Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“Yves,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked me.

I didn’t have a response.

“I…well…you know…” Colette flitted a hand in front of her. “Boys do tend to experiment.”

“I’m not experimenting,” Yves said. “I’m like…really gay.”

“Yves, I think you better let your grandparents have a minute with that,” I suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed amiably.

“Do you know about this, Remy?” Colette asked her son.

“Hello, Mom. Sabre’s right, you do look well. I’m glad of it,” Remy replied. “And yes, I know about Yves.”

“And you’re fine with it?” she demanded.

“About as fine as I am with him continuing to breathe, which I’m sure you can guess is a lot, though I’m sensing you don’t realize it’s one and the same thing,” Remy said blandly.

Colette opened her mouth, but Guillaume rounded the couch, saying, “Melisande has prepared a lovely supper for you. I know your grandmother is tired and I’ll need to see her upstairs and make certain she’s comfortable, so sadly, I won’t be joining you. But I’ll let her know you’re ready to be served. If you’d like to say goodnight to your grandmother and move into the dining room?”

“Cool, thanks, Pépé, we’ll go there. See you tomorrow, Grandma,” Sabre said, took his sister’s hand, gave his brother a look, and with my other two mumbling their goodnights, they took off.

“Colette,” Guillaume prompted in a tone that didn’t say, take my hand so I can escort you upstairs.

It said, we talked about this.

She looked stubborn then lifted her chin, which only made her look more stubborn.

Then she said, “I’m so very happy to see you all—”

Guillaume shifted.

“Especially the two of you,” she continued, but the last was nearly spat. “Together.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Remy replied in a bored tone.

She did an up and down to me and waited for me to say something to her to congratulate her on her effort of kinda, but not quite hiding she was insulting me, but I didn’t say a word because I didn’t have any in that moment that were polite.

She then looked to her husband and lifted her hand to him.

With supreme gentleness, Guillaume took it in his.

“See you both in the morning,” Remy said, turning us and heading us to the door.

We were in the hall when Remy snorted like a bull.

Obviously, I’d heard him make the noise before, and it had two meanings, so I looked up at him to see which one this was.

It was the one which meant he was having trouble not laughing.

I smiled at him.

“I will never in my life forget Yves telling his grandma he’s, like…really gay,” he said.

I started laughing.

He looked down at me.

And proved how well he knew me.

“Three and a half more days, baby.”

We turned into the dining room, and I replied, “Three and a half more days.”





CHAPTER 19





Tradition





Remy





The next morning, Remy had his back to the headboard and his wife riding his cock.

And ever since Sabre could think coherent thoughts, they’d practiced the art of fucking without making a noise.

Therefore, they were doing this now, even if Wyn was taking his cock like she was willing her body to absorb it.

“Baby,” he murmured, tweaking her nipple.

She slid a hand back and claimed a fistful of his hair.

He heard the soft sound of warning, took her mouth to swallow the moan of her orgasm, and once she recovered from it, as if she wasn’t serious before, she set her sights on pounding one out of him.

He didn’t make her wait too long.

After it was over, she sat on his dick with her face in his neck.

“I need another hour of sleep,” she whispered.

In their time zone, she did.

He’d woken her to fuck.

But although Wyn needed a solid seven to eight hours every night, Remy was one of those people who was good with five to six.

So he was awake.

“I’ll clean you up and then go find coffee,” he replied.

She nodded, her hair moving along his shoulder.

As he’d been doing since they added physically reuniting to the rest of it, random things that felt important, because they were, he memorized.

And so he memorized the feel of her hair on his skin too.

She climbed off him and curled under the covers.

He kissed her shoulder and got out of bed making certain those covers were barely disturbed.

He came back with a washcloth, and she adjusted enough to let him take care of their business before she let him kiss her lazily and she snuggled down in the bed.

She mumbled, “Love you,” as he straightened.

But he took her in under silk and down and entrenched in one-thousand-plus thread count sheets, moved his eyes around the room, and then back to her when he said, “You were made to be right there.”

She blinked up at him, turning her head a little on the pillow.

“Sorry?”

“This house suits you. You were made to lie under silk in Egyptian cotton with opulence everywhere you turn.”