Yes.
Fuck yes…he’s buried further under the covers as he moves back, and I can’t see him as he lifts my legs over his shoulders. As he kisses the bundle of nerves. Holy…
His tongue sucks and laps, and my hips buck up. Breath hitching, I see stars as I come with a cry.
“Banks, Banks.” I reach under the quilt, gripping his shoulder for support. My legs quake, and somehow, someway, I hit another peak.
He pops back up with a sexy noise in his throat, then we’re kissing vigorously. I hold on to him for dear fucking life while he curves my leg towards my chest, pulling it higher.
“If it hurts, say stop,” he breathes.
“I will,” I rasp.
Our eyes stay attached the whole time he edges closer. He reaches down, guiding himself gently into me.
I let out a gasp, the pressure overwhelming at first. “Fuck.”
“Alright?”
“How far…are you in?”
“Not far.”
I nod to him. “Go, go.”
He inches more, and I contract around him. Banks grunts a little, his gaze consuming me as much as I just want to devour him in one fucking gulp. But I can’t take him that fast.
He inches more and more, then rocks a little. The friction is mind-numbing. I’m so swollen from all the teasing beforehand, and my eyes nearly roll. My fingers dig into his shoulders.
And then he stops moving.
“Banks?” I instinctively arch up my hips, but he grabs my waist, keeping me still.
“You’re so fucking tight, Sulli,” he says huskily. “If I go any further, I might hurt you, and if I move back and forth, I’m gonna come.”
“Come then.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I want this to last…” The look in his eyes starts to well something up in mine.
“Can we stay…just like this?” I ask. With him inside of me.
He nods. “Just like this.”
We must be dreaming because the longer we’re just like this, the more I feel his cock twitch inside of me. The more I pulse around him. For a moment, I pretend we’re together on an island.
In nature.
Where it’s safest.
Unable to take it anymore, he thrusts in and out. In and out, and I cry so loud, he plants a hand over my mouth. His muscles flex against me as he hits a climax.
As our breaths come down, he kisses me, then gently pulls out. After tossing the condom and wrapping me up in his chest, I glance over at the door. Half expecting Akara to be back.
Should we have waited?
Was this wrong?
But it felt right.
“Sulli?” Banks asks in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I’m about to speak, but I yawn, totally wiped. Probability that I’ll fall asleep before Akara comes back is astronomically high, but I’ll defeat sleep for him. I’ll rise into his arms. “Nothing…just, when Akara comes back, can you tell him to wake me up? He can have a turn too…” I might not have phrased that right, but whatever the fuck.
I don’t care.
I’m spent.
I love being in Banks arms, and I’d love just as much to be in Akara’s if he were here.
“I’ll wait up for him,” Banks breathes. “Get some sleep.”
I nod as I shut my eyes. “I really love you, you know that, Banks?”
The last thing I hear is, “I really love you too, mermaid.” And then everything fades into a peaceful slumber.
12
BANKS MORETTI
The door opens slowly, a sliver of light illuminating the dark room. Sulli remains passed out in my arms, but I carefully sit up in bed as Akara slips inside.
My eyes adjust to the dark as soon as he shuts the door, but I can’t figure out how to adjust the metaphorical weight crushing my chest. Guilt. Don’t know that fucker that well. But it’s currently riding me like a coked-out cowboy. I’m just the dumb horse that can’t buck it off.
I swept the glass up earlier, so I don’t warn him about the broken bottle as he moves closer. Floor is clean.
Akara gently climbs into bed on the other side of Sulli. He doesn’t acknowledge me until he checks underneath the turquoise quilt and white sheets, confirming that she’s naked. I’m naked.
Then his eyes lift to mine.
“Akara—” I whisper.
He interrupts in a soft tone, “Stop looking at me like that. It’s fine, Banks.”
“I should’ve asked or waited—”
“No,” he refutes quickly. “Because when I get the chance, I’m definitely not asking you or waiting. And if we’re being honest with each other, I’d probably feel less guilty if I were in your position. So who’s the real jerk?”
I shake my head, “Not you.”
Akara lets out a soft sound, an almost-laugh. “You’re wholesome, a good son. Looking back, I made your brother be the bad cop so I could pretend to be nice—”
“You didn’t make Thatcher do shit,” I whisper. “He’s stringent and prickly. He knows he’s prickly. You’re good at being friendly with your men because you aren’t a fucking cactus like my lovably cactus-y brother.”