Page 162 of Wild Like Us

Standing tall above Sulli, I pump my finger inside her, and I cup her cheek while I rock against her mouth, only a few times. Her breath catches, and I pull out.

“Fuck,” she moans, writhing. She watches Banks root a hand to the side of the trailer and come hard in his palm. Sulli clenches around my finger.

I didn’t even want to try putting two in her. And seeing her hit a climax sends me to mine. I stroke once and release in my hand.

We’re all heavy breath.

“You okay?” I ask Sulli.

She’s smiling and collapses back. “Wow.”

“I feel that,” Banks says in a laugh, grabbing his boxer-briefs. None of us forget the hot springs. Putting on clothes, we head out to the river.

The thirty-minute hike leads to us stripping down again. Dipping into the warm water of this primitive, natural hot spring, like a small alcove in the river. Not found on any website or any map.

Steam rising, I kiss Sulli.

And then, Banks kisses Sulli.

We make out with her. We talk. We crack jokes. We laugh. Waiting until the last second to leave. And when we’re running back to the trailer to beat the freezing cold, biting at our flesh, the air hangs thicker. Heavier.

I open the trailer.

Back to reality.

Almost.

Sulli takes the bunk bed. Refusing to let us take it since we’re taller and it’s cramped. So Banks and I share the queen bed. Lying side by side, I stare up at the ceiling of the trailer.

An hour later, Sulli peeks her head out. She sees me awake. Banks stirs, rubbing his eyes in the semi-darkness. The moon shines through the trailer.

Sulli is quiet. Saying nothing, she crawls between us on the bed. My pulse slows, and I turn on my side and spoon Sul, then she burrows into Banks’ chest.

Having her safe in my arms, I finally fall asleep.

39

SULLIVAN MEADOWS

Fuck the rain.

Five days of thunderstorms have constructed a huge roadblock on my goal. Rain means slippage, especially on the slick, flat slab of rock I’m trying to scale. With these miserable weather conditions, I haven’t been able to climb Rattlesnake Knuckle since the day Jack filmed. And that day was supposed to be mylastpractice climb with gear.

Now, I’m not even confident about free-soloing without another dry run.

Jane and Maximoff flew out to Yellowstone to watch me free-solo, and now they’re not going to get the chance. They fly back with everyone tomorrow. I feel a little bit like I wasted their time, and it’s hard not to beat myself up over it, even if them watching me climb wasn’t my goal.

I haven’t failed.

Not yet, anyway.

I still have time to free-solo at leastoneof my dad’s old climbing routes. So as long as I free-solo Rattlesnake Knuckle and get to experience something my dad once did, I’ll have succeeded what I set out to do.

I keep telling myself that even as the rain pours harder outside.

Rain isn’t such a deal-breaker for Thatcher and Jane’s bachelor and bachelorette parties today. Their best man and man of honor booked the event at a fuckinghumongousMontana lodge, set on a ranch with acres and acres of land. Also complete with a brewery and a spa.

The people at the front desk even handed me a map.