Chapter 17 The Ones We Keep #5
Bristol tucked herself against my right side. Her cheek found my shoulder, one arm crossed my stomach, and both trembling legs draped over mine. Kit settled on my left with the easy certainty of someone whose body had memorized the place. Her thigh pressed over my hip. Her head fit beneath my chin.
"Damage report," I said.
"My thighs are on strike," Kit murmured.
"My legs have resigned entirely," Bristol said.
I slid my hand beneath the blanket and pressed my thumb into the tight muscle high on Kit's inner thigh.
Her eyes closed. "There."
I worked slow circles from her thigh into the hip that had controlled every drop and grind. The muscle was hot and overworked under my palm. Kit exhaled against my neck and let more of her weight settle into me.
"You were shaking before you came," I said.
"I was committed."
"You were showing off," Bristol said.
Kit smiled without opening her eyes. "I was showing you. Different thing."
Bristol reached across me and pressed two fingertips into the outside of Kit's hip, just above where my thumb had been working.
Kit's breath caught. "Oh. There."
"That's the muscle that kept changing your angle," Bristol said.
She traded fingertips for the heel of her palm and pushed slowly. Kit went loose against me with a relieved groan.
"I thought I was the precision girl," Bristol murmured.
"You are now officially responsible for that spot," Kit said.
"Accepted."
I watched Bristol tend the exact ache created by the rhythm she'd admired. Even after sex, she noticed the smallest adjustment and made it matter.
Bristol's mouth curved against my shoulder.
Her legs were still quivering. I moved my free hand to the thigh laid across mine and kneaded gently. Kit noticed the tremors beneath the blanket and reached across my lap for Bristol's other leg. She worked her palm from Bristol's knee toward her hip, steady pressure on the tired muscle.
Bristol went quiet.
"Too much?" Kit asked.
"No. Don't stop."
Kit didn't.
We worked both legs until the shaking eased. Bristol's hand stayed spread over my stomach. Her other fingers curled around Kit's wrist where it crossed my lap, keeping all three of us connected.
I slid my palm beneath Bristol's lower back and found the tight band of muscle above her hip. She guided me half an inch lower.
"There," she said.
I pressed and felt her entire body soften. The same woman who'd directed every angle beneath me let her full weight settle into my side, trusting my hand to remember the adjustment.
"You're clingy," Kit said, sounding delighted by the discovery.
"I'm private."
"Those aren't opposites."
"I know." Bristol tightened her arm around me. "That's why I'm doing it. Plus, I love him and can’t help it."
I kissed her damp hair. "You can hold on as hard as you want, Bris."
She did.
The inlet stayed dark and quiet around us. Sweat cooled beneath the blanket. Bristol's cum-wet thighs remained tangled with mine. Kit's hips loosened under my hand, but every few breaths she shifted closer as if another inch of contact might be hiding somewhere.
Bristol lifted her head.
"I want a picture."
Kit opened her eyes. "For you?"
"For us." Bristol looked toward the helm. "No post. No caption. Nobody else gets it."
"Then take it," I said.
She slipped out from under the blanket, naked and unhurried, and crossed to the mesh bag beside the console. She retrieved the same phone she'd placed there before we anchored. When she came back, she propped it against the solid side of the rear bench and tested the frame.
"Blanket higher," she said.
Kit pulled it over our chests. Only bare shoulders, flushed faces, and my arms around both women remained visible.
Bristol set the timer and hurried back. She tucked herself against my right side, pulled my arm firmly across her shoulders, then reached over me and drew Kit closer too.
The timer blinked.
Kit kissed my jaw. Bristol looked straight at the camera for one second, then changed her mind and rested her cheek against my shoulder.
The shutter clicked.
Bristol retrieved the phone and studied the image.
Nothing public crossed her face. No polished smile. No calculation about framing, reach, or what strangers might decide it meant. Her expression softened into the same private warmth she'd worn while photographing me fixing a dock line nobody else knew was broken.
Kit held out a hand. "Let me see."
Bristol brought the phone back beneath the blanket and showed us.
Three tired faces. Bare shoulders. Kit's lips against my jaw. Bristol tucked into me with her eyes closed. My arms around both of them.
No one looked posed.
"Keep it," Kit said.
Bristol locked the screen, returned the phone to the mesh bag beside the helm, then slid back beneath the blanket and put my hand around her waist exactly where she wanted it.
"Cold?" I asked.
"No," Kit and Bristol answered together.
They laughed, bright and overlapping in the dark inlet.
Bristol pulled my arm tighter. Kit's fingers laced through mine beneath the blanket. Across the deck, the phone stayed dark.