Wild Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  “Hold up.” She breathes shallowly, and we both stop a literal foot away. So close that I could reach down and tear her pants off.

  Banks rubs a hand across his jaw.

  I try to read her expression. All I see is arousal, but to be positive, I tell her, “We don’t have to do anything, Sulli—”

  “It’s not that, fuck.” She presses a hand to her temple. “I’d just rather see you two come since I haven’t seen that yet, but don’t feel pressured or…” She trails off because Banks and I are already shedding our slacks.

  Down to boxer-briefs, she nearly falls backward on the bed in a pant. “Oh fuck.”

  I absolutely love getting girls off. If they’re not falling asleep in exhaustion from coming multiple times, then I haven’t touched them or fucked them right.

  Banks asks me under his breath, “Stay back?” He’s not asking if he should stay back. He’s asking if we should. I’ve communicated enough with him through security to understand.

  I nod. Stay back. Sulli is about to have more than just a strip tease.

  We shed our underwear. Rolling the elastic down my thighs, I step out of the clothing. Banks does the same. We stand buck-naked, and her green eyes pin right on my cock. Then his. I glance to his crotch and realize we’re both hard.

  Her raspy breath fills the quiet. She looks back and forth between mine and his. I palm my long shaft. I love my dick. The morning-afters, I’ve been told it’s the perfect size, but that’s partly because I know how to use it well.

  Banks has the length and width that’d fit his height, which is to say, he’s much larger than average. He’s said it’s caused him more problems if he hits the cervix.

  While my hand creates friction and Banks strokes himself, Sulli unbuttons her pants. An aroused knot balls up in my throat. I crave to push her back against the bed and strip her myself. Honestly, I crave more than that, but even if she asked, I wouldn’t go get rope.

  I’ve never tied up a virgin.

  And Sulli is…she’s really inexperienced to me. Which isn’t bad, but I just want to be cognizant of that fact. A man’s hand on her body is a brand-new touch, and she had two pairs of hands on her in the tent, so she got overwhelmed fast.

  I watch Sulli zip down her pants in the camping trailer. Her fingers dive between her legs and underneath the cotton of her panties. I blaze alive, muscles contracting, and I rub harder and rest my other hand on the dinette table.

  Banks’ breath is heavier when she bucks up her hips. He curses, “Fuck.”

  I slide my ankle against her ankle and break her legs open. Even if she’s clothed, her knees spread apart, and she bites on her bottom lip, rubbing her clit faster. Eyeing our cut muscles and abs back down to our hands as we jerk off. “I feel like,” she says throatily, “I feel like I need you…in me.”

  I breathe through my nose, almost coming. I slide my hand up and down. Friction pricking every nerve in my body, and I can’t tell if she’s speaking to me or Banks or both of us. But I tell Sulli, “I feel like I need to be in you.”

  “Fuck…me,” she cries out softly. “Please.”

  Banks grunts, gritting down on his teeth as arousal slams into him.

  I’m close enough to Sulli that if she sits up more, she can touch me. And I glance at Banks, just to tell him I’m moving forward. Once we exchange a single look, I cup the back of her head, bringing her up.

  With her hand still between her legs, Sulli eyes my cock that’s at perfect height to her lips.

  “Only if you want to,” I remind her.

  “I do, fuck,” she cries out while I replace her hand with mine. She’s so wet. Her gaze stays on mine while I slip a finger inside of her.

  She squirms, eyes nearly rolling. “Kits.” Hearing her say my name like that is going to stay with me for weeks…months…years.

  Sulli has a good visual of Banks as he continues to jack off, and once her eyes open, she watches him, then she asks, “How should I…?”

  I guide my hard length to her lips. “Use your tongue first.”

  She runs her tongue around the tip. “Like this?” Her innocence in bed reminds me to go easy.

  I nod and hold her chin. “Now open.”

  Sulli opens her mouth, then stops. “What if I bite you—?”

  “You won’t.” You might scrape me. But I’m not going to be a dick about it if she accidentally uses her teeth. She was less in her head when she was watching Banks, so I tell her, “Watch Banks.”

  The suggestion almost eases Sulli. Maybe she was afraid she wasn’t paying enough attention to one of us. While she watches Banks, I slowly slip between her lips. Her mouth open, she stops thinking and just goes with the feeling.

  Standing tall above Sulli, I pump my finger inside her, and I cup her cheek while I rock against her mouth, only a few times. Her breath catches, and I pull out.

  “Fuck,” she moans, writhing. She watches Banks root a hand to the side of the trailer and come hard in his palm. Sulli clenches around my finger.

  I didn’t even want to try putting two in her. And seeing her hit a climax sends me to mine. I stroke once and release in my hand.

  We’re all heavy breath.

  “You okay?” I ask Sulli.

  She’s smiling and collapses back. “Wow.”

  “I feel that,” Banks says in a laugh, grabbing his boxer-briefs. None of us forget the hot springs. Putting on clothes, we head out to the river.

  The thirty-minute hike leads to us stripping down again. Dipping into the warm water of this primitive, natural hot spring, like a small alcove in the river. Not found on any website or any map.

  Steam rising, I kiss Sulli.

  And then, Banks kisses Sulli.

  We make out with her. We talk. We crack jokes. We laugh. Waiting until the last second to leave. And when we’re running back to the trailer to beat the freezing cold, biting at our flesh, the air hangs thicker. Heavier.

  I open the trailer.

  Back to reality.

  Almost.

  Sulli takes the bunk bed. Refusing to let us take it since we’re taller and it’s cramped. So Banks and I share the queen bed. Lying side by side, I stare up at the ceiling of the trailer.

  An hour later, Sulli peeks her head out. She sees me awake. Banks stirs, rubbing his eyes in the semi-darkness. The moon shines through the trailer.

  Sulli is quiet. Saying nothing, she crawls between us on the bed. My pulse slows, and I turn on my side and spoon Sul, then she burrows into Banks’ chest.

  Having her safe in my arms, I finally fall asleep.

  39

  SULLIVAN MEADOWS

  Fuck the rain.

  Five days of thunderstorms have constructed a huge roadblock on my goal. Rain means slippage, especially on the slick, flat slab of rock I’m trying to scale. With these miserable weather conditions, I haven’t been able to climb Rattlesnake Knuckle since the day Jack filmed. And that day was supposed to be my last practice climb with gear.

  Now, I’m not even confident about free-soloing without another dry run.

  Jane and Maximoff flew out to Yellowstone to watch me free-solo, and now they’re not going to get the chance. They fly back with everyone tomorrow. I feel a little bit like I wasted their time, and it’s hard not to beat myself up over it, even if them watching me climb wasn’t my goal.

  I haven’t failed.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I still have time to free-solo at least one of my dad’s old climbing routes. So as long as I free-solo Rattlesnake Knuckle and get to experience something my dad once did, I’ll have succeeded what I set out to do.

  I keep telling myself that even as the rain pours harder outside.

  Rain isn’t such a deal-breaker for Thatcher and Jane’s bachelor and bachelorette parties today. Their best man and man of honor booked the event at a fucking humongous Montana lodge, set on a ranch with acres and acres of land. Also complete with a brewery and a spa.

  The people at the front desk ev
en handed me a map.

  I told Jane that I hoped she didn’t choose Montana just out of convenience for me. If she wanted her bachelorette party in Vegas, I would’ve flown there. But she said they’d been looking for a resort-style place like the lodge, and it fit everything she wanted.

  It’s five-star worthy luxury.

  Considering I’ve been roughing it in a tent and then RV trailer for almost a month, I’ll gladly take some pampering.

  Jane’s bachelorette party has been morning mimosas and pedicures, and now afternoon mud facials, and soon, a dip in a mud bath. Staring at my unshaven legs reminds me that I haven’t used a razor in a solid week. One day of no shaving and I’m a fucking cactus. So my hair has grown.

  I remember the hot springs.

  Five days ago, where my legs brushed up against Banks, then Akara under the water. And neither one took their hand off my leg. Banks actually pulled my legs on his lap.

  I smile.

  Those memories are scorched in my brain. I want to be with Banks.

  But I want to be with Akara.

  You can’t have them both, Sulli.

  The thought always sinks my stomach and spirits. I know I can’t be in two relationships at once. It’s different while we’re here. It’ll always be different in the privacy and beauty of the wilderness.

  Home has never felt so uninviting.

  I want to stay out here forever. But I’ll need to pick soon. I can only procrastinate for so long before I’m being totally unfair to Akara and Banks.

  Shaking away the stress of choosing, I try to just enjoy this time with the bride-to-be.

  Moffy asked me to plan a game for the party. My one task as a bridesmaid: I had the lodge staff print out pictures of dicks. They side-eyed me, but in my fucking defense, some were vegetables.

  During pedicures, the Dick or Not? game landed Moffy first place.

  No one was surprised, since he’s the only guy at the bachelorette party. He’s stared at his junk his whole life.

  We all fawn over Jane. As it fucking should be—she’s always doting over us, but it’s really hard to get Jane to concentrate on herself.

  Even on a day we planned for her. She fuels all the stories about us as if we’re the center of the universe.

  Like now.

  “My brother said he’s been talking to you more,” Jane says in an effervescent smile that sparkles her blue eyes. The brother she’s referring to is Beckett. Mud masks on our faces, we walk together to the poolroom inside the spa. Our next stop is the mud bath. She asks, “Have you two patched everything up?”

  “Not exactly.” I pick at the dried mud on my cheek. It feels weird when I scrunch my nose. “I just call him more often.”

  “You should call him today,” Jane suggests. “He might be feeling left out since he couldn’t make it here.”

  I haven’t called him yet today. But I planned to do it after the bachelorette party. “Today is your day—”

  “I don’t mind,” she cuts in. “Seeing you two be friends again would make me happy.”

  It’d probably make a lot of people happy. Including me. But I’m not sure I can click my heels and go back to the way things were.

  At her persistence, I say, “Alright, I’ll be just a sec. Don’t play Never Have I Ever without me.” I slip out of the poolroom while she heads to the mud bath. And I find some privacy in an empty massage room.

  What is glaringly different: the temp bodyguard hovering around me. No Akara. No Banks. The temp is older, mid-forties, and buff like a pro-wrestler.

  “I’ll probably be a few minutes,” I tell him.

  He nods, scoping out the hallway.

  Very professional, very vigilant. I’m pretty proud of Kits for finding a way to hire Michael Moretti. So far, from my perspective, the temp guard that Michael trained is really confident in his abilities. Which makes me feel safe.

  I shut the door, and the temp waits outside in the hall.

  Wearing a bathing suit and a towel tied around my chest, I hop up on the massage table. Full-length windows have eerie views of a mountain range. All rain and fog.

  After dialing my cousin’s number, we start to talk.

  “I wish I were there,” Beckett says. “A brewery sounds more fun than having to remind Leo he’s not Romeo for the fifth time. He still thinks he’s God’s gift to ballet.”

  Beckett, along with all of Jane’s brothers, were invited to Thatcher’s bachelor party. But he had to pass because of his ballet schedule. He’s not the only one who couldn’t make it, though. Joana Oliveira had a boxing match in New York, so she’s also MIA. I’m a bit bummed that I can’t hang out with her again. When we were all stuck in Scotland, it was nice having someone else be on the “I’m not a Beckett Cobalt fan” train with me.

  Lifting my feet to the table, I tuck my legs to my chest. “Maybe Leo is overcompensating for a small dick. You know what they say, big ego, little dick.”

  He laughs. “That’s never true.”

  I’m smiling. It’s weird I’m smiling talking to him. I’ve lost count the number of phone calls we’ve had since Charlie blackmailed me. Around ten? Maybe more. There have been days I’ve called him twice.

  Though, he still hasn’t brought up cocaine or the cruel words he said to me. That topic is a shadowed figure sitting in the corner of our conversations.

  “How’s climbing going?” Beckett asks.

  I pick at the frayed strings of my anklet. “It sucks I haven’t free-soloed yet.”

  “Perfection doesn’t happen overnight.”

  My heart pangs, hand tightening on the phone. Those are words we used to say to each other growing up. When we were twelve and doing push-ups in the living room. When we were fourteen and watching our siblings go off to school, while we stayed back for homeschool. When we were sixteen and we declined invitations to parties. To trips. To fun things.

  Perfection doesn’t happen overnight.

  Being perfect is a fucking drain. I let out a sigh, “One day, we’re going to be old and gray and look at each other and ask, was it all worth it? And I hope we’ll say yes.”

  Beckett takes a breath. “In that scenario, are we friends?”

  “I guess so.” Lightning cracks outside, and I check the time on my cell. “Fuck, I have to get back.”

  “I’ll tell Charlie you’ve successfully filled your obligation today,” Beckett says, trying to be casual but I catch a hint of sadness in his voice.

  Pain swells inside my chest. Even if Jane suggested I call her younger brother, I didn’t feel like this call was an obligation. I don’t know when that changed, but I wanted to call him.

  Before I can utter those words, Beckett says a quick bye and hangs up.

  I stare at my phone for a solid two minutes before I pry my ass off the massage table. Leave it all behind.

  Leave Beckett behind.

  He hasn’t even apologized. We haven’t even really talked about what needs to be said. I try to mortar all the bricks back up between my heart and my friend who could hurt me again. A wall that no wolf—not even me—can blow down. But with each phone call, I wonder if I’ve built the wall out of twigs and straw this whole time.

  I’m in a daze coming out of the massage room and wandering down the hall. Right before, I reach the glass doors to the poolroom, Moffy rounds a corner in a mud mask and dark-green swim jammer, which is basically competitive swimwear. Tightly-fitted, resembles boxer-briefs but covers the thigh.

  “Hey,” Moffy says, empty-handed.

  Literally, he just had his son in his arms the last I saw him. “Where’s Ripley?” The little dude has spent all morning with us. He even kept sipping out of his sippy-cup every time Moffy took a drink of lemon water. It’s fucking adorable how much he loves his dads.

  “I just handed him to Farrow,” Moffy explains.

  And I almost smile picturing how that went down. Considering Moffy is wearing a mud mask, his husband probably busted his balls. I’ve never seen anyone
get under Moffy’s skin like Farrow. Growing up, if anyone fucked with Moffy, they usually ended up with a black eye.

  But after seeing Maximoff fall for Farrow, it made total sense why they click. He’s needed someone who isn’t afraid to be honest with him. Just like Jane has needed someone who’s as logical and considerate as she is, to be balanced as two people could be.

  And me…

  What do I need?

  Those words linger in the back of my head as I tell Moffy, “I thought maybe his teeth were still hurting.” Earlier, Ripley was chewing on cold celery that Farrow packed him, just in case of teething issues.

  “Not that I could tell,” Moffy says but glances back at the exit like maybe he should go double-check.

  “Oh hey, I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Yeah.” He nods a ton, eyes on me. “Babies aren’t allowed in the poolroom, so I thought he should spend quality time with his dad.”

  “You mean his papa?”

  Maximoff groans into a smile, “Jesus, I still can’t believe he’s mixing us up.”

  “Or he’s getting you both right.”

  “Maybe.” Maximoff cracks a knuckle and blocks the push bar to go to the poolroom. “I have to leave Montana and be back in Philly for Janie—”

  “I know,” I interject, thinking he must be feeling guilty. “I don’t see it as you choosing her over me.”

  He’s still rigid. “But the day before you free-solo, call me, text me, send me a goddamn rocket flare or something. Because I’m gonna take the first flight out here—”

  “Moffy,” I cut in.

  He adds fast, “Free-soloing is a big deal, Sulli. I want to be there.”

  My lungs flood. The fear in his eyes is palpable. “I’m not going to fucking die.”

  “Yeah, I know that.” He nods more, but Moffy is someone who’d try to protect me from the mountain if he could. Being miles and miles away while I’m free-soloing is like riding backseat, not even in the passenger seat, and Moffy loves being behind the wheel.

  I want him there.

  As much as I’d actually love my dad and mom to watch too.

  Because Moffy is another safety net. The illusion of one anyway, and it is easier to breathe and climb knowing he’s present.