24. Ella
24
ELLA
T he cabin is dark except for the front porch lights when the car pulls to a stop. Thanking Roman, I hustle to the front door and shove the door open, ignoring his words of encouragement as I go.
What the…
I can make out the outline of a person on the couch. My blood pressure spikes, and it’s bullshit if he thinks he can fake sleeping right now.
“What the hell, Bodhi?” I yell as I slam the door behind me and turn on the lamp, wrestling my jacket off and leaving it in a heap on the ground as he blinks up at me.
“You were having fun; nothing wrong with that.”
The alcohol in my veins—not that there’s much—is making it difficult to pick out the things he isn’t saying.
“And you weren’t.”
“Not used to that kind of crowd.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing else,” he sighs, swinging his legs over the side so he’s sitting up with his feet on the floor.
Growling, I snag a pillow off the closest chair and throw it at him, his eyes flashing as he blocks it.
“Don’t lie to me. You promised me you wouldn’t.”
“I’m not lying.”
An aggravated huff leaves my lips as I stomp my foot and grab another pillow, hurling it at him like the first.
This one goes wide but I didn’t need to hit him—I needed him to react.
“Fine,” he fumes, standing and spreading his arms out wide. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
He doesn’t…
“Excuse me?” I blink at him, my mouth gaping. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you don’t want to be my friend? Because you can fuck right off if you think I’m just out there letting random men put their hands down my pants.”
“But they can be all over you at the bar?”
“No one was all over me and, ”—I glare for emphasis as my hands land on my hips—“if you had such a problem with it, why didn’t you do something about it instead of running back here?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, pointing toward the cabin door. “I’m serious, Bodhi. Dancing is one thing but what happened at the hotel?—”
His eyes darken as his jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m out there fucking doing it either.” He also points toward the door like that explains everything.
But it doesn’t.
I’m missing something.
A big something.
I can see it in the way he’s posturing, his body rigid and tense, but he’s not looking for a fight—he’s trying to protect himself.
From me?
The conversation I’d had with Roman flitters back into my head. Had Bodhi heard me tell Roman that we’re friends when I didn’t know what else to call it? Call us?
“Say it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That you like me,” I murmur, watching as his cheeks heat, the tension pouring off him in waves.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I cut the distance between us in half and face off with him. “You don’t want to be my friend because you like me, and instead of just saying that you left me at the bar and ran back here tonight. And for what?”
Nostrils flared and hands clenched, he’s still as I move until I’m right in front of him, until I can feel his breath on my skin.
“I didn’t run.”
“I think you did. Why?”
“It’s not about me. We’re here for you—for your family. That’s what’s important.”
“So, you’re a martyr? Sacrificing your happiness when you don’t have to?”
“My whole damn life has been a sacrifice.” The admission is pained, the hurt palpable as we face off.
“And you’re still punishing yourself.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Say I want to be your friend?” I let my eyes drop to his lips before moving closer again. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Ella.”
“Are you gonna tell me it doesn’t matter if I like you too? If I hadn’t known what to tell Roman so I picked friends even if it didn’t feel like the right word?” Leaning into him, I rest my palms on his chest, and I can feel his heart hammering as he audibly swallows.
“I don’t?—”
“You don’t get to make decisions for me, Bodhi Maxwell. This isn’t just some kind of distraction—at least not for me. And I know it’s not for you either.” His exhale is heavy like he’s close to unraveling, so I push him harder. “Because I can feel the way you’re holding back—so afraid to make a mistake. But I can also feel the way you’re desperate to touch me…”
“Ella.”
“Don’t.” It’s a whisper as I drag my nails down his stomach, the muscles rippling and clenching beneath my touch.
It’s the last word before he snaps, before he’s crushing me against him and devouring my mouth in a kiss that is likely to scorch my very soul.
I moan and gasp but he only holds me tighter, kisses me deeper, as I back us down the hall to the bedroom.
“Ella, I?—”
“Oh my God, let me take care of you for once,” I huff, spinning us before pushing him down onto the bed.
“I feel like you’ve done plenty of that already.” His lips twitch, his eyes blazing as I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.
“Not like this.”
He hadn’t let me touch him in the hotel, not really, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about— this moment when I can worship him the way he deserves.
Lying back with his head on the pillows, he watches me, his lips parting as his throat bobs. He’s so gorgeous, his chest and ribs covered in harsh black tattoos—a phoenix rising from the ashes, a skull in the roots of a tree, and so much more. Jagged lines, powerful and masculine, tell a story of the kind of life this beautiful man has endured.
The only thing of color is a stunning monarch butterfly with the name “Audrey” written in script beneath the outspread wings.
He doesn’t say anything as I drag my hands over the ink, reverently acknowledging each piece with my fingertips as I go. I’m halfway down his ribs when the raised skin under the ink makes me catch my breath, my eyes flying to his in question as rage and anguish war inside me.
“Who did this to you?” The vehemence in my tone seems to surprise him as memories flash through his eyes, like he’s reliving it in real time.
Because there’s no doubt—this isn’t something you get from falling off your bike. It’s something heinous, dark and ugly, something that’s he’s intentionally covered under the tattoo.
“Not now,” he rasps, the moonlight highlighting the pain in his features—the pain he’s been carrying. But more than that, it’s the fact that he’s letting me see it, if only on the surface.
Trusting me with this.
With him.
Tears flood my eyes as I lean down and press a kiss to every inch of the scar, to the raised skin that brands him to the horrors of his past. His hand tangles in my hair, his body tensing and flexing as I continue my descent. He needs this.
And I do too.
Bodhi hisses as I lick along the V of his abs, undoing his belt and popping the button free. My mouth waters as I drag the zipper down, his erection hard, a wet spot already visible on his boxer briefs.
Yum.
Taking my time, I hook my fingers in the fabric, pulling everything down his thighs before I stop and look at him.
“You were sleeping in jeans.”
“Habit.”
He’d fallen into bed in the hotel like that too, but I’d written it off as him needing rest after taking his medicine.
“No more jeans,” I tell him, his lips curving up on one side as I drop his clothes off the side of the bed.
“That right?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum as I lower my mouth and swipe my tongue up the length of his cock.
“Fuck,” he curses, low and throaty, “it’s been a long time and I?—”
“Good. I licked it, so it’s mine,” I tell him as I suck the head into my mouth and swallow him down. He curses again, one hand fisting the pillow under him and the other surprisingly gentle in my hair.
The grunts and growls that escape that wicked mouth have me wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, and I can’t resist slipping my fingers into my panties to play with my clit as I fist and suck him harder.
“Are you… Jesus, Ella, fuck.”
I feel the desire in those words wrap around me, making me moan around him as his hips buck and his cock hits the back of my throat. He’s shaking, his orgasm so close, and God, do I want it.
“Ella… I can’t… you have to—” He tries to pull back, like he has any chance of depriving me the victory of his release.
Hot spurts of cum paint the back of my throat as he comes on a mangled cry, like he didn’t want to be loud but couldn’t help it. The sound pushes me so far over the edge that stars dance behind my eyelids as I swallow and release him before crying out. My hand grips his thigh for support as I savor the last few seconds, bringing myself back down to earth and beyond sated.
“Come here.” Bodhi’s voice is harsh as he hauls me up his body and kisses me hard. “You’re overdressed.”
“Then why don’t you do something about it…” I taunt.
And he does.
He so does.