Page 50 of Branson's Promise

Milo buried his face in her hair as they cried together. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers as he shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Mia. It’s all going to be okay,wewill be okay.” He kissed her tear streaked cheek and then her forehead and she nodded, wiping away the tears with the back of her arm. Milo’s shoulders straightened and it was as though the weight of the world had visibly lifted from him.

Branson plonked himself down on my lap, and I wrapped my arms around him, nuzzling my nose into his neck while Milo and Mia chatted a little longer. Eventually, Mia had to leave to meet up with her friend in Times Square and Milo walked her down to the lobby. When he returned, his eyes were brighter than they had been in days.

After a long day at work and the emotional meeting with Mia, we were ready to call it a day, climbing into bed after a light dinner just before ten. Lights from the television danced across the walls. It was Milo’s choice of show which was usually marginally better than Branson’s. At least we were not watching something with vampires again. Instead, he had chosen a comedy with some cringey moments that had the three of us laughing out loud. Milo’s laugh was carefree and his whole body seemed more relaxed than before. When we rubbed our hands over his back, near his scars, he no longer tensed and I noticed he spoke about his childhood and his mother openly, something he hadn’t done before.

Thinking of family, I opened my phone, and clicked on the latest message from my mum. I had spoken to her a few times since our last chat and she hadn’t mentioned me coming back to the UK again. But this latest message was a very clear request that’d had my heart in my throat for most of the day.

Mum:Have you given any more thought to moving home? Your dad is too proud to say it, but he needs you closer.

Mum:His appointment went well today. Doctors are pleased with this new medication. We miss you.

Me:Not yet. I miss you too.

What more could I say? Obviously, I wanted to see him and be there to support my parents. But selfishly, I couldn’t leave Branson and Milo. And would they move across the ocean to be with me? Could I even ask that of them? What if I asked and they said no?

So, like a fucking coward, I stuck my head in the sand, knowing full well I wouldn’t have much longer to put it off.

“I think Juliet needs a friend.” Branson’s voice broke me from my thoughts and I turned to him, meeting his smiling face. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed with Juliet curled up in his lap. She’d grown massively in the three weeks since Milo had brought her home. She had a healthy appetite and a penchant for clawing the furniture. She also had Branson wrapped around her little paw.

“What makes you think that?” I asked, taking a sip of tea from one of the mugs Milo had given us after our date at the museum - a photo of the three of us after the helicopter ride printed on the side.

“I was just thinking it must get lonely for her being an only child.”

“Was it lonely for you?” I asked. I’d never felt that sort of longing for a sibling - other than the times I wished there was someone else to follow in my father’s footsteps, but I could see how it could be the case for some.

“It was at times but then I met August and he was like a brother to me. So then it wasn’t anymore.” I mulled that over before answering him.

“You’re right, Juliet needs a friend. Let’s find her one.” What was one more member of our little found family?

Milo laughed. “You’re such a pushover,” he joked, and I swatted his thigh playfully. His bruise had morphed into a purplish yellow but he assured us it didn't hurt anymore.

“You’re the one who brought the fleabag home in the first place!”

“Something you didn’t disagree with even the slightest. Such a pushover.” His grin was wide, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“He’s not wrong,” Branson piped up before removing Juliet from his lap. Then he crawled towards me, his hips moving seductively. “I think you’d give us anything we asked for.” Branson winked at Milo and I smelled trouble, the kind that had my dick hardening instantly.

“Is that so?” I played along, slowly falling backwards onto a pillow as Branson crawled over me. “And what is it exactly that you want?”

Branson made a play of thinking about it. Wiggling his eyebrows and pursing his lips before turning to Milo again.

“Milo, babe, what could we possibly want?” I had a feeling my boyfriends knew exactly what they wanted and I was either going to love the idea or…. no, I was sure I would love the idea.

Milo stood from the bed and pulled off his vest, then made quick work of removing his pyjama pants so he was completely naked. He stroked his long, thick cock from base to tip, until it was fully erect.

“To fuck you.” Milo’s grin was positively wicked as he rejoined us on the bed, kissing along my ribs and ghosting his tongue along my pebbling flesh.

I sucked in a breath as Branson leaned over me and bit my earlobe. “Please, daddy?” He asked and I nodded emphatically.

“Fuck yes.” While I usually preferred to top, I enjoyed bottoming too. We’d all discussed our preferences early on in the relationship and established that while Bran and I were vers - Bran with a preference to bottom - Milo was strictly a top. The thought of the two of them, taking me, owning me, stripping me of all responsibility for even an hour thrilled me.

Branson moved lower on the bed and shimmied my sleep shorts down over my hips, freeing my already leaking cock in the process. Then, standing at the foot of the bed, he removed his tiny shorts as he surveyed me from head to toe, his lip twitching up on one side into a grin. Milo came up behind him and wrapped a strong arm around his stomach, biting into the curve of his exposed neck. “This what you want, gorgeous? To bury your cock deep inside our sexy boyfriend? To make him writhe and beg and scream?”

Branson let out a sort of moan-whimper and my mouth watered, my skin tingling with anticipation as Milo trailed his hands down Branson’s smooth chest, along the thin happy trail that started below his navel until he was taking Branson’s engorged cock, flushed a beautiful shade of pink, in his hand.

Milo gave a few languid strokes before letting go and turning Branson around and kissing him, tipping his head to get a better angle. I just lay there, watching, waiting, wanting. When Bran started rutting against Milo’s thigh, Milo stopped him with one final gentle peck to his lips. Cocking his head in my direction he said, “Let’s not keep him waiting any longer, he’s looking a little needy over there.”

Milo was not wrong. During the course of their kiss, I’d taken myself in hand and was stroking with a firm grip, loving the friction on my cock, understanding why Milo was always so keen to be our voyeur.

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