Unwrapped: a MMF Holiday Romance

by Taryn Quinn

  “Both. Abe won’t know what hit him.”

  Tris was already prying his cell phone out of the jacket he’d tossed over the back of his chair. Even when it was just the three of them in the office, he always dressed the part of the successful young exec, though he usually bypassed the tie in favor of just a crisp shirt. But that crispness had been lost through the long day and night, and he’d rolled up the sleeves to bare his sinewy forearms.

  Realizing she was studying the pattern of dark hair curling under his watch, she forced her gaze away as he talked to Abe. He sounded a lot less glum than the last time he’d spoken to him, even ending the call with a cheerful, “Merry Christmas!”

  Tris pocketed his phone and grinned, then leaned forward to tap a few keys. “He’s waiting by his e-mail,” he said, pulling up his own e-mail program and attaching the files.

  “So much for Christmas,” she murmured, ignoring her urge to rush back to her desk.

  The need to put some distance between them was high, but she didn’t want to be cowed. They worked together. She’d have to learn to deal with her feelings for him somehow.

  “Christmas Shmistmas. Making green’s much more fun.” He stepped back and extended a hand to her. As if he wanted to shake.

  She glanced down at his outstretched palm, then up at his face, noting that for the first time in days his tension had drained away. Tentatively, she laid her hand in his.

  “Good job, partner.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. See, this wasn’t so hard, even if his hand was warm and ridged and made her feel as delicate as a china doll. “You too.”

  “So,” he said, still not releasing her as his gaze probed hers. “You heading home?”

  She should. She’d promised her mom she wouldn’t be too late, and she’d already missed most of the evening. “No,” she heard herself say. “What about you?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t deal with the family tonight. They’ll be…” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “My mom’s been thinking about Connie a lot this week. I just can’t handle it right now. I’ll go over tomorrow.”

  She nodded and curled her fingers into his palm. “Next week is the anniversary.”

  “Yes.”

  “Eight years. I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either. Seems like yesterday.” He sighed. “Seems like a lifetime.” He linked their fingers and drew her against him, into the shelter of his arms where she belonged. “I’ve missed you,” he said, nuzzling her hair.

  His spicy sandalwood cologne filled her airspace. His heart beat strong under her cheek, and she breathed him in with every ragged breath. “It’s only been a few days.”

  “Seems like a lifetime,” he echoed as she closed her eyes.

  How could something that felt so right be so wrong?

  Except maybe it wasn’t. Not even a little bit. She sucked in a breath. Perhaps the only thing that was truly wrong was her ridiculously narrow-minded worldview.

  And maybe she could still change that. If she was strong enough.

  Brave enough.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked a few minutes later, his voice wavering.

  Was he trying to hold himself back from touching her beyond their relatively chaste embrace? Did he have any clue how tightly she was strung, trying to keep from touching him?

  “I could eat. Are you? Hungry?”

  “Yeah. Think any place is open on Christmas Eve?”

  “Dunno.” She took a careful step back and smiled up at him, grateful they’d reached some sort of détente that didn’t involve nudity. “We could find out.”

  An hour later, they’d spread out their feast on the table in the little kitchenette where they’d eaten so many meals over the years. It was also the same place she and Matt had argued—and sexed—two weeks ago.

  Time didn’t seem to move at the same speed as it once had. Yesterday felt like forever and tomorrow didn’t hold much weight at all. Not when the forest green eyes she loved so much stayed steady on hers and they had a plate of extra-hot chicken wings and a steaming mushroom and pepperoni pizza between them.

  They polished off half of both, though Tristan ate more than she did. Not by much. She’d been starving, and everything tasted wonderful.

  “You have some stomach, Sachs,” he said with a grin, wiping his mouth with a napkin, then tossing it aside. In the light from the stubby candle he’d unearthed, he looked even sexier than usual, shadows dancing over his chiseled jaw and firm lips. “Always love watching you pack it away.”

  “We didn’t have much lunch.”

  “You haven’t eaten much in days,” he said, picking up his longneck beer. He’d cracked open one for both of them, saving the two beers they had left for their “ceremonial toast at midnight,” as he’d called it. What they were toasting, she didn’t know.

  One thing she did know? That the more time she spent in his company—especially since he was back to acting like the man she knew and loved—the more likely it became that she’d greet Christmas without her clothes on.

  “We’ve been so busy,” she said noncommittally, peeling off a slice of pepperoni and shoving it in her mouth.

  “Not that busy.” He leaned back in his chair and toyed with the label on his bottle. “You haven’t reconsidered.”

  She wanted to say she had. What wouldn’t she do to keep him looking so relaxed? Her own muscles were more loose than they’d been in days, and it wasn’t due to the beer. Living with that much tension wasn’t good for anyone.

  The worst of it was that she missed him and Matt. Missed the woman she became when she was in their arms. She was so tired of worrying all the time, always trying to measure up to some invisible standard. With them she could just be herself.

  They made her happy. Wasn’t that all that really mattered? So what if they had a nontraditional situation. They weren’t hurting anyone, and love could never be anything but beautiful. People were going to say things regardless.

  Hell, some people already did because she lived with two guys. Why not really give them something to talk about?

  She wet her lips, half tempted to just say to hell with it and put it all on the table.

  Yes, I’ll give us a try. I want you and Matt. I want all of it. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.

  Only an idiot would turn away from love and passion to stay alone in her empty bed at night. She wasn’t an idiot. But the words refused to come.

  “Okay,” he said when she didn’t answer, rising to clear away the paper plates.

  She rose to help him clean up, that unnerving tension building again as they wrapped up the pizza and wings for Matt. He’d bitch that they’d ordered hot wings, knowing he hated them, but that was half the fun.

  Together they straightened up the kitchen. When they were finished, he drank the last of his beer and stood rolling the bottle between his palms.

  “Guess I’ll go to bed,” he said finally, setting his presumably empty bottle on the counter.

  “Yeah. It’s late,” she said, though it wasn’t even ten yet. They hadn’t made their toast. But maybe forced distance would be good, although a thin wall wouldn’t exactly separate them much.

  “It is. I’m tired.”

  “Me too.” She yawned and reached for her own beer, intending to put it in the fridge. But he grabbed the bottle before she could. “Hey, that’s mine,” she said.

  He held it against his chest with a gleam in his eyes she recognized too well. “Come and get it.”

  Chapter 11

  She shouldn’t.

  She had to.

  Cait’s pulse spiked as she closed the distance between them. She kept her eyes on Tristan’s, letting him know she was all too aware she was walking into the lion’s den. But whether she was the lion or the prey, she still wasn’t sure.

  She circled her fingers around the bottle he held, her gaze landing on his mouth. It remained there as he moved down and swept his hand into her hair, dragging her head back so he
could lay claim to her lips. Their mouths enmeshed, his tongue driving hers back in a sensual battle she was all too happy to lose.

  The bottle clattered to the floor and rolled away. It could have broken and glass shards embedded in her bare feet for all she cared.

  He hauled her up in his arms and carried her upstairs as if she weighed nothing. She pressed her face into his neck and hung on. She didn’t know if he’d go to her bedroom or his, but when she lifted her head, she saw he’d chosen his. Of course. He had the big bed, the amazing sound system, the gorgeously expensive bedroom set, and oh my God.

  She stared upward in stunned shock when he dropped her on his California king, her butt still bouncing on the ultrafirm mattress. “You have a mirror above the bed,” she whispered.

  But not just a mirror. It was shaped like a sun, each ray a sliver of glass surrounding a center circle. It wasn’t as classless as the usual ceiling special. Of course not. Even Tristan’s implements of sexual pleasure were artfully sensuous.

  Color her not surprised.

  Tristan didn’t reply to her comment. He was too busy undoing buttons and then drawing his shirttails out of his pants. Baring the incredible chest that made her want to lick him from the strong line of his shoulders to his equally noteworthy cock. Breathing hard, stunned into inaction, she watched him disrobe, her fingers twitching where they lay uselessly at her sides.

  Once he’d stripped, he crawled into bed with her and pulled her close. He made no move to remove her clothes as they kissed, his fingers stroking her back, her arms, her ass. Everywhere he touched, she burned. She couldn’t even return the favor. She was too overwhelmed by the sensations he aroused in her.

  He wrecked her world with dizzying, slow kisses, the complete opposite of what he’d given her downstairs. By the time his hand crept under her top, she was panting and so wet she would’ve sworn her arousal had to be trickling down her legs. Her nipples ached, and the pain only increased when he slipped her breast free from her bra and lowered his head to nibble the tight tip. His tongue lashed her after every bite, but it wasn’t soothing. He meant to drive her crazy, and he succeeded.

  Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she jerked up and tugged off her shirt. Her bra came off next, followed by her jeans and her panties. She was yanking the bikinis off her ankles when she happened to glance up again, catching a glimpse of her flushed face and rosy nipples in the mirror. A cry escaped her, one Tristan absorbed with his mouth as he ranged his body over hers, pushing her hips down into the mattress. His erection branded her belly, teasing her with the weight of everything he could do to her.

  And she wanted everything. Wanted him more than her next breath.

  There wasn’t time to think as his mouth raced over her body. He seemed to be everywhere at once. His hands cradled her breasts, thumbs rubbing her nipples, lips grazing her trembling belly, coasting over her ribs, caressing her hips, then finally landing at the edge of her pussy, his tongue dipping down to scoop out her abundant wetness. When he licked her, she bolted upward, held only in place by his stranglehold on her breasts. He yanked her feet over his shoulders and spread her wide open, sucking, biting, eating her out so thoroughly she had to close her eyes against the kaleidoscope of color exploding in her vision.

  She cried out again and again, but whether she pleaded for him to stop or begged for more, she didn’t know. By the time she came, she was shuddering like an addict, spasms radiating from her core throughout her entire body.

  But as good as it was, she needed more. He was the only thing that could take away the emptiness she carried, the only one who could fill that hollow place inside her that belonged just to him.

  He lifted his head, his gaze connecting with hers as they both caught their breath. Guilt slammed into her, followed swiftly by love. Hurting him was like cutting herself open.

  How could she keep doing that? And for what?

  How could she turn away from this?

  Without speaking, she reached down to cup his face in her palm. He understood what she wanted and moved up her body before reaching in the nightstand for a foil packet. Once he’d pulled on the latex, she brought her knees up close to her chest and hooked her ankles around his neck.

  “You’re learning,” he murmured, trailing his fingertip over her lower lip before he nipped her flesh, distracting her as he glided inside and made her his all over again.

  God, sex was amazing. As stupid as it was, his scent floating over her, his hands on her skin, his kisses, his heat…they were all wispy dreams. But this was when the dream became reality, when hard flesh met soft and somehow became the same.

  She tried to memorize all of it. Their bodies rising and falling as one, breath tripping, heartbeats melding into one endless throb.

  He whispered her name every time he pressed deeper, grinding against her clit until she couldn’t even gasp his. All the oxygen in her lungs had to be used to prolong the pleasure enveloping her with his every thrust. Slowly, so slowly, the friction grew, each squeeze of her inner muscles pulling a groan from him and a soft cry from her.

  She swiveled her hips, testing to see what they both liked. Her orgasm had taken some of the edge off, and she wanted to make their lovemaking last as long as possible.

  In case this is the last time you’re with him like this?

  Cait closed her eyes to fight the thoughts trying to invade her mind. For once she was just going to let go and enjoy.

  Before long her tentative explorations led to his ragged moan. He changed the angle, using one hand to guide her legs closer together. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You feel so fucking perfect.” Desperate to see him, she opened her eyes again, only to catch him smiling down at her as if she’d hung the moon and all the stars too. “Love doing this with you,” he said, his voice reverent.

  The dryness of her throat made speech impossible, so she slid her hands up his arms and gripped his biceps as their mouths met. Luckily he didn’t seem to expect a response.

  Of course she loved doing this with him. Loved him, period. Other than Matt, she’d never loved another man.

  Never would.

  She drew her knees as close to her chest as possible, heaving out a breath as her hard nipples rubbed against her skin. He reached up and flicked the hard tips, his gaze caressing hers with the same intensity as his cock plunged into her pussy.

  God, she was so wet. She’d been wet for him for years. If she hadn’t been so good at living in denial, she would’ve had to face up to that a long time ago.

  “Oh, Tristan.” The plea caused her cheeks to flood with heat. But she didn’t let it stop her. “I’m going to come,” she said, clenching around his thick cock until he released a long, needy groan. “Come with me.”

  Even as a relative newcomer to this whole game, she knew he was close. He sank deep, his balls tight and firm when they slapped her ass. His strokes quickened, becoming more frantic. Sweat dotted his brow, and his muscles bulged as he fisted his hands in the pillows beside her head.

  “Can’t. Have to…” He couldn’t seem to form words, and she loved that she destroyed his control.

  His body battered hers, his face tightening as he reached his peak before she did. He didn’t make a sound, but he shuddered so hard she was afraid he’d break in two. Then he was thrusting deeper, so deep she couldn’t restrain a cry as her inner walls contracted over and over again.

  The residual tremors from her climax had barely subsided when he shifted their positions, scooping her up and rolling over until she was on top of him. Still inside her, he flexed his semihard length, making her whimper.

  “See what you do to me?” He thumbed her hair out of her eyes. “One orgasm isn’t nearly enough.”

  She grinned. “For me either. Multiples always seem to work best when you and Matt are around.”

  He rubbed her damp arm, not meeting her eyes. “Move back in, Caity. It’s not the same without you.”

  She waited until she could be certain her voi
ce wouldn’t shake. “Technically I never really left. I just slept over at my mom’s since Sunday. All my stuff’s still here.”

  “All your stuff isn’t you.”

  “No.” She laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes. “What if I asked you to choose me over Matt?”

  His hand stilled.

  “You couldn’t, could you?” she asked quietly, understanding completely.

  “No. Just like you can’t choose me over him.”

  “We’ve always been a trio.”

  “Glad you’re finally acknowledging that, Caity Bait.”

  Somehow his using that nickname when they were naked in his bed added a layer of the forbidden to what had always been a fond, if somewhat embarrassing, memory.

  With a long sigh, she wiggled away until he slid out of her body. Once he’d disposed of the condom, he returned, snuggling her into his tight embrace.

  “You’re really not worried what anyone will say, are you?” she asked, drawing patterns on his shoulder with the edge of her fingernail.

  “About us? No. I think most people will be jealous.”

  She snorted at that. “Some people will probably think we’re immoral.”

  “Those people aren’t us.” Tristan tipped her chin until their gazes were level. “Want to run away? Start over someplace new? That way we wouldn’t run into people we know every day. Eventually we could come out to our families, on our own timetable.”

  Come out. She wet her lips. He made it all sound so easy. “We have a business here. A very successful one.”

  “Ask me which is more important to me.” The expression he wore answered the question so succinctly she didn’t bother.

  “Tell me this,” he said after a moment. “If you weren’t worried what people would say, your family in particular, would you give us a try? All three of us?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t even have to consider the question. And God, wasn’t that scary. “I would. But the idea of telling my mom I’m in a committed threesome…” She couldn’t stop the shudder.

  “Your problem isn’t us. It’s that you feel guilty for not being more understanding about the stuff they’ve gone through with people they loved. And you probably should.”