He tells us, “I’m shutting down Studio 9 indefinitely.”
“Kits—”
“It’s okay, Sulli. It’s just until I find someone to take Alexis’ place.” Alexis—his manager, or rather, ex-manager.
He can’t lose Studio 9. He’s been trying to preserve the gym like someone preserving a ghost and a legacy, and it’s too priceless to let go.
The bad news kicks my ass back onto dry land. I climb out of the pool, leaving those two to tread in the deep end. While I pry off my boots and pour water out of them, Akara calls after me, “Your dad told me he wants to talk to you.”
I go still. “Does he really?”
“Wolf Scouts’ honor.”
Sulli splashes him. “Kits, you were never a Wolf Scout.”
“But I could’ve been,” he smiles, one that vanishes too fast.
I pour water out of my other boot. “You need me to talk to him?”
“You don’t have to,” Akara says strongly, knowing me and my dad didn’t even speak at my brother’s wedding. “I’m not telling you to.”
But it’d help him.
If I decline, then he has to go back and tell my dad, sorry, sir, your son isn’t available. And then he’ll have to field the why questions and how come.
Akara is going through enough. Here’s my chance to do something for him, but goddamn, I can’t believe it’s going to be this.
“I’ll reach out to him,” I suddenly say.
By text? By carrier pigeon? By a fuck you pizza, I wish. But I’m not that big of a Bitter Betty.
“Thanks, Banks.” Akara looks relieved.
Sulli looks a little shocked, but after our talk, I think she understands why I’d do the thing I said I wouldn’t. We both want to help Akara, and this is my shot.
14
AKARA KITSUWON
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart blares in my eardrums. Sweat drips down my temples. Pulse pounding, I slam my fists hard into a red bag.
Jab, cross, hook. Jab, cross, hook.
Over and over, I repeat the simple combo. Pent up energy expels from me in short, quick bursts. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Sulli run laps around Studio 9.
The Studio 9 that I sunk my dad’s life insurance money in.
The Studio 9 that embodies my mom’s Muay Thai career
The Studio 9 that is supposed to honor their legacy, their lives.
The Studio 9 that has no manager.
I slam another fist, the crescendo of the classical song building more emotion out of me. Perhaps I should feel good that Alexis is moving to Chicago to be with her new girlfriend. Selfishly, I can’t help but wish singledom on her.
Then I wouldn’t have lost my manager—the best manager I’ve ever had over the years, by the way. Without Alexis, no one is running the gym while I’m busy with security.
I don’t have time to hire someone else.
Don’t have time to second guess any of my decisions. It’s been three days since I closed the gym, and I’m no closer to finding a new manager than the day Alexis left.
Uppercut.
Right hook, right hook, right hook. I hit harder, gritting my teeth as I slam my gloved fist into the red bag. I expel a single breath and catch movement as Sulli rounds the boxing ring. Her narrowed focus draws me in, and my next uppercut is lighter.
I find myself catching my breath as I apply less force and study my girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
My lips begin to upturn.
Sullivan Meadows jogs with purpose. Like she’s training for a championship race. Like this isn’t just an afternoon workout at my closed gym. Her drive and concentration never shift, not even as she runs past the wooden lockers, about to circle the area of hanging bags where I am.
Tension unwinds across my shoulders, and my next easy combo is done with an actual smile. I needed this today.
Time with her, even if we’re just sharing the same air.
As Sulli jogs through the neighboring row of boxing bags, I slip through them and swiftly step out in front of her.
She collides into my chest in hard impact. I grab the small of her waist, stabilizing Sulli so she doesn’t go down. “Easy there, string bean.”
She rips out one of her earbuds and speaks. I can’t hear her over Mozart blasting on high-volume through my AirPods. I’m about to pry one out, but she beats me to the punch and tears an AirPod from my ear.
“What the fuck, Kits?” Spice Girls blares from her speakers, the cord hanging loosely at her gym shorts. “I could’ve plowed you over.”
Plowed me over. She’s way too cute. “Impossible, Sul.” I lead her backwards towards the nearest boxing bag. “I’m the one who caught you.”
With each breath, she smiles more and more. Her ass bumps into the boxing bag. Sulli’s green eyes travel down my six-two build. “You hear that?”
I hear my pulse and her pulse hiking up another notch.
I also hear music.
“Hear what?” I ask.
“Our songs. They’re fighting each other.” She uncurls her fist, one of my AirPods blaring the rage-y classical tune.
“Mozart vs. Spice Girls.” I give her a long once-over, moving slowly over her gorgeous legs. “What a match.”
“Spice Girls would take the W.” Her voice is more breathless, raspy.
Our chests rise and fall against one another. My hands slide to her wrists at her side. There are a thousand things I want to do with Sulli, and a thousand chances I let slip by.
It’s not too late, Nine.
My lips practically dance over hers. “You remember that time we switched workout playlists?”
“And I had to swim to Bach?” She drinks me in. “While you worked out to All Saints and S Club 7 for a whole month.”
I smile into a laugh. “And I played ‘Bring It All Back’ on repeat. Security gave me such shit—”
Sulli slugs my shoulder with actual force. For swearing.
Fudge-nugget.
I rub my arm and mock wince. “Not holding back; are you, Lady Meadows?” I used to call her Lady Meadows at times when we were just friends. I stopped while we were on rocky grounds after her breakup with Will. But recently, I’ve been able to see she really likes when I say it.
Her cheeks flush. “Just waiting for you to call me strong bean.”
“I never said you weren’t strong,” I tell her deeply, because I love how physically powerful Sulli is. I kiss the cut of her bicep.
She drops my AirPod, flustered. “Cumbuckets.”
We leave Mozart playing on the ground and her girl band playing from the dangling cord on her shorts. Why she hasn’t gone wireless—that’s just Sulli hating to charge cordless earbuds. She says it’s a pain in the ass.
A couple inches taller, I rest a forearm over her head and hold her wrist at her side with my other hand. Staring down at Sulli, I can’t help but smile.
I love her strength, but I love the crinkles in her brows and the peeking smile when I say, “But you’re also the stringiest string bean that ever did—”
Her hand flies to my mouth. “Take it fucking back.”
I press my body closer against Sulli, driving her shoulders further against the boxing bag. We’re melded together, and even with the collapse of her collarbones and the breathy “fuck” from her lips—she keeps her hand over my mouth.
So I lick her palm.
“Kits!”
She slugs me again.
I laugh.
Shit—I mean, shoot (I need to practice this punishment in my head, unless I want a bruised arm all year).
And I needed that laugh.
I needed this.
You need her, Nine.
She wipes her wet palm down my shirt, tracking the lines of my abs. Tension pools between us, but we stay still.
Quietly, I ask, “Do you care that I switched Banks to Maximoff’s detail today?”
“He had to go, right?” Sulli asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “He’s
still the floater, and Farrow got a med call.”
“It’s not like you did it out of spite, then I’d care.”
I expel a strained breath. “I couldn’t do that to him—even if I wanted to spend a millennium beside you. Banks is…” I grimace. “Good.”
“That doesn’t make you bad, Kits,” Sulli says strongly. “Your heart is one of the biggest I’ve ever fucking known.”
I tilt my head, smiling. “That’s because my heart has always been the biggest around you.”
Sulli inhales that declaration and wears an expression like she’s falling backwards.
I still clasp her wrist, and I’m not letting her descend without me.
She glances back towards the gym’s entrance, which is locked. “I don’t know if you heard yet, but Winona texted me that Ben is okay.”
Ben Cobalt was hit hard during hockey practice, pitfalls of the sport. And hence, the medical emergency that whisked Farrow away from his job in security. But I haven’t heard any updates yet. Partially because the med team—aka Farrow, his father, and his uncle—keep medical reports confidential.
“Any broken bones?” I ask Sulli.
“None. Just slightly concussed.” She explains, “Apparently, Farrow said it’s not a bad concussion, but since it’s Ben’s second one, he’s going to monitor him all day.”
Which means Banks is on Maximoff’s detail all day. Giving me more alone-time with Sulli than I’ve had in a while.
Sulli uses her free hand to push hair off her shoulder. “I’m fucking hot.”
“You definitely are,” I whisper, cutting more distance between us with my lips. They brush along hers, then travel lightly over her jaw, down the nape of her neck. Her familiar chlorine and sweet scent dizzy me in a heady rush. Our eyes meet, and I imagine stripping Sulli naked.
Right here.
Bare.
Filling her until she whimpers that pleasured whimper. Shi—hoot, I’ll never get enough of those noises Sulli makes. As though every new and overwhelming touch is welcomed with a cry of I can’t take it but I want more.
“Kits…” Sulli breathes hard.
I close my lips around her soft skin.
She shudders. “Fuck.” And her breathy curse turns into a gasp as I stretch her arms above her head and pin her wrists to the boxing bag.
“Wait,” Sulli cuts in, and I immediately drop her wrists.
“You okay?” I skim her fast. What’d I fudging do? Is she okay? I’m having flashbacks of our first kiss outside the motel. When she backed up from me, but I doubt she’s harboring another short-term secret like the one about kissing Banks.
The three of us are so far beyond that.
I didn’t go slow enough with her.
Crap.
Crap.
Sulli needs slower. She’s had sex a whopping three times, and I’m over here pinning her arms up again like she’s used to this shit—stuff.
This stuff.
“Yeah—oh hey, Kits, I’m really okay. I don’t want you to think I don’t like that.”
“I do think it.”
“It’s hot,” she emphasizes. “It was bad timing on my part…I just want to…” Face flushed, Sulli fumbles with the music in her shorts. She turns off Spice Girls. “That’s all.”
I relax in one breath.
And I end up smiling. “You’re letting Mozart beat Sporty Spice?” I name her favorite Spice Girl.
“This one time, yeah. I just know what Mozart and Bach and all the classicals mean to you.”
That washes over me. We stare at each other with deeper memories, and I blink back some burgeoning feeling that pricks my eyes. Sulli has been one of the closest friends to me over the years, and I let her into my life, even when other guys cautioned me “don’t get close to your client” and “don’t be a buddy-guard”—I never thought twice about being friends with her.
It just came naturally.
Like the day Sulli asked why I listen to classical jams during workouts and not rap or throwback hip hop (my go-to genres).
The answer: my mom.
Growing up, I’d spend hours in a Muay Thai gym. One that closed in Philly a little bit after she retired. And I’d watch her train with Bach, Beethoven, and everything in between playing in the background. She loves this music, and so these songs became synonymous to martial arts and her.
Sometimes, I come back to them for nostalgia. To remember those idyllic childhood days gone by.
Other times, I come back to them to feel close to her. Even though she’s only a state away, it’s always felt like she’s wanted to add greater distance between us. To emotionally detach for my sake ever since her health took a toll.
Mozart grows louder in the gym and in our quiet. I move back up against Sulli.
Being physical with her is just as overwhelming for me. Like plunging head-first in ice-cold water. I spent so long denying and resisting my feelings that giving in now is a head-rush.
Sulli whispers, “Kits…if you could do anything to me now, what would you do?”
I thumb the hem of her shirt. “I’d strip you. Layer by layer…” I clasp her squared jaw, her lips parting in an aching breath that ripples through me. “Until you’re bare against me.” Our intimacy is laced with years of friendship, of teasing and pulling, and as we skate towards bearing our bodies, a vulnerability hangs between us that I can feel Sulli gripping on.
“The only security cameras are outside, right?” Sulli asks.
“Right.”
“So what are you waiting for then?” Sulli says in challenge.
“The okay from you,” I whisper, not about to push her in a direction she’s not ready for.
Sulli breathes the word like its erupting inside her, “Okay.” And I immediately pull her tee over her head. Tossing it aside. As I slowly, slowly slide the shorts down her thighs and long, long legs, Sulli touches the back of her sports bra.
“Should I…?” She hesitates. “Or…should you?”
“Me,” I kiss her lips, then whisper, “Just watch me. Don’t think, string bean.”
Sulli lets out a tiny, aroused noise. “Fuck.” She places a hand on her forehead, watching as I squat down to slip her shorts off each ankle. I kiss her calf, then up to her thigh, and I graze my fingertips up towards her panties.
Standing fully upright again, my muscles burn, already dying to be against her body. I slide her sports bra over her head. She reaches for my hands, and I hold them and bring her to my chest. “You okay?” I ask in a deep whisper.
“I’m cold,” she admits with a laugh.
I smile into a laugh too, and I rub her arms, adding friction. Her tits are driving me wild, but I want to warm Sulli up. She hugs onto me like a koala bear, and I’d rather not detach her.
Gently, I bring us to the mats with a slow kiss. Her shoulders rest against the mat, and I break apart her legs with my knees. While she’s only in cotton panties, I shed my shirt, and I return to her mouth. Heat brews between us, as we kiss and I grind.
Her goosebumps vanish.
Breath is hot and heavy, and life feels wrapped around us.
“Sulli,” I almost groan.
I clasp her wrists and pull them above her head again. Only now, she’s on the floor, and I look into her eyes that swirl with pleasure. I see how she intakes our bodies. How I’m fit between her legs, how her thin panties barely hide her pussy.
And so I ask, “Have you ever pictured this?”
“Yeah.” Her breasts push up higher with her lungs. “A lot more recently.” She squirms under me.
Blood pumps into my dick. Hardening, I breathe through my nose, and Sulli continues, “I’ve thought about being naked in your gym…and you doing what you want to me. Taking me…”
“Like Blue Lagoon,” I tease.
She makes a face like I’ve dissed the pinnacle of cinema. “Kits—” Her own gasp cuts her off because I’ve reached down and pushed aside her panties. Two of my fingers circle her clit, and she wr
ithes again at the new friction and sensitivity. “Holy fuck.”
Her breathing is all over the place.
I stop touching to pin her arms up again, and as my lips meld against hers, she tries to buck into me. I grind down, thrusting forward. My shorts and her panties separate us, but the illusion is magma in my veins. And Sulli’s eyes nearly roll.
“Fuck, fuck,” she cries. “Kits, can you…I need…” She tries to reach down and move her panties, but I keep her arms braced.
“Not yet,” I breathe, our eyes meeting with headiness. “I’m going to make you feel good, Sulli. Just like you’ve imagined.” I lean down more and whisper against her ear, “You feel me? I’m going to slip my cock inside you and drag each inch in and out so slowly, until you forget what day it is. How does that sound?”
“Fuck me,” she cries. “Please.”
I smile. “Lady Meadows, language.”
“Kits.” She digs up into me.
I cup her breast. “You have beautiful tits, Sul.”
She smiles into a breathy sound. “Sir Kitsuwon, language.”
Our smiles weld in a kiss, and I slip off my shorts and underwear. I taste her excitement, her lust and love, and I crave to be closer. To be deep. To forget all worries and stresses and torments. To just be one with her.
While I root her arms above her, I stretch her legs further open, and I whisper against her lips, “Don’t forget to breathe.” I pull the fabric of her panties aside, not taking them completely off her, and I tease a finger into her heat.
She doesn’t just feel soaked. She feels swollen. Aching.
Her legs vibrate. “Kits.”
I arch my waist forward into Sulli, driving my erection between her legs. Her wetness. The warmth and tightness wrap around me, and I flex my muscles as she contracts.
Pulsing.
Pulsing.
“Kits,” she cries, wriggling in my hold.
I thrust, dragging my cock in and out like I promised. She gasps into a softer moan, “Fuck.” The hypnotic tempo lights up my core.
Sullivan Minnie Meadows.
The girl I dedicated my life to protect.
I have her bare under me, and I’m fucking her with deep, long strokes. And I almost can’t believe we’re here. Together.
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