Page 66 of Bossing My Holiday
“So pretty when you give in and let us spoil you as we want,” Tristan whispers against my lips, his hands on my hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of my panties. His lips curl up into a smile, and at this point, I don’t bother protesting.
He tears the lace from my sides, then Braxton’s hands are there, one slipping between my thighs from behind.
“Already so wet for us,” he murmurs appreciatively, his fingers finding my center.
Tristan watches, his eyes darkening as Braxton begins to stroke me, but there’s something else in his eyes. “Tell me what you want tonight, Waverly.”
The directness of the question makes me flush despite the vulnerability of my current position. I’ve thought about this since I woke up in Tristan’s bed with his dick up my ass, and he told me if it was really in there, I’d be moaning. I thought about it again at dinner when they hinted at it. If I’m going to experience two men, I want to experience two men fully.
“I want... both of you.” My voice trembles like a leaf in a hurricane.
“You have us,” Tristan replies, his voice rough. “Be specific.”
Braxton’s fingers continue their maddening rhythm, making it hard to think clearly. “I want to feel you both.” I swallow. “Inside me. At the same time.” A flush like I’ve never known takes hold.
Something flashes in Tristan’s eyes—approval, hunger, possession. Whatever it is, I want it. I want to be consumed by it.
“Have you done that before?”
I shake my head. “No.” Not even close. These men are ten years older and worlds more experienced than I am. I’ve had sex with four men, and my college boyfriend was as basic and vanilla as it gets. Which is fine. I knew no different. But being here with them is opening my eyes to a world of possibilities. To things I never knew I wanted but am desperate to try.
“Do you want us here?” Braxton asks, his lips at my ear, as he slides his wet finger back between my ass cheeks to the firm ring of muscles. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
“I do,” I tell him while keeping my eyes on Tristan, surprised by how much I mean it. “I trust you both.”
Tristan cups my face, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Good girl.”
He kisses me then, hard and deep, while Braxton’s fingers return to my pussy and increase their pace. I’m caught between them, my body responding to their touch with an eagerness that should embarrass me but doesn’t. Not anymore. Not with them.
“Let’s move you somewhere more comfortable,” Tristan suggests, breaking the kiss, his eyes glistening with a hunger that has me clenching around Braxton’s fingers.
He leads us away from the windows to where a thick, soft rug covers the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace. With the click of a button the fireplace springs to life, the hiss of gas andthe dancing of flames mesmerizing. It seems odd to have that in a Parisian apartment, but also not, since this is Tristan’s and he’s nothing if not modern and practical.
“On your knees, Waverly.”
I comply, sinking down onto the plush carpet, my heart hammering, blood rushing through my ears so loudly I’m shocked they can’t hear it. They both finish undressing, and I watch, my eyes glued to their bodies, taking in the long lines and broad shoulders and rigid abs. Braxton has a light smattering of hair on his chest, while Tristan only has some beneath his navel.
But damn. If they were wearing Santa hats, it would be Christmas porn.
I giggle at the imagery, and Braxton tilts his head, his lips bouncing. “Something funny?”
“Just picturing you both in a Santa-themed strip show. You’d make a killing.”
“You think we should leave biotech behind and explore the world of exotic dancing?”
I shrug at Braxton. “I mean, I’d pay for that. Who needs antibiotics when hard abs and two big dicks can probably cure just about anything?”
Tristan chokes and shakes his head at me. “For that, we’re going to use your toy on you.”
“Um, is that meant to be a punishment?”
“While you’re blindfolded and taking cocks in your mouth and pussy without knowing who’s fucking you where.”
Oh. I try to suppress my shiver, but there is no getting past the bolt of lust that hits me.
I shrug again, trying for nonchalance and falling way short. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Braxton smiles like a kid at, well, Christmas. A little too excited by this. “And her ass. We’ll get her ass ready.”
