Page 105 of Wild Like Us

“As friends,” I say.

“As friends,” Sulli nods and looks to Banks.

“As friends,” he agrees.

I watch as Sulli pulls the Camp Calloway tee over her head. Banks steps out of his pants, and I make quick work shedding my clothes. Until I’m in boxer-briefs like Banks, and Sulli stands in panties and a sports bra. All of us bandaged up. She stares down at her chest for a second, thinking something, and then suddenly, she tugs up and shimmies off her sports bra.

Her nipples are hard in the cold. Shit, I love her tits. She turns quickly to the makeshift shower. The sack of water still hangs from the tree branch. All three of us are shivering and gather close underneath the plastic spigot. She stands between us, facing Banks.

My pulse races. Does she feel more comfortable with him seeing her tits than me? Maybe because he’s already seen her nakedwhilethey were kissing. Yeah, maybe?

I shrug the thought off as I reach up. Pulling the string that opens the sack, a stream of water pours down on us.

Water is warm for point-five seconds, quickly chilling as soon as it hits my skin.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Sulli curses and bounces on her feet. “It’s cold.” Her breath smokes the air.

“Let’s get this over with quick,” Banks says into a cringe.

After passing around a bar of soap and rinsing, we last less than a minute under the water before we’re darting out from the shower and into the tent.

No time to build a fire.

Sulli dives underneath a sleeping bag. Not crawling under, she uses the fabric more like a blanket. Her body trembles harder from the cold. Teeth chattering. Banks zips up the tent while I switch on a lantern dangling in the center of the tent, and I crawl to the right of her. I’m shivering, but not full-body shakes like Sulli here.

She groans out. “Why is it so fucking frigid?”

Banks lies down to the left of her. “Because mermaids don’t swim in ice.”

“That…we know…of,” she chatters, then blows out a breath. “I just want…to get…fucking…warm.”

“How are your popsicle nipples?” I ask her as I slide underneath my sleeping bag. Our legs skate near each other, and I can feel her goosebumps and prickle of hair.

“Probably harder than your popsicle dick.” Her green, green eyes descend to my crotch.

Shit.

Blood pumps through my body, muscles flexing, and I start to warm.

Banks fixes the snagged chain of his dog tags and tells me, “Sounds like a bet.” He has to know I’m seconds from sliding my hand over her tits, so I’m surprised he’s playing into this.

I don’t want any of it to end. “Definitely does,” I agree.

Sulli turns her head to Banks. “My nipples are way harder than your dick too.”

He eyes her chest, covered by a sleeping bag, and she eyes his crotch like she did mine.

For some reason, I don’t mind that she’s including him. I prefer it, even.Why? How?Maybe because in the quiet seconds between our easy banter, we’re just three people laid vulnerable and bare. Dirt washed off, cut open, and even as exhaustion pulls us, we choose to stay awake and bathe in the comfort of our companionship.

“And if they’re not harder?” Banks asks. “What do we get?”

Sulli shifts, her heat beginning to radiate towards me, and most likely him too. While she’s lying on her back, we’re lying on our sides. Facing her.

She keeps having to turn her head from side-to-side to look between us. “What do you want?” she asks.

Banks meets my gaze. “What do you want, Akara?”

Her.