“Bodhi,” I gasped, thighs trembling. “I—I—Jesus, fuck?—”
He squeezed my ass, thumb pressing where he’d bitten. The mix of sharp sensation and full-body pleasure made my vision blur. I was drooling into the pillow, eyes rolling back, completely undone. When he added a third finger, it was almost too much. I was right there again, teetering on the edge.
And then it stopped.
Bodhi removed his fingers, the sound wet and obscene, and my gaping hole twitched in response. I sobbed at the loss of my orgasm when it was so close, right there, just waiting to be taken. Fisting the sheets, I glared at him over my shoulder and hissed through my teeth. I probably looked feral, wild-eyed and desperate. I didn’t care.
Bodhi didn’t look afraid.
He smirked as he reached for the condom, bringing it to his mouth and tearing it open with his teeth.
“Something wrong, Iggy Pop?”
I sucked in a breath, pulse skyrocketing, and slammed my fist into the mattress.
“Give me. Your fucking. Cock.”
Condom on, Bodhi huffed a laugh and settled between my legs. He notched himself at my hole, and my breath caught in my throat. Finally. We were going to do this. Bodhi and me, connected in a way we hadn’t been before. And once we crossed that line, there’d be no going back.
Though maybe we already had.
Not just when we kissed in the KitKatClub. Or when we sucked each other off after his photoshoot. But in every quiet moment since. Every soft touch. Every lingering look. Every shared silence after leaving rehab. The line had blurred long ago, shifting beneath our feet without either of us noticing.
We’d crossed it again and again. And still, the world hadn’t fallen apart. We were still standing. Still holding each other up. And something in my chest told me that this wouldn’t break us either.
“Ready, baby?” he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips between my shoulder blades.
Gripping the pillow, I breathed, “Yes.”
There was a moment of pressure. Then he was inside me. Just the tip, but enough. Enough to make my breath stutter. Enough to make my body feel suddenly new. For a split second, I felt like a virgin again. Like this was my first time all over?—
“Wait.”
Bodhi immediately pulled back, hands lifting. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I slid the pillow out from beneath my hips and rolled onto my back. His eyes were wide with concern as he scanned me, like he was searching for anything wrong. It made something in my chest soften.
“No,” I said, reaching for him.
He came to me at once, bracing himself on his elbows so hedidn’t crush me. I traced my finger along his jaw, then dropped my gaze, heat blooming in my cheeks.
“I just . . .” I trailed off.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t push. Just waited.
“I haven’t slept with anyone since before rehab,” I admitted quietly. “I haven’t had a sober fuck in a long time.”
Bodhi leaned in, resting his forehead against mine. Close enough that I didn’t have to look at him, but I still felt held. Still felt grounded.
“Me neither,” he said softly. “I don’t even remember the last time I fucked someone sober.”
He pulled back then, and we finally met each other’s eyes. There was honesty there. Fragility. The kind that only comes from letting someone see you without armour. I hoped he saw the same thing in me.
Because I wanted him to. I wanted Bodhi to know all of me.
I’d spent my life hiding behind a mask, pretending I was fine so no one would ask questions I couldn’t answer. Being happy and quirky was easier. If people wanted to be around me, I didn’t have to sit alone with my thoughts. Didn’t have to carry the grief, the anxiety, the weight of it all by myself.
“I want to look at you,” I whispered. “I want to look at you while you fuck me. I want to know it’s you. Not a stranger.” I cupped his cheeks gently. “I want to remember this.”
