Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I’m not ready.
Between my boyfriends, I face Akara, “You’re a whore for me then?”
He stares down at me. “The biggest whore.” He drops his lips to my ear, but I feel him staring at Banks with a grin—and I strangely love that. How the three of us always connected, Banks’ arm still around me, Akara still engaged with him as he whispers to me, “For your pussy. For your heart.” He lifts my chin with two fingers. “For your lips.”
Please fucking kiss me, Kits.
He tilts his head, bending closer. He whispers against my mouth, “For your tits.” He squeezes my boob, and I pulse between my legs.
I understand how Akara is a sex god to women. He’s the playful, dominant fuck that toys with tender places and alights craving pieces.
And he’s teasing. Pulling away with a greater smile.
“You’re fucking evil,” I rasp.
He grins. “You’ll thank me for the foreplay later.”
“Later?” I glance between them.
Banks is checking me out in a way that tingles my toes and veins. Like I’m unquestionably hot. Like he wants to bone me, and I would love for them to do just that.
Bone me. Fuck me.
Make sweet love to me.
“So you guys are…you’re staying over?” I wonder.
Akara starts to frown. “You want us too, right?”
“Yeah, fuck yeah.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. Hot all of a sudden. “You can use my shower too.”
Banks’ mouth curves up, and we’re all sexy, horny things until we enter the penthouse. Until we skid to a stop in the living room.
No one is around, but one of my roommates left the television on—a late-night entertainment news show like TMZ plays footage of me.
And Akara.
And Banks.
They’re in bodyguard-mode and pressing up against me as we leave the Aquatic Center. This footage is from tonight. Holy fuck, paparazzi work fast.
“…they won’t speak to press about their relationship,” the reporter says, “but there’s been speculation on which one of her boyfriends will break up with Sullivan Meadows first. The pressure is intense, and there’s just no feasible way Akara, Banks, and Sullivan will all stay together for that long.”
I freeze, anger puncturing me again. Only this time, it’s different. I’m pissed at the world. Not just at the paparazzi. “They can go eat shit,” I curse hotly.
Banks is stewing too.
Akara tries to stay calm, but his impassioned eyes are flaming. Especially as the reporter says to the other awful journalist, “My money is on Sullivan breaking up with Banks. She has a clear relationship with Akara. They’ve probably been dating long before Banks even came around.”
“Allegedly,” the reporter notes.
I turn to Banks. “I’m not breaking up with you.”
“I know that.” He’s scraping a hand across his hardened jaw. Superglued to the TV.
“We’re blue-balling them, remember,” Akara says to us. “They don’t know what we’re about—and even if they did, they’d still promote this division. It’s more salacious than saying we’re all happy.”
The reporter seems to grow louder. “I give them till the end of the year. Whatever they’re doing—it’ll never work. They’re probably fighting over Sullivan Meadows right now.”
They’re not.
“Joke’s on them,” Banks says coldly.
I can’t listen to these fucking idiotic reporters slander us anymore. Akara grabs the remote before I can. He shuts off the TV.
I’ve never wanted to be wrapped between Akara and Banks more. Like a middle finger to the world, I take both of their hands in mine, and they end up leading me. Walking ahead of me.
I follow, but as soon as we’re inside my dimly lit bedroom—the door closed—I spin around and touch Akara’s belt more playfully, a little fucking desperately. I’ve just never wanted them so carnally, so emotionally, and I ache to feel their caring hands, the weight of their protection, their desirous eyes, their hot words of lust and love, of enduring and persevering—every fucking bit of them, on me and in me.
I tug at Akara’s belt. “What a fucking strange contraption, Kits.”
He takes my wrists in his hand. “Lady Meadows,” he eyes me with a smile. “Surely you know what a belt is.” He tilts his head. “Or at least what we could do with it.”
I swallow hard.
Fuck yes.
Banks stands behind him, arms crossed, watching me. “Turn around, mermaid.”
Turn around?
I suddenly concentrate on my surroundings and not just them. I sniff the sweet scent of the air, like I’m in a Krispy Kreme factory. “Is that…donuts?” I whirl around. Candles…about twenty scented candles line my dresser and weight bench. Light flickers romantically around my bedroom. Casting shadows on the turquoise quilt of my iron-framed bed.
Akara’s fingers slip off my wrists, letting me leave his side.
I go to my dresser, finding a vase of wildflowers and a box of chocolate protein donuts. The candles are all sprinkled donut scented.
My heart clenches.
Reporters think I’d break up with one of them—that we’re just here fighting. Tears nearly prick my eyes. I know some days take work, but that’s how all relationships go, even monogamous ones.