“I’m gorgeous,” she says, “but not hot enough to fuck. Right?”
Only a sliver of space separates my body from hers. Vapor swirls around us, the shower still running, tiles warm and wet beneath my bare feet. I stare down at her. “You’re hot enough to make love to.”
Her green, green eyes.
They fall to my erection that’s pointed at her waist in desire. I’m hard for her. Not for the fucking shower curtain.
Her eyes draw into me. “Prove it.”
I cut the short distance like a hot bullet. Clutching her cheek in one strong hand, I slide my other palm underneath her towel to grip her bare ass.
An aching sound catches in her throat. She collides against my mouth the same time I lean down. The force of our kiss crashes against my soul. I beckon forward, and her eagerness is as surprising as the way she melts into me like softened clay.
Our tongues explore, the sensation a long, enticing stroke. My fingers knead against the flesh of her ass. I don’t even know if she’s had a man’s fingers inside her. It’s tempting to be the first. Lord knows I want to fill her completely. To drive into her and hear the noises she makes.
Her hands feel overwhelmed, zigzagging across my chest. Overcome with a sudden burst of arousal that floods her…and me. Her palms are coarse rather than soft—probably from years in a pool and lifting weights—and something about that just draws a smile.
God, she’s a fucking beauty.
Her palms run down my abs, fly up, then to the side, then settle on my ass for a beat. The touch electrifies my senses.
Though I’m remembering, she’s inexperienced. How many times did she even kiss her ex-boyfriend? Pushing her too far too fast is a fear that almost crashes me to a halt.
But even as I slow our kisses, her arms curve around my waist like, please don’t fucking stop yet, Banks. I do the next best thing, and mid-kiss, I reach down to the floor. Quickly grabbing my boxer-briefs, I hold the fabric to my cock.
Covering myself so I don’t poke the fuck out of her or slide against her pussy.
She notices, but I reignite the moment and clasp her squared jaw. Lips meeting hers, I push her a step back, spin her in a new direction. Like we’re kissing and dancing in the small bathroom.
Until I finally just shove her against the wall. An aroused breath leaves her reddened lips.
“You enjoy that?” I ask.
She nods strongly, her green eyes eating me alive. I kiss her again. Roughly. Deeply. Like I could pull the air from her lungs. She reciprocates in kind like she’s been yearning for this embrace too.
My hand tangles in her wet hair. I suck on the bottom of her lip. Heat brewing between us, I keep Sulli pinned to the wall. And then I take her ass in my free hand. Still careful to keep my cock covered with fabric. Even more careful to keep space between our waists. Like I’m back in dress-code-wearing Catholic high school, dancing an arm’s length away at homecoming.
I’m not making love to her in a motel.
Her first time should be better than mine.
Sulli stares at my eyes and nothing else. Even as I hold her cheek, as I plant hot kisses along the nape of her neck, her collar, back up to her lips—she never stops looking at me like I’m worth more than the Mona Lisa.
I’ve never felt this rich.
10
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
I’m on fucking fire.
Lit up from the inside-out.
Banks is kissing me. He’s making out with me. And his body is so close. So fucking close. I’m so tempted to just shift the towel so I can feel his skin against my skin. But I drown into the moment—of how strong he cups my face. How rough he kisses me. I watch him and feel his hunger for me as he pushes forward. An involuntary noise suddenly flies from my lips.
Oh my fucking God.
I almost whimper.
I’ve never been this aroused.
Never.
Not even touching myself. I’m soaked, and everything about this moment is inducing a mind-rush of endorphins. His kisses are unlike any I’ve ever had. Though, I guess I haven’t had a fucking ton to compare it to—but it’s so much…more.
More dizzying.
More heart-racing.
I’m overcome with each passing second his lips touch mine. My hands crave to touch Banks everywhere. To go on a great voyage across his sculpted body, and they feverishly roam, almost too fast, too excitedly.
I want to savor every bit, but I’m scared this is all I’ll ever get.
His large hand is on my ass beneath the towel, clasping my bare flesh, but his fingers have curled closer and closer to my pussy. I wonder if he can feel how wet I am and the warmth I expel.
Above all, I never want to leave his eyes. The way Banks is looking at me—like I’m the only thing that’s causing him to lose control—is so intoxicating. It’s power I didn’t think I possessed. I want him to ravage me. To tear off my towel. To sink his teeth into my skin.
Banks sucks on the nape of my neck. Still pinning me, my breath is lost in each dizzying second.
Keeping going.
Don’t stop.
I’m in a dream.
No I’m not. My eyes are still on Banks, and I hate that I’m disbelieving of my reality because all I want is to take fucking hold and never let go.
As his lips draw back up to mine, he stops. He goes really still. Only his chest moves with his breath. And he whispers against my mouth, “Not here.”
“What?” I pant.
His hand—his hand carefully, slowly falls off my ass. Even at six feet, I have to look up to meet his eyes. Such a weird thing that I rarely need to do. And I might be more upset by Banks slamming on the brakes if it weren’t for his expression.
He looks pent-up and torn-up. Like ending it here is the right thing, but not necessarily what his body wants. Still holding his boxer-briefs against his package, he explains, “I’m not taking your virginity in a motel bathroom. From someone who lost his in one, let’s just say it’s not worthy of praise.”
I get stuck on the two new facts.
Banks lost his virginity in a motel.
It sucked, apparently.
“Your first time wasn’t that good?” I ask outright, retightening the towel around my chest.
“None of my firsts were. Crossed off a lot of boxes too early, and lookin’ back, I wish I would’ve waited for the person who made me feel…” He lifts a shoulder. “More.” He slowly tucks my hair behind each ear. The right. Then the left. Like I’ve seen him do to himself all the time. “You have a lot of grit, Sullivan Minnie Meadows, to wait until you know you’re ready. And I like you a hell of a lot. You don’t have to wait for me if you don’t want to, but I’m hoping you can.”
To wait for a better moment?
A more romantic place?
For him?
He likes me a hell of a lot.
“I can,” I nod repeatedly, my lungs inflating with more emotion than I can add up. “I definitely can.” I glance down at his sculpted, naked frame. Wow…he’s still hard. “Uh, so do you need to come still? You can use my towel if you don’t want the fucking mess.” I’m about to offer the towel on my body, but he touches my hand to stop me.
His lip draws in those almost-smiles as he sweeps my frame head-to-toe. His gaze is fingertips running down my bare flesh. My lips part, a shiver slipping through me. Tingling me.
Fuck, I still need to come. My body is begging for relief that I’ve given to myself plenty before.
He must register the want in my eyes. “Take the shower, mermaid. I’ll be out here on land.” He already grabs the broken rod and fallen shower curtain.
“The water is super hot,” I tell him. “I couldn’t adjust it.”
Banks easily fixes the shower rod, then skims his fingers through the water. “It’s colder now. Been on for a while.”
I’m unable to suppress a rising smile. Remembering the last few minutes where we let the hot water run cold. He pinned me to t
he wall. He cupped my bare ass. He kissed me. I can still feel his strong, affectionate hands and lips on me. I’m filing it all in under: Pump My Fist in the Air, a Sullivan Victory. “You take the cold shower,” I tell him. “I’ll be out here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Land isn’t that bad.”
He nods. Our eyes stay latched for a sensual beat before he steps into the tub. Dropping his boxer-briefs on the tiles before he shuts the curtain, giving us both privacy.
My smile hurts my fucking face. Banks really does want my first time to be more starry-eyed and romantic. But I begin to frown remembering that his firsts weren’t what he hoped.
Leaning back against the wall, I shut out those thoughts and slip my hand beneath the towel and between my thighs. More swollen and wet than I even thought. Skidding my finger over the tender, bundle of nerves, my whole body convulses—I shudder.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and picture Banks next to me. Behind the shower curtain, he’s stroking himself. Maybe even imagining me.
His arousal towards me is like a liquid drug seeping through my blood stream. I’m higher than the fucking clouds.
My back arches, my hips wanting his hands. Imagining is enough to quake my limbs, and I ripple into an orgasm. Noise catches in my throat.
His grunt is also smothered. Maybe by the knowledge of me here.
When I come down, I wash my hands and throw on my clothes: clean underwear, turquoise boxer PJ bottoms, and a long-sleeve yellow top. Banks steps out, shutting off the shower. After he dries off with a towel, he gets dressed too. Jeans and his white tee.
The air is comfortable.
I squeeze out my wet hair. We slip each other smiles, and then the reality of where we are—a motel-stop, on the way to Yellowstone territory so I can free-solo—comes whirling back as we hear the squeak of a door opening.
The motel door.
The front door.
“Akara is back?” I ask Banks.
“Must be,” Banks says, slipping his phone in his pocket. SFO has mentioned that comms lose range at a certain distance, and since I’m the only one in Wisconsin, he’s not wearing a radio. He’d only have Akara to talk to on comms, and they haven’t been apart that much.
Banks is staring at the shut bathroom door like he can see his friend on the other side.
I just kissed Akara’s friend. My bodyguard’s fucking friend.
And Banks just kissed his friend’s client. Oh and I’m eight years younger than Banks, which I’m not sure how Kits will take. Considering he didn’t love that Will Rochester was older. And he wasn’t even that fucking old!
“Cumbuckets,” I say in a daze.
“What?” Banks looks me over.
“Kits is going to care that we kissed,” I realize. “You’re different—you’re his friend. He’s going to be so pissed…or worse, disappointed…like I did something wrong—”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Banks tells me.
“Yeah,” I nod, believing this too. “It’s not like I’m married to Akara.”
Banks looks suddenly distraught.
“We’re not married,” I defend. “If we were, then he’s already cheated on me a thousand times—”
“Not a thousand,” Banks sticks up for Akara. And maybe it should hurt me that he does, but the fact that he values Kits like I do—it stings my eyes. Swells my heart and lungs. Makes me like Banks even more.
“A handful of times,” I correct softly, “which doesn’t make it any better. Cheating is cheating, and we were never married to begin with. I can kiss anyone, as much as he can be with Jenny or Jessica or fucking beautiful Patricia.”
Banks cracks a smile. “Never saw beautiful Patricia. What’d she look like?”
“Imaginary, I guess.” I add, “I made her up.”
He nods. “I got that.”
I want to smile, but it loses strength fast. “Fuck, what are we going to do? I don’t want to hurt him. It hurts me thinking about it.”
“We’re on the same front-line with that one.” He scratches the back of his neck. “But we have a whole road trip together. I’m not loving the idea of hiding this from him.”
I touch my lips in thought. “Yeah, it’d be better if we tell him right away.” How fucking awkward is the rest of the trip going to be? Being a third wheel blows. I’m in that seat when Akara and Banks do the whole “we’re best friends and guys and you just wouldn’t get it” routine.
I wouldn’t want Akara to be put in that position.
“Want me to handle it?” Banks asks.
“We should do it together, I think.”
He nods. “Alright. Let’s do it now. Better than sitting in hell.” He slips past me, turns the knob, and he steps one foot into the room and dead-stops.
I come up beside him.
Fuck me.
It’s not Akara.
11
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Gathered at the motel’s bedroom window, three familiar faces turn around at the exact same time. Like they rehearsed this epic entrance for a We Are Calloway promo.
Maximoff Hale.
Jane Cobalt.
Charlie Cobalt.
My three older cousins. The closest thing I have to older brothers and an older sister.
Surprise doesn’t even cut what I’m feeling. Fans revere Maximoff, Jane, and Charlie, and I’ve always held such admiration for them that I’ve joked with Luna how I’m partly their fan. The other part—I’m just lucky that they’re mine. My friends.
My family.
So seeing them in Wisconsin first brings a wave of joy. They traveled miles and miles. For me?
And then I really look at them.
They’re all zeroing in on my wet hair. Banks’ wet hair. And the bathroom we just evacuated together.
Moffy wears hard confusion. Luna says her older brother is a quintessential Captain America—a do-gooder soldier and team leader—but in my life, he’s the only person able to run next to me and never slow down. To me, he’s like his husband’s nickname for him. Wolf Scout. My mom created the Wolf Scouts, a wilderness & scouting organization. Moffy and I were even in the same troop, until he grew older.
As they always do.
I do too.
Though, in their presence, I feel young again.
“Hey, Sul,” Moffy says first, his green eyes pinging between me and Banks.
“Hey, everyone.” I nod probably way too fucking much. Cumfuck, I’m a shit liar.
Charlie slouches his weight on one leg. His head tilted and eyes roaming like he’s Inspector Gadget inspecting all of…this.
Jane—lovely, beautiful fucking Jane who always has the best words in the right ways, please help me. I widen my eyes at her. She wears the brightest pink lipstick, zebra sweater, and green tutu like the Princess of a Fairy Kingdom that I’m sure is fucking great—but I need her to save me in Wisconsin.
She gives me a furtive nod like, don’t worry. Her focus routes to Banks. “Thatcher’s outside with the others.”
The others?
But I see her tactic. Tension will definitely alleviate if he leaves Moffy and Charlie’s intrusive gaze. Which is good. I try to exhale.
“Thanks, Janie,” Banks leaves in a hurry.
Janie?
I frown. And once the motel door shuts behind Banks, I ask her, “He calls you Janie?”
“Oui. For a while now.” Setting her pumpkin-sequined purse on the dusty dresser, she notices my lingering confusion. “I go eat Sunday dinners now and then with Banks and the rest of his family. He’s about to be my brother-in-law.”
“Yeah, I know.” I just haven’t heard him call you a nickname. Or maybe I have and it hasn’t really registered how close Jane is with her future brother-in-law. Will she be freaked out that I kissed him?
I’m burning up.
But I pivot and ask, “Who else is here?”
“Akara is outside, and now Farrow and Thatcher are with him.” Jan
e names Moffy’s husband and her soon-to-be husband, both also their personal bodyguards. “As well as Ripley.”
Ripley is Moffy’s eight-month-old son.
“And Oscar.” The tactical badass bodyguard to Charlie. She nods to punctuate the end.
But Charlie adds, “And the drooling canine. My pants were wet for three-fourths of the ride here because of Arkham.”
My brows jump. Less on the fact that Moffy and Farrow brought their puppy along. “You rode with their dog?” I ask Charlie.
“Regrettably,” he says.
Moffy gives him a look. “You chose to ride with us.”
“You did?” My jaw falls. I knew Moffy and Charlie had patched up their fucking horrible feud, but Charlie actively choosing Moffy’s car for a road trip is like bridging two sides of the Grand Canyon.
Then again, Charlie did recently oust the CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies, giving Moffy a chance to be head of the company again. But as far as I know, Moffy is still deciding whether to give up teaching swim classes for the stress of being CEO.
Charlie sighs. “Because I knew my sister would spend every hour discussing wedding details in the other car, and no offense”—he speaks to Jane—“I couldn’t withstand that.”
“None taken, little brother.” She smiles brightly, genuinely, and looks between her brother and Moffy, who’s her best friend. Glad that there is less friction between them.
I am too.
But with all three of them merrily together like they were in high school, it makes me feel more on the outs. I’m now the only one with a busted-up friendship. Beckett.
He’s not here.
Obviously. And I don’t even know why Maximoff, Jane, and Charlie have showed up yet.
But I point out, “Couldn’t you have just rented your own car?”
“Yeah?” Moffy says to Charlie with a rising smile. “I could’ve sworn that was an option, wasn’t it?”
Charlie clearly chose Moffy rather than going off on his own. Instead of acknowledging this, Charlie zeroes in on my face like a target. “Enough about me. Aren’t we here for you, Sulli?”
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