Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

Any other symptoms. Hopefully it wasn’t a venomous shitbag.

“What’s the verdict?” Sulli wonders.

“Your foot has to fucking go.” I stand up. “Good thing you can grow a mermaid tail or else I’m sure you’d miss your toes.”

Sulli stays completely still, our eyes diving into each other while I reach for the washcloth beside her hand.

She takes a short breath. “Akara always says he doesn’t believe in mermaids, but one time he told me that if they did exist, they’d be those ugly creatures in the sea that eat people.”

Akara fuckin’ Kitsuwon.

He’s unconsciously cock-blocking me. He’s been doing it to men interested in Sulli for all her adult-life.

I let out a half-hearted laugh that verges on an agonized groan. “He would say that.” Turning on the faucet behind her, I let cold water run over the washcloth. “But just so we’re clear, Sulli, in my world, mermaids are gorgeous, out-of-this-world stunners.”

She inhales sharply, then shakes her head once like she almost can’t believe it.

I leave the washcloth in the sink and grip the porcelain on either side of her athletic frame. “I think you’re gorgeous, Sulli.” I want to clutch her face. To breathe these words between her lips like eternal air. “A beauty. A smokeshow. The hottest thing from here to the rising sun.”

“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.