Bodhi pressed a kiss to my lips before rising to his knees. His hands slid down my thighs, thumbs brushing my softening erection. It surged back to life at his touch, standing proud again in seconds.
“Look all you want, baby,” he said with a grin. “I’ll fuck you again and again until it’s burned into that pretty head.”
I reached behind my knees and slowly drew my legs towards my chest. “Make me remember, Bodhi.”
Then his cock was at my hole. Just like before, there was a moment of pressure before the tip slipped past the first ring of muscle. He rocked forward, inch by inch, filling me slowly, stretching me open around his thickness.
“Fuck,” I whined, pressing my head into the pillow.
When his hips met my ass, he stilled, giving me time to adjust. He looked down at me, and I looked back, locking onto those deep blue eyes. We didn’t speak. We just took each other in, committing the moment to memory. The weight of him. The closeness. The rawness of being connected without anything but desire humming through our veins. Nothing dulled. Nothing blurred.
My heart raced just from looking at him, the way it did when I watched a ballet or landed a perfectpirouette. And I knew then that I wasn’t pretending anymore. The falling wasn’t chemical. It wasn’t borrowed.
I was tumbling on my own. Deep into my feelings for him.
I never wanted it to end.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, eyes wide, like he was having his own realisation.
I nodded, my voice useless. Bodhi pulled back until only the tip remained, then slid home in one smooth thrust. I moaned as electricity sparked across my skin, pleasure curling my toes. He began to move, slow at first, then gradually faster, sweat beading along his hairline.
His hands fisted the pillow on either side of my head. I released my legs and curled them around his back, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Kiss me,” I begged on a gasp as he hit my prostate.
He did.
Our tongues tangled, stealing breath from one another, kisses messy and desperate. Sometimes our teeth collided, mouthsmissing entirely as his pace quickened, hips snapping against me.
I braced one hand against the headboard to keep from knocking my skull, the other sliding into the short hair at the nape of his neck. He shuddered. When he shifted his angle, my vision went white, just for a heartbeat, as he drove into my prostate again and again. Each thrust dragged me closer to the edge.
The room filled with the sounds of sex. Skin slapping. Moans harmonising. Nothing else existed.
I barely noticed the ache blooming in my hip, too close to rapture to care.
“Iggy,” he groaned when I dragged my nails down his back. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave marks that would fade by morning. Something secret. Just for us.
Hearing my name like that pushed me over. When the head of his cock struck my prostate, without even touching my cock, I shattered. Exploded like a glass sculpture, fragments flying outward before snapping back into place, rebuilt into something new. Not unrecognisable. Just changed.
Bodhi chased his own release, hips rolling until his head tipped back and he cried out, spilling himself with a raw sound that vibrated through my chest. He collapsed into me, burying his face in my neck, breath hot and uneven.
I wrapped myself around him, arms and legs locking tight, afraid to lose the closeness. Afraid to let the moment slip away.
He didn’t pull back. He just chuckled softly and slid his arms beneath me, holding me just as tightly, pressing his full weight against my body. It made breathing difficult, but I didn’t care. I felt fragile, like the glue was still drying and the pieces of me hadn’t fully set yet.
“Was that memorable enough for you?” he whispered, lips brushing my ear.
I squeezed him harder. “It was everything.”
And long after his cock had softened, after the sweat dried and our muscles stiffened, we stayed tangled together. Holding each other. Guarding the cracked pieces of ourselves while they finished forming something new.
Something beautiful.
FUGUE
BODHI
TEN WEEKS SOBER
