They’re definitely men.
So quick to take care of me.
They lean against one side of the kitchen counters, and I rest against the island, facing them. Cheeks are singed from more than regret, I feel my inexperience and the youth of my age. They’re twenty-nine and twenty-eight to my twenty-one years of innocence in some facets of life.
But the longer they tower, their eyes stroke, they care—the more I blaze under attraction. How sexy they are…I feel beloved. Fucking coveted. A girl they’ve chosen to carry home and make feel better.
“How’s your head?” Banks asks sweetly. “Still spinning?”
“No more spinning. I’m not really tipsy anymore…I think the crackers helped.” I keep roasting. Pulling off my pom beanie, my hair must be sticking up every which way but I don’t try to flatten the strands. Why is it getting harder to hold their gazes? “I’m really sorry we had to leave the festival early. Especially on your birthday, Kits.”
“Hey, you don’t need to keep apologizing, string bean.” He presents me a classic Kits smile, sparkling his eyes. I prefer their smiles over the fists that were flung earlier tonight. Warmly, Akara adds, “I’d rather be here right now than there.”
“Really?”
He smiles more. “Here is where you are, Sul.”
My lips rise, and I glance between Akara and Banks, their smiles so different—yet, they have the same overwhelming effect on me, swelling my heart out of my body.
“Thanks,” I say to both of them. “For being here with me. I mean, I know you kind of have to be, but thanks for choosing to be, too.” I blush at the intensity of the attraction, at their gazes that try to devour me.
Devour me, I dare you. I want to scream the words, but I stay an arm’s length away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Banks promises.
I’m not on a period, I almost declare. But they start asking more questions:
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“You need more crackers?”
“You wanna lie down?”
After answering each one with a peeking smile (God, I feel like such a lovesick puppy), I just say, “I’m okay; I’m okay.” To shake their concern that comes in each sizzling beat, I switch topics off me. And to something that I’m concerned about. “Are you two going to talk about what happened tonight between you guys?”
Even though I’d love to bury their fight into the ground, I don’t want them to use me as an excuse to avoid their feelings.
Akara and Banks both give each other hesitant looks.
“I can be a pretty fucking great referee,” I tell them. “If one of you looks like you’re going to punch the other, I’ll just jump between you two.”
Akara assures with a rising smile, “We’re not going to punch each other.”
“But feel free to jump in between us, mermaid.” Banks opens the space, and Akara gestures to the spot between their bodies.
The goal post is there. Calling out to me. I’m craving, begging, aching to be sandwiched between Akara and Banks, but knowing they’re okay means more to me than the longing.
Ripped and tattered suit jackets are splayed over kitchen barstools. Their clothes took a worse beating than their bodies. Akara lost a button on his button-down, and their white shirts are stretched and torn from pulling each other.
All the money Kits spent on their designer suits is down the drain.
“But what happened back there then?” I ask. “Because it looked like fist-fighting to me.”
Banks cocks his head to Akara. “She has a point.”
I lean my ass more against the counter. “I don’t like when you two fight.”
Akara nods strongly. “Then we can solve this right now.” He turns to Banks. “Give me a reason not to fire your dad that has nothing to do with me or my company.”
Banks stares hard at the kitchen countertop. “My dad wants to make amends with me…and as much as I don’t want to give the bastard a chance, if you fire him, it’ll close all doors to that.”
“But you don’t want to make amends, so what does it matter?”
Banks lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll change my mind. Someone taught me that forgiveness can be hard, but it could be worth it in the end.” His eyes are on me.
Forgiveness. It’s a struggle that I’m still struggling with in terms of my dad. And where I stand in terms of Banks’ dad is in the direct fucking middle. I can’t take a side. One hurts Akara and one hurts Banks. I wish there could be a perfect option, and maybe there will be with more time. Right now, this is all they have.
Akara looks conflicted.
“Please,” Banks emphasizes. “I’ll fuckin’ beg and it won’t be cute.”
Akara and I begin to smile, and then Akara lets out a heavy sigh, “Shoot, Banks—you know how hard it is to stay mad at you?”
Banks’ mouth curves in those almost-smiles. “Is that a yes, you’re keeping him?”
“Yeah. But the moment your dad says one snide thing to you, he’s gone.”
“I’m good with that.”
I smile wide. “You both are kinda fucking hot when you’re compromising.”
“Kinda hot?” Banks laughs, his eyes making sweet fucking love to me.
“Understatement of the century,” Akara smiles, giving me a sexy onceover.
I burn up in my glitzy silver jumpsuit. Take it off. I imagine myself stripping bare in front of them, but I don’t yet.
My gaze pings around the green cupboards and fridge. It’s just us three here. Despite the fight and newest leak, my roommates are still at the charity event, hopefully having a rad time. I ask, “Nothing anyone said in this kitchen was recently leaked, right?”
“Yeah, theoretically, the kitchen is clear,” Akara tells me, his hands loosely gripping the counter behind him. Banks has his buff arms threaded casually over his chest.
I try not to check them out because I am interested in how secure the penthouse really is. “What do you mean theoretically?”
“Play music,” Akara insists.
I grab my phone and switch on my most-listened-to playlist. “MMMBop” by Hanson is the first song and becomes decently loud background noise. “Is this supposed to drown out any mics?”
“Theoretically,” Akara says.
I cringe. “I’m not sure I fucking like theoretically.”
Akara smiles. “I have a gut-hunch, Sul, but there is no solid evidence to support the penthouse being bugged. We’ve swept this entire place over and over, almost daily at this point.” He also reminds me that the ploy for Thatcher and Jane to spread lies in each individual room didn’t go down well.
None of the lies were leaked.
Banks thinks they were too mild. Things like Jane Cobalt refuses to attend her brother’s ballet performance tomorrow night.
For the most part, the mole likes salacious headlines. But to construct a salacious lie could hurt Jane, and I’m glad they didn’t go too far. Even if it could’ve helped catch this asshole.
Everything points towards one of my roommates leaking info to a mole. But that can’t be right. Moffy, Jane, Luna, Thatcher, and Farrow would never. Some of the leaks are things they’d never even want blasted to the media.
They have zero fucking motive.
So I understand why Akara is still set on the “bugged” theory, even if there isn’t evidence. No mics. No cameras. Nothing.
“You wanna stay somewhere else?” Banks asks me.
We’ve had this talk a lot. Months ago, I would’ve run away from the penthouse at the mere sniff of a mole, but I have something to prove now. Moffy and Jane and Luna will stay no matter what, just like they stayed when a stalker entered the townhouse that burned down.
Leaks aren’t making them flee because “it’s just our life,” Maximoff will say. They deal with the consequences of being born into fame head-on, and even if it’s smarter to leave, I need to stay.
They won’t believe I can handle the heat if I go hide out in a ho
tel room.
“I’m not leaving,” I say, cupping the glass of water. “This is good training, anyway. The heat of the leaks is like mini-explosions, and it’s preparing me for the big one.”
Our poly relationship.
“The big one isn’t happening anytime soon,” Akara assures. “We want to give you more time.”
“I want more time for all of us,” I admit softly. “So what do we know about the mole?”
Banks curls hair behind his right ear, then left. I love how cute he is when he does that right and left hair-tuck maneuver, but sometimes I worry he does it more often when his head is hurting. “They probably have money,” he says. “Either they hired some tech wizards or they are a fuckin’ tech wizard in their parents’ basement.”
Akara explains to me, “None of our people can trace the IP address. Not even Garrison Abbey could hack through the firewalls.”
So the mole could be a rich mogul or a fifteen-year-old online troll? Two totally different ends of the spectrum.
Fucking ugh. We’re nowhere close to finding them. “Jane said the leaks are starting to appear on Celebrity Crush as headlines.”
They both nod, and the sinking realization stays with me. These truth-bombs are gaining real traction every single day.
“February 4th,” Akara suddenly says.
I frown at the familiar date. “What about my birthday?”
His muscles tighten. “That’s when I think the mole will leak our relationship.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, “wait, how can you even predict a timeline?”
“We’re pretty positive they’ve been holding onto private info and choosing the worst timing to leak it.”
“Worst timing for us,” Banks chimes in, “but best timing for them.”
“Luna’s birthday,” I realize, “they leaked her writing tentacle porn. And tonight, they leaked Moffy’s sex life during the Winter Festival.” His big hoorah back into H.M.C. Philanthropies, they purposely ruined. I see red. “What scum of the fucking earth.”
And now, Akara thinks they’re waiting on a specific, special day to implode my life.
My 22nd birthday.
Banks says, “Now we have a deadline to catch this fuckbag.”
February 4th. More than a month away.
Akara nods, “We can do it.”
Banks nods back, confidence flowing and rising up in the kitchen. I breathe that certainty in like the sweetest, most extraordinary perfume.
Bathe me in it.
Yes, fucking please.
With a racing pulse, I unzip the side of my jumpsuit. The fabric slips down my body and pools at my bare feet. Bra and cotton panties only, their desire touches every inch of my tingling flesh.
And then they look to each other. I hope they’re thinking, let’s fuck her.
I consume the moment with thirst and greed. Who’s coming for me?
Banks breaks from the counters, his stride so long—he only needs to take one step before pushing up against me, our legs interlacing. His chest presses up against my body.
Oh my fucking God. His large hand sheathes my cheek while his other palm clasps my ass, his fingers slipping beneath my cotton panties. I’m drowning in his hungered gaze and the roughness of his hand enveloping my jaw and cheek.
Like a cannon blast, he swiftly dips his head and kisses the holy fuck out of me. Our tongues meld, my head dizzies, and my palms journey over the planes of his muscles. His movements are fast and ravenous like mine, but I’m not the experienced one guiding us to the ascent. I’m second on the rope, the one keeping up with his route.
I like it that way.
Lips stinging, Banks lifts my butt onto the kitchen island. He pulls until my ass is on the edge. Legs spread around his waist, he pushes forward in a deeper kiss, and I whimper against his mouth.
“Christ.” He lets out a rough, husky sound of pleasure, and then he pushes my back flat against the cold counter. “Want her here?”
“Yep.”
Holy fuck, that was Akara.
I’m doubling-down on the fact that their communication is hot. Times infinity when it’s about me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, watching Akara saunter to the other side of the island near my head. I actually dip my head backwards over the edge, staring at his bulge upside-down.
His lip rises, seduction in his eyes. He’s the smooth operator.
Banks is the rough handler.
I love them both absolutely, totally, unequivocally.
His two palms slide down my cheeks, tingles shooting in every nerve-ending. His fingers slip to the back of my skull. He lowers his head, and my heart double-beats. His lips meld against mine in a sensual, leg-shaking, upside-down kiss, and at the same time Akara makes out with me, Banks tears off my panties.
Their movements become fast and ravenous, and I’m loving this speed.
Akara lifts up my shoulder blades and snaps off my bra. He slips the straps off my arms, and his mouth travels against the nape of my neck, then up the curve of my soft breast. His destination is my perked nipple where he sucks and nips and kisses. Electricity zips through me.
Banks’ hands chart a course down my thighs, teasing towards my pussy.
I pulse and writhe. “Banks,” I rasp, wanting him to enter me. I look up at Akara. “Kits, tell him.”
They’re both smiling and kissing different, tender places of my body.
“Tell him what?” Akara whispers against my nipple. His warm breath tickles the sensitive bud, and I grow wetter.
To Banks, I say, “Come inside me. Not cum come. Don’t shoot a load without a condom—just…put your cock in me.” God, I’m so fucking ineloquent, but my choice of words didn’t kill the mood. It did the opposite.
Their eyes and hands and lips hunger more for me, brushing against my flesh and tormenting my need. My playlist switches to the song “Who Do You Love” by All Saints, and heat builds tenfold. I’ve always thought the lyrics are about choosing between two men, and I drown into these feelings, the music, and I want to shout, when the ship goes down, I choose both of them.
“Okay?” I ask them as I reach behind me to grab Akara’s waist.
He takes my wrists in his hands, not letting me. “We’ll take your demand under consideration.” His voice is so fucking sexy.
Akara smiles like he can see how much this moment is pummeling me.
Tear me to pieces.
Ravage me.
I’m wolfing them down, even with my limbs in their possession. Banks raises my legs to his shoulders, and I’m totally exposed for him as his lips voyage to my heat.
I feel Akara watching my breath go uneven and ragged. “Fuck,” I pant as Banks kisses my inner-thigh, teasing.
I jerk in Akara’s grip, and he sinks a kiss against my neck, collarbone, nipples. The more he toys with my nipples, the more I ache and pulse.
“I can’t…” I nearly cry, my body so alight with feelings. My back arches off the island counter, and Banks eats me out like I’m sweet, glorious candy. Sucking, kissing, my clit is happy and thrumming along with the rest of my body.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Akara whispers against my ear, bent down so he can reach me. “You know how beautiful you are, Sul? You feel how much and how badly we want you?” My hands that are in his possession—he takes one and places my palm on his bulge.
Hard as a fucking rock.
For me.
Fuck yes.
I throb, and Banks’ skilled tongue flicks and sucks and makes my legs quiver against his shoulders. “Fuck,” I cry out. “Kits.” He’s too far away. Akara kisses my cheek, then lips, then lifts me up partially so I can watch Banks between my legs.
I’m in a heady state of fucking bliss.
Two experienced guys are on the end of my rope, and even if they’re leading, we’re all climbing together.
Banks and Akara make eye contact. Which means something is about to happen. Adrenaline courses through me, and right as Akara lets go of my
hands, Banks suddenly pulls me towards him and brings me onto his shoulders, front-facing.
I gasp, my hand pressing to the ceiling—that’s how fucking high up I am. My heat is still against his lips, ankles hanging against his back.
He kisses my pussy, and only with two more tricks with his tongue—I hit a peak and twitch against him. “FuckfuckBanks,” I cry out, toes curling.
I grip his hair, and while I gasp and catch my breath, he waits and then slides me down his body. He holds my ass for an extra beat.
And then carefully, gently places me on the balls of my feet.
Thank fucking God no more tsunami periods or debilitating cramps. I missed this with them. Pleasure, arousal, physical attraction that can be satiated with lips and touching and hopefully something harder. Firmer.
Deeper.
Akara picks up my clothes, then messes up my already messy, wild hair while Banks has his arms around me. I lean against his chest and face Akara, naked.
His eyes are still drinking me in.
They’re not finished.
“That was…” I start to tell them how amazing I’m feeling and a round two is needed, but we hear dogs.
Orion and Arkham bark and pitter-patter to the front door.
Someone must be coming home, and I’m bare in the kitchen. Totally naked. “To the bedroom,” I tell my boyfriends before anyone can catch me in my birthday suit. I grab the box of vegan crackers and phone, keeping the music on.
“You lead the way,” Banks tells me. “It’s one of the few opportunities you get to be out front.”
I munch a cracker and walk backwards. In fucking love with how they prowl after me. “Not true. Ask Akara who won the race through the maze.” We’re a short distance to my room, so we’re not running.
Akara sidles next to Banks, and Banks casually throws an arm around his shoulder. Akara smiles and says, “Sulli, I distinctly remember you almost face planting during that race.”
“Lies,” I tell Banks.
“Truth,” Akara refutes.
Banks’ lips draw in a shadowy smile. “Now who do I trust more?”
Fearless Like Us Page 29
