Infamous Like Us (Like Us 10)

I flip over the screen and see a username and a word that overturns my stomach. And then Banks steals the phone away. He looks concerned. I think…I think I saw the bad thing, but I push that word to the side.

“Love4Sullivan?” I question. “Someone loves me out there.”

“A lot of people love you,” Banks says sweetly.

“I know I have some fans still, but it’s not like four years ago. A lot more people were rooting for me to succeed than to fail.”

I wonder how many girls ripped posters of me off their walls when my life didn’t turn out exactly how they envisioned for me. It stings, knowing I disappointed people, but it hurts more thinking of life without Banks and Akara. And I won’t apologize for loving them.

“Banks and I are @Love4Sullivan,” Akara suddenly confesses.

“What?”

“We made a fan account on social media.”

My jaw drops, and I turn a little so I can see his face behind me. “I thought you can’t do that. Like…it’s against security policy or something?”

“He’s the boss,” Banks reminds me.

A sexy smile inches up Akara’s lips.

I flush, and I glance back at Banks, who suddenly stands off the cot. Fuck, he’s tall. Duh, Sulli. But I’m so entranced at how Banks commands a room with quiet confidence. He’s not arrogant or showboating. He’s rough on the outside from a hard youth but soft and sweet on the inside.

I knock my knees together as I pulse. “So what are you guys posting then?”

They go quiet.

My spirits pop. “You can’t tell me?”

Banks grimaces, not liking when I’m down. “We’re responding to some shit.”

“Some shit…” I shake my head, but I almost lose my thought as Akara takes a hand off my thigh and massages my trap.

Oh fuck, that feels…glorious. I let out a soft noise, and he uses both hands to knead the tender muscle around my neck.

Eyes almost shutting, I force them open to ask, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Responding to negativity?” I’m mostly looking at Banks since Akara is giving me a sensual, toe-tingling massage.

Banks tosses his phone on his duffel bag. “It wasn’t our only idea.”

That doesn’t make me feel better.

We’re all freshly new to being devastatingly famous where me sneezing outside a Wawa could make a headline. But I’ve been under a spotlight a lot longer than them. “I think ignoring negative stuff on social media is better than fueling the flames.”

“It’s an anonymous account,” Akara clarifies. “No one is going to attack us or you for responding.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about, Kits. I’ve learned that even peeking at that stuff is bad for the soul. It’s toxic and I don’t want either of you to harbor hatred in your heart because of hateful people.”

“We won’t,” Banks assures. “Look, it’s done for now.” He raises his hands to show the phone is gone.

“For now?”

“I can’t promise I won’t use the account again,” Banks says seriously. “I just need to vent, Sulli. This isn’t easy for me.” Something raw in his eyes says the answer they’ve been withholding. I think I saw the word…when I glanced at the phone…I just didn’t want to fully accept it.

Rape.

A rape threat.

They’ll protect me. I’m safe. The thought quells some anxiety, but I’ve been fucking terrified of being kidnapped and worse ever since I overheard Michael Moretti, Banks’ dad, say it’s in the realm of possibilities.

I think about how Banks just needs an outlet to vent.

Maybe it’ll be cathartic for him. Maybe it’ll hurt him. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, so who am I to tell him to stop? Akara is clearly okaying this too.

“Okay,” I breathe. “I think I get it.” I relax further into Akara’s stroking and kneading hands, and I watch Banks consider going to the bathroom.

Stay.

Don’t leave.

Touch me.

He’s about to cross the room, and I break apart my thighs. Sliding them flush against Akara’s spread legs again. The towel falls slightly open, and Banks has a clear view of my pussy. I already feel soaked for my boyfriends.

Akara and Banks exchange a wordless, hungered look, and then Banks stalks towards me while Akara presses his lips to the edge of my jaw, then trails burning, feather-light kisses to my earlobe. Shivers ripple down my body.

“Kits,” I rasp.

I crave force between my legs, the fullness. I crave their caring, loving, starved hands, the knowledge that I’m theirs to protect and adore in every stroke, in every grip, in every kiss and glance.

Akara’s breath warms the nape of my neck. His palms glide slowly along the towel at my thighs. I try to move his hands further between my legs, and he grips harder to the towel. He whispers sexily in the pit of my ear, “Not yet, Sulli.” God, his voice is another feather-light kiss, another caressing hand, another thread of love wound around my eagerness and longing.