“Can’t stop,” I growled, heat coiling tight in my lower back.
“I don’t want you to,” he panted. “But we can’t come in leather. Too sticky.”
Damn it. He wasn’t wrong.
I stole one last devastating kiss before lowering him back to the floor. He sagged against the wall, eyes glazed, lips swollen, pink hair a wild mess around his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he huffed.
One hand fisted my tank top like it was the only thing keeping him upright. My knees weren’t much steadier. And both of us were painfully, obviously hard.
When our breathing finally slowed, I braced myself for awkwardness.
Instead, Iggy flashed me a wicked grin and laced our fingers together.
“So, Just Bodhi,” he said lightly. “Fancy a dance?”
My mouth twitched.
“Dancing sounds good.”
“Fancy a kiss?”
I laughed under my breath and pulled him back against my chest.
“Kissing sounds good.”
He bit his bottom lip.
“Then let’s keep pretending.”
I kissed him again and led him back into the noise, sober, wanting, and already in deeper than I meant to be.
CHAPTER
TEN
IGGY
I dreamtof pale skin inked with dark tattoos. Large hands guiding my body to a rhythm I pretended not to memorise. Soft lips erasing the lip gloss from my own, like it had never been there to begin with. Silky, dark hair I could thread my fingers through, and ocean eyes I could drown in if I stopped reminding myself to surface.
Waking up without a hangover after spending the night in a club felt almost... wrong. Like I’d skipped a step. I’d done this routine more times than I could count. Dancing until my hip screamed and my feet ached. Laughing in the streets while the rest of the city slept. Crawling into bed just as the sun clawed its way up over the horizon.
That routine was usually followed by punishment. A splitting headache. Comedown sweats. Nausea so bad I swore I’d never do it again, knowing full well I would. Add a sore ass and a constellation of hickeys from someone whose name I never bothered to learn, and that was my standard morning-after inventory. All problems I’d created myself.
Opening my eyes without hissing at the light, without my body demanding payment, felt like cheating.
A clear head also meant I remembered everything.
After the small almost-mishap with that guy on the dance floor, the rest of the night had been surprisingly tame. Clara and I watched a public scene between a Dom and his sub. Riff, Ghost, and Mick turned a spreader bar into a limbo contest. Thump disappeared into the toilets for a threesome. And at the end of the night, as promised, I dived into the pool fully clothed—well, as clothed as possible—and dragged Bodhi in with me.
Bodhi.
My friend. The one I kissed. The one who pinned me to a wall and kissed me until my lungs burned. Who pressed himself against me on the dance floor and explored every unobstructed inch of my skin. Who stayed glued to my side afterward like a loyal puppy.
My lips tingled when I thought about his mouth. Minty breath layered with something warm and sweet that I couldn’t put a name to, only a face. Christ. Even remembering it made my dick twitch in my shorts.
It had been a long time since I’d kissed someone sober. Too long. And if I was being honest with myself, I was glad it had been Bodhi. The KitKatClub was overwhelming enough without trying to dodge temptation in a building designed to weaponise it. But tucked against Bodhi’s chest, breathing in the spice of his cologne until my head spun, I felt... steady. I didn’t think about the bar. Didn’t scan the crowd for a familiar dealer’s smile. Didn’t wonder if that stranger from earlier would still offer me a free pill.
