He practically vibrated with excitement. It was... adorable. I’d never seen him like this.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Close your eyes. Head back,” I said, and he obeyed instantly. I glanced at the photographer. “You might want some close-ups.”
He adjusted his camera without complaint.
“Don’t move,” I told Bodhi.
“Promise.”
I scooped the gold onto the spatula and held it above his eye, letting it drip along his lash line. Then more. Just enough that it began to trail down his cheek like liquid tears. I repeated it on the other side and stepped back.
“Schön!Wunderschön!” the photographer exclaimed. “Okay, Bodhi. Open your eyes and pose.Eins,zwei,drei.”
He did as asked. And of course, he looked unreal.
The camera clicked non-stop as the gold was reapplied again and again, each take more striking than the last.
When it was finally over, the photographer clapped me on the shoulder, praising me in a jumble of German and English. Bodhi echoed the sentiment, minus the German, and it wasn’t until we left the studio that I realised how tightly I’d been holding myself together.
Thankfully, Bodhi had a half-hour break before his interview, and I needed an iced coffee and a vape. He’d changed back into his T-shirt and joggers, his face now clean and bare.
“Did you have fun?” he asked as we headed towards the lift.
“I did.” I stopped walking and caught his hand. “Thank you. That meant a lot.”
He squeezed mine, blue eyes bright.
God, I wanted to kiss him.
“I really want to kiss you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Clearly, that rush of gratitude had short-circuited my brain, because I definitely hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
Bodhi squeezed my hand but didn’t answer right away. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. Closed it. Watching him struggle made my stomach twist.
I shook my head and dropped my gaze to my shoes. “Sorry,” I mumbled, heat creeping up my neck. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Iggy,” he whispered.
He dragged a hand over his face with a groan, like he was physically restraining himself. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said. “I really fucking do.”
I lifted my free hand, already retreating. “It’s okay. You don’t have to?—”
“No,” he cut in quickly. “I really want to, Iggy Pop. It’s just...” He trailed off, licking his lips like he was buying himself time. “We’re friends. And that means a lot to me. Plus, we’re fresh out of rehab. Barely sober. Is this really the best idea? Getting involved with another addict? Shouldn’t we be putting our sobriety first?”
“I understand,” I said, but he was already spiralling past me.
“But at the same time,” he went on, taking a step closer. “All I want to do is kiss you. Ever since last night, every time I look at you, all I can think about is the feel of your lips on mine.”
Another step.
“The feel of your tongue,” he murmured. “Of your hard cock.”
Said cock chose that exact moment to betray me, stirring in my skintight leggings as blood rushed south so fast it made me dizzy.
Bodhi reached out and tipped my chin up with two fingers,his thumb brushing the edge of my lower lip. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver straight through me. I wanted to take that thumb into my mouth. To suck it. Tease it. Show him exactly what I wanted to do with other parts of him.
