Fearless Like Us (Like Us 9)

What does that mean?

One more round before what?

I want to ask, but part of me craves the mystery more. Banks leans towards me, and his large, callused hand encases my cheek with sultry affection. And his lips brush my chin before descending to my collarbones. He leaves a trail with his tongue.

A whimper catches in my throat. I feel like I’m falling into something overwhelming.

“You’re alright, Sul,” Akara says as our gazes meet.

I’m going to combust. My fingers curl back around the turquoise quilt. Deeper. Deeper. Fill me completely. I remember what that felt like.

Having Banks inside me.

Having Akara inside me.

I’m seconds away from begging for a repeat when Banks pulls away and collapses back against the headboard again. He gives me a long once-over, satisfaction brimming in his own eyes.

“That was…mean,” I say.

They both laugh, but in a way that makes me feel really cute. Attractive. Feminine, even. Like I’m the most adorable thing in this room.

I light up in ways I didn’t know I could. “My turn,” I breathe.

And I spin.

The bottle lands on Akara.

At least the universe, fate, something out there is trying to make this somewhat even. I let out a relaxed breath and when I look up, I realize Akara and Banks are whispering something. Banks finishes with a nod.

I don’t ask.

Part of me knows I’m about to discover what they’re discussing.

Akara moves closer in one fluid motion, then takes my waist in two confident hands and pulls me between his spread legs. Our bodies collide, my hair whips at my face like I’ve been sling-shotted into him.

All the rounds before were uncontrollably slow. This one is deliriously fast. Unable to think, his lips are on mine. Skin tingling, pulse thumping, Akara guides my lips open with expert force. His tongue, his experience, his hands and knowledge and the fact that he’s Kits is driving all the desire straight into my heart.

I reach up to touch his head.

He clasps my wrist mid-air. The pressure in his grip sends shockwaves through my body. Our eyes touch with pulsating need. Holy fuck.

Akara keeps me bound as he guides my back to the mattress. He breaks my legs apart. Knowing I could just lie here and he would pleasure and devour me is making me a mess of feelings and yearnings.

Kits.

His thumb circles my hardened nipple that presses against my tank top. Oh my fuck. His tongue sweeps my tongue, and I arch my hips into him. He forces them back down with his own build.

I break from his lips to catch my breath.

But he doesn’t stop the barrage of kisses against my jaw, then my neck. His mouth brushes lightly over my nipple. I squirm and writhe under him.

And then I tilt my head to the side and see Banks. He watches with heady arousal, his hand lost beneath the waistband of his drawstring pants. Massaging himself as he watches Kits thrust harder against me.

“Fuck,” I rasp, shaking. Turned on beyond belief. I remember losing my virginity. How Banks stretched my legs open. How my body was in his care while Akara went deep, and I almost wish he’d grab my ankle.

I’m sure they can tell I ache for more. But right when I’m about to ask, Akara kisses me lightly on my lips.

An endnote.

He leaves me breathless on the mattress. I stare up at the ceiling.

“Sulli?” Kits asks in concern.

“I’m good,” I muster before sitting up to face them, winded. “The game is still on.” I am not a fucking quitter. Not even if my body is screaming at me to forget spin the bottle and go straight to harder, deeper pleasure. “Who’s turn is it?” I ask. Fuck, I’ve forgotten.

“Mine,” Akara says the same time his phone chimes.

Oh no.

Banks and I give each other a look.

Akara rolls his eyes at us. “I’m not stopping the game for a phone call…” He stares harder at his cell that lies across the room on my dresser. The next chime turns into a ring, ring, ring. Until the ringing stops.

And then starts up again.

Akara curses under his breath as he climbs off the bed. “I’m coming back,” he says before crossing the bedroom.

Banks is tall enough sitting that he extends an arm over the top of the iron headboard. Both of us watching Akara click into his phone.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I have to take this.” Akara expels a stressed breath.

“Who is it?” Banks asks.

“Your dad,” Akara replies.

Michael Moretti is calling him? He works for Akara now and trains the temp bodyguards.

Banks’ face screws up. “You can hang up on him, man.”

“I can’t, Banks. I need him to know this company is everything to me. If he leaves for any reason, I’m fucked.”

I cringe, feeling badly for setting the stakes so high. Akara’s responsibilities outpace ours by a hundred miles. “We can just say we paused the game. You don’t have to take the L,” I tell him.