Wild Like Us (Like Us 8)

We all ease back.

“That was…” she says in soft breaths. “…so fucking…amazing.” Her eyes close fully. “I can just sleep here.”

Akara and I share a smile.

“I’m living here now,” she yawns. “The tub is my new home.”

I stretch my arm over Sulli. “Rent will be cheaper.”

“Spacious,” Akara quips. “I can definitely fit my whole office in here.”

“You would be thinking about your fuckin’ office,” I laugh at him.

He splashes water at me as the tub fills.

Sulli curls up against him. “Mmhhh. So many donuts.”

“Sad to say, we can’t live here, mermaid.”

“The water though…”

Akara and I exchange another look. This time, our smiles fade, knowing this is drawing to a real close too soon.

We wash off. Dry off. Sulli is half-asleep.

Akara says, “We’re taking you to bed, string bean.”

I stand up and easily lift Sulli into my arms. She cocoons her head into my chest. “I can sleep here, too.”

I’d like that, but she needs an actual bed. I step out of the tub, careful not to slip. Akara tosses the used condoms in the trash, grabs a couple towels, and follows me into her bedroom.

He knocks off the majority of her pillows before I can lay her gently on the mattress. She curls up into the velvet quilt, and sudden-fear springs open her eyes. “You two are staying over, right?”

I bob my head. “Right.” I’m not about to ditch Sulli after making love to her. I crawl in next to her on the bed and wrap an arm around her broad shoulders.

“Of course,” Akara says, but he’s texting on his phone.

“Kits…” Sulli’s concern mounts.

“I have to set an alarm, Sul. Your roommates might come back early. They can’t see us leave.”

That sobers the room. More reminders that this isn’t lasting. What feels like a forever type of moment is just an illusion. Forever ends tomorrow.

She pushes wet hair off her forehead, turning on her back. “Can you set it for 5 a.m.? I’ll just wake up at that time too.”

His eyes flit to her. “We’re not running out on you.”

“I know. But this way it won’t feel like you are.”

I kiss the top of her head.

Akara nods, then returns to the bed.

Sulli curls up against my chest, and Akara holds her against his. He presses his lips to the back of her neck. Once more, sleep comes for her, but this time she doesn’t fight it.

None of us do.

54

SULLIVAN MEADOWS

What have I fucking done?

I’m hopelessly in love with two men. And today I have to make a choice. Last night, I thought it’d be an impossible one. But this morning, when I watch them leave my penthouse, everything starts to become clear.

I think I’ve made my decision.

But before I confront Akara and Banks, I need to make one stop. I dress quickly, still feeling the soreness between my legs. Like they’re still inside my pussy. It’s a new, strange feeling that I don’t hate. Maybe even like.

I text Akara where I want to go today and hit send. Fuck, there’s something else. It’d be crass to text him about it, so before he can respond, I decide to call.

He answers on the first ring. “Sul?”

“Hey, sorry. Did you get my text?”

“Yeah. When do you want to leave?”

“Soon.” I put my phone on speaker and grab a pair of running shoes from the closet. “Do you think you could put a temp on my detail today?”

The air strains. “Is everything alright? Last night—”

“Was fucking perfect,” I say quickly. “Better than anything I could have imagined. It’s just I think you two should talk things over while I think things over alone.” In case they want to choose each other. That option still exists.

He exhales a breath of relief. “Okay, yeah. That’s a good idea.”

My stomach does a somersault. Nothing about this is going to be easy. I might have made a decision, but it’s not simple or easy or will leave everyone happy.

Not in the slightest.

He adds, “Gabe will be over there in five minutes to take you.” Gabe is one of the better temp bodyguards that pre-dates Michael Moretti, though Oscar mostly uses Gabe to protect Jack.

“Thanks, Kits.”

* * *

Beckett’s bedroom in his New York apartment is a mixture of deep blues and gold tones. He’s a minimalist through and through, but his style still shines bright in the abstract gold etchings framed perfectly on his wall. I get lost in them for a second.

He returns with a couple cans of Fizz Life. When he notices me observing the etchings, he stares longer at them, then goes to the wall. He adjusts the frame by a hair.

I don’t mention that the frame was perfectly aligned before. Or else he might spend the next five minutes readjusting.

Beckett comes over to me, soda still in hand.

Seeing him in the flesh is so different than our phone calls over the past weeks. We didn’t even FaceTime. Just heard each other’s voices.