The heat is on the other side.
When her back hits the tree trunk, my fingers slide up her strong jaw. I lean in, and she eases back, wide-eyed in surprise.
I stay still. Assessing her headspace. My pulse races. I still hold her cheek, and our breath sounds like heavy panting in the woods.
She eyes my lips.
I eye hers.
And then Sulli leans in.
I draw forward in a flash, bringing her mouth to mine. I kiss Sullivan. I kiss her like she’s rainwater and I’m savoring every drop in the desert. Achingly slow.
Our bodies shift closer. The crunch of leaves beneath our soles is a faraway noise in my head. Each passing second with my mouth against hers lights up my core. Tasting every breath, my tongue parts her lips, and her hips bow into me.
One beat later, her hand dives to my crotch. Sulli squeezes my throbbing cock. Not to get me off.
Feels more like she’s testing how hard I am.
My erection is painful beneath my shorts. Fuck, my body thrums to push into her. To have her pressed even harder against this damn tree. With one hand, I clasp both her wrists and pull her arms high above her head. Pinning them while we kiss.
An aroused noise leaves her lips and enters mine.
Suddenly, she jerks away.
I let go.
Her hands fall.
My pulse flat lines at the sheer dread in her face.
“No, no, no, no.” Her hands are on her thighs, bent over. She’s looking back at the motel.
“Hey, talk to me, Sul.” I can’t fucking breathe. “Was it me pinning your arms above your head? I won’t do that—”
“I liked that—I really, really liked that.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I should’ve asked to kiss you.”
“I should’ve said hold on or…something. Fuck.” Sulli buries her face in her hands. “I knew you were going to kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me. This is all fucked up.”
“What’s fucked up about it?” My face twists. “Sulli?”
She has a haunted look.
“Sulli?!” I’m freaking out. That I did something wrong. That someone hurt her in the past. Did her ex abuse her? Is she okay?
My mind is racing in a thousand panicked directions.
“I can explain.” She holds out a hand. “But I can’t explain without Banks.”
“What?” My face screws up more.
“We need to go to Banks. Right now.”
I don’t get it. I don’t need to get it. I just want answers.
So I listen to Sulli, and we don’t walk back to the motel.
We run like we’re playing The Floor is Lava. Our feet are on fire. So is my head, my heart, my body—I’m burning alive.
15
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
What in the fuck?
How did I go from having zero bodyguards—pals, buddies, whatever-the-fuck—who like me to suddenly two who kissed me? My mind can’t wrap around the fact that not too long ago, I firmly believed Banks and Akara would rather kiss an anteater than kiss me.
My experience with guys, dating, kissing—the works—is microscopic. I have one ex to compare all guys to. I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle kissing two men in less than 24-hours. Guilt pried my lips off Akara pretty fast. Was I cheating on Banks?
It’s not like we solidified anything.
But it felt shitty.
Really shitty.
Because I still really, really, really fucking like Banks, and I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt Akara.
What the hell is even happening?
Two guys.
Two kisses.
I am not Elena Gilbert. I’m not emotionally prepared for a love triangle. And oh fuck, I can’t believe I’m thinking about The Vampire Diaries right now.
I totally blame this on my mom and Aunt Willow. One rainy summer at the lake house, they sat my sister, some cousins, and me in front of the TV and demanded we binge-watch all seven seasons.
Was I invested in Elena’s complicated love triangle with Stefan and Damon? Yeah. We all were. There were teams and sides, and the lake house was split for weeks. All I could think is that it’d fucking suck balls to be in love with two people and have to choose one.
Good news is that I’m not in love with Akara or Banks.
I just really like them. And it was just a kiss.
From both of them.
My feet pump harder, Akara not too far behind me as I sprint back to the motel with all my might and drive. Leaves and branches whip at my face until my shoes hit pavement of the parking lot.
Already outside, Banks is tossing sleeping bags into the back of Booger. When he turns around and sees me, he reaches down for the radio clipped to his pants. But the cord is wrapped around the battery pack. As he unwinds it swiftly, urgently, his eyes ping to me in concern.
I stop to a breathless halt in front of him. Hands on my knees, I heave for air. I’ve never been this out-of-breath from a morning run.