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“You both did this?” I ask, swept up in the gesture.
“Technically, Akara,” Banks says. “Since I’ve been on your detail all day.”
“It was both our plan,” Akara states. “He called me when you beat your time.”
They’re celebrating my time. My achievement today.
I wipe at my watery eyes. “This is seriously the sweetest fucking thing.” I take in their confident postures. Both tall, unyielding, and mine. Both look at me as if to say I’ll protect you until the end. But Banks wears his pain on his body, and Akara wears his in his eyes.
“You deserve it,” Banks tells me strongly.
I pick at the tape on the donut box. Doubt is a nasty fucking beast. “Even if I’m putting you two through hell?”
Banks shakes his head vigorously. “I’m not in hell.”
“We chose this,” Akara says with fire. “We chose you; we chose the world trying to pit us against each other—and they’re putting us through nothing. Screw the reporters. Screw it all.”
Banks has a shadow of a smile seeing my smile appear.
“Screw me too, Kits?” I ask, voice raspy again.
“Screw you with love,” he breathes. “With our hands. With our hearts.” He draws closer, so does Banks, and I watch with rapt attention as Akara comes up behind me. As Banks comes up in front of me.
I’m wedged between their tall, muscular builds, and as their eyes stroke, as their hands travel with careful, slow affectionate need over my body, we’re no longer just sexy, horny things.
We’re uncompromising, vulnerable, burning things.
Heat crawls over my skin, their large palms blazing a fervor in my blood. Banks kisses me—yearning, gripping, blistering kisses exchange between our stinging lips. And Akara melds into my back, his hands driving down my breasts, down to my pussy. His hardness grows against me.
Clothes.
We’re still dressed. “I haven’t showered yet,” I rasp as their hands continue to move, as Akara’s lips trail breathy, hot lines across the nape of my neck.
I shudder. Fuuck yes. “I smell…like chlorine.”
Very huskily, Banks says, “I like that smell. It reminds me of you.” He pulls the band out of my hair, wet strands cascading over my shoulders.
“Same,” Akara breathes, closing his lips over a tender spot.
They like that stuffy chemical smell because of me. “Well…fuck,” I almost moan.
They’re both smiling. Akara’s fingers brush along the line of my broad shoulders, pushing aside the thin strap of my tank top. The fabric slips.
I clutch Banks’ waistband as they push in closer, my knuckles brushing his radio. While Banks unties my sweatpants, I relax my head on Akara’s shoulder. Akara kisses me from that angle, and I’m basking in his sensual tongue, in the way they both clutch me. Grip me. Love me.
My body hums for more.
They undress me, and I intake this moment. Welded between Akara and Banks—two men I once doubted were even attracted to me, and now they pull off my shirt, snap off my bra, pull down my sweatpants. Their gazes and hands setting me on fire.
“Step,” Akara breathes.
I step out of them. Cold barely nips my skin. Sweat has already built. No bra, my nipples visibly harden and my breath shallows.
Their hunger isn’t just primal hunger for any flesh. They’re longing for me, Sullivan Minnie Meadows—and I’m giving all of myself to them. To do whatever they fucking please. Because I know, really, our desires are intertwined into a tether of unbearable tension. One that’s begging for an explosion, a euphoric fucking release.
Consumed with each other, Banks slides his hand up my neck, to my jaw and gathers a fistful of damp hair while Akara tracks his hands down my ass beneath my panties. He shifts his hands forward, fingertips brushing my clit.
“Fuck,” I cry.
They kiss my body. Arousal, desire, and something deeper overwhelms me.
Akara moves his hands to my breasts but leaves my nipples aching. Untouched.
“Kits,” I plead.
Banks lets go of my hair, cupping his full, large hand against my heat. Sky-blue panties still on, I just feel the pressure, and I quiver and pulse.
“Banks,” I cry out.
“The mermaid must want more,” Banks says in that deep, rough voice. He’s speaking to Kits.
Akara leans over and takes a long, hot look at my tits. “She wants me to suck her nipples.” That lights me up too.
“Yes,” I pant. “Fuck.” I squirm as Banks rubs my panties.
Oh my fuck.
Electricity sparks in my skin, shooting energy through my body.
My nipples still ache for touch.
Akara thumbs one. He leans further over my shoulder and flicks his tongue over my sensitive, perked nipple. A shockwave ripples through me, and I tremble.
Oh fuck.
Standing and melting between them, I’m almost naked in their clutch. Should I be undressing them? I lose sight of where to move my hands, their shirts—their bodies, but they seem more entrapped with me. And I’m more entrapped with what they’re doing to me. With how they handle me. With care, with fucking passion.
