyfriend…on weekends only.
The two men have nothing in common but the heat they generate in the bedroom, but Javier might just be the only one who can save Desmond from the machinations of his vengeful ex. Look for The Weekend Boyfriend soon!