Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
BODHI
We congregated in the lobby at eleven p.m. to head to the KitKatClub.
It wasn’t our first time going, and I was wearing the same outfit as last time: tight leather pants, black boots, and a cropped mesh tank that ended just above my bellybutton.
The others had followed suit with their own variations on fetish-inspired fashion.
Lots of leather. Lots of latex. Very little functional clothing overall.
Even Clara had ditched her usual strait-laced blonde professionalism for a tight, studded corset, looking so out of character that Thump’s jaw practically hit the floor.
The only one we were waiting on was Iggy.
I’d felt guilty asking him to come with me. I wasn’t just risking my own sobriety tonight, but his too. If I fucked up, that was on me. But if he did, I’d be carrying that weight as well.
Still, some probably idiotic part of me believed we’d be okay.
That together, we could make it through in one piece.
We’d made a pact. We’d promised to watch each other’s backs, to keep each other grounded.
Sure, we were walking straight into the lion’s den, but I was convinced we’d come out the other side proud, intact.
That if we survived tonight, the rest of the tour would feel easier somehow.
I was reaching for my phone to text him when the elevator pinged. The doors slid open, and I swear my heart stopped.
“Holy fuck,” someone, maybe Riff, muttered beside me.
Iggy stepped out in a pair of Docs, and my eyes dragged up his pale legs, slim but powerful from years of ballet.
Over the pink flowers tattooed across his thigh.
Up to leather hotpants cut obscenely high, long legs on full display.
I didn’t need to see it to know his dancer’s ass was barely contained.
His midriff was bare. Over his chest sat a thick leather harness, straps converging at an O-ring between his pecs.
Thin silver chains draped across his chest, offering the barest illusion of modesty.
Every time he moved, they swayed, flashing glimpses of small, rosy nipples already pebbled by the cold.
His bright pink hair fell loose around his shoulders in soft waves, and his makeup was dramatic: a dark, smoky eye not unlike my stage look, and a clear gloss that made his lips look dangerously pouty.
Fuck.
He looked hot.
I’d seen Iggy in makeup before, but never like this. Never weaponised. And the way my cock stirred at the sight of him was deeply inconvenient given how unforgiving my pants were. I tried desperately to think of unpleasant things.
Abandoned puppies.
Tax audits.
Wet socks.
It didn’t help.
When he stepped up beside me, I caught his peaches-and-cream scent, and the situation only got harder.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
“Hey yourself,” I replied, swallowing. “You look nice.”
“Nice?!” Clara squawked. “He looks gorgeous.”
“Damn right,” Thump added. He lifted Iggy’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles like a Regency suitor. “My darling, you look downright fuckable.”
Ghost smacked the back of Thump’s head. “Down, boy,” he scolded, dragging him away by the collar.
Riff slung an arm around Iggy’s shoulders, and the chains shifted again, flashing skin. I snapped my gaze back to Iggy’s face just in time to catch his smirk.
He’d noticed.
My cheeks burned.
“Alright, my dudes,” Riff announced, steering Iggy towards the doors. “Our carriage awaits.”
Outside, a Sprinter van idled at the curb. Walking behind Iggy confirmed my suspicions. His ass was very visible, and we all got an eyeful as he climbed in.
“One day,” Thump sighed dreamily. “I’m gonna wear him down.”
“One day,” Mick replied, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna earn yourself a sexual harassment suit. Or a case of bruised balls. Possibly both.”
“I need to know what exercises he does to get an ass like that,” Clara muttered, checking her reflection in the van window.
Once we were strapped in, the van pulled away and dropped us outside the KitKatClub. The queue was already huge, but Clara worked her magic and got us straight inside. Privileged? Absolutely. But it was cold, and we were wearing almost nothing, so I wasn’t about to complain.
“This is insane,” Iggy said, eyes wide as he took it all in.
The doors had only opened thirty minutes earlier, and the place was already packed.
Filthy murals of orgies and sex acts glowed under blacklight.
A massive crystal chandelier hung above the dance floor, scattering prismatic light over writhing bodies.
Antique instruments clearly not meant for music were displayed like museum pieces, and a dragon mounted on one wall periodically breathed fire.
“Wild, right?” I shouted into Iggy’s ear.
He nodded eagerly.
“There’s even an outdoor pool with a swing,” I added.
He whipped around so fast I nearly collided with him.
“You’re joking!”
I grinned. “Wanna see?”
“Absolutely.”
I flagged Riff to let him know I was showing Iggy around. He winked and promised to grab us water. He wasn’t drinking tonight either. When I’d agreed to come, much to his dismay, he’d sworn he’d stay sober just in case I needed him. I’d told him I’d be fine, but I hadn’t told him why.
The guilt sat heavy in my gut, but I didn’t argue. I just asked him to grab one for Iggy too, and hoped that somehow, we’d all make it through the night in one piece.
I took Iggy’s hand and guided him through the different areas of the club.
Past the multiple dance floors, the dark rooms and cuddle corners, the secluded spaces set aside for BDSM performances.
Through the sauna, and finally, to the pool.
Along the way, we passed bodies in motion.
People dancing, touching. At one point, a couple fucking on a leather couch in a shadowed corner like it was the most natural thing in the world.
By the time we stood at the edge of the pool, Iggy looked like his brain was on the verge of short-circuiting.
“I’ve been to a lot of clubs,” he said, watching two topless women make out in the water. “But I’ve never seen anything like this. The only Kit Kat Club I knew about was the one in Cabaret.”
“The musical?” I asked.
He nodded.
“How are you doing?” he asked, turning to me then, studying my face like he was checking for cracks.
I slipped an arm around him, resting my hand on his bare hip and drawing him closer.
“I’m okay,” I said honestly. “It’s hard not to notice the drinking. Or the drugs. I saw someone pop a pill on one of the dance floors.” I shrugged. “But having you here actually makes it easier.”
He frowned slightly. “How?”
“You’re seeing it all for the first time. And in a way, so am I.” I tipped my head. “Last time I was here, I was just as fucked up as everyone else. Seeing it sober is . . . different. Better, I think.”
His mouth curled into a pleased little grin.
“What about you?” I asked, giving his hip a gentle squeeze.
“Oh, I’m good,” he said, eyes drifting back to the pool. “I’d love a drink, obviously. But there’s so much going on that it’s easy to focus on literally anything else.”
“If you start struggling,” I said lightly. “I’ll just throw you in the pool.”
He laughed. “Maybe I’ll jump in at the end as a victory lap.”
We stood there for a moment, and then, without warning, I jerked him forward like I was about to shove him in.
He squealed, laughter bursting out of him, and clutched my arm like he was ready to drag me down with him. When I hauled him back, he slapped my stomach in retaliation, then grabbed my hand and tugged me towards the door.
“Let’s find the others,” he said. “I’m thirsty.”
We found part of our group sprawled across some couches near the second-floor bar.
Thump was apparently on the dance floor with someone he’d just met.
Ghost had gone outside to smoke. Riff handed us each a bottle of water, and with the heat and bodies packed in tight, we finished them almost immediately.
I dropped onto the couch beside Riff and patted the space next to me for Iggy. He shook his head and leaned in so I could hear him over the music.
“I think I’m gonna dance.” He glanced at the floor, then back at me. “Wanna come?”
I followed his gaze. Bodies moving together. Hands everywhere. Asses grinding against groins like gravity itself demanded it.
Once, I would’ve said yes without hesitation. I’d have been too high to care, too chemically brave to feel awkward. But sober, I suddenly didn’t know what to do with my body without something in my bloodstream telling me how to move.
So, despite the hopeful look in his eyes, I shook my head.
“Maybe later,” I said, smiling in a way I hoped didn’t give too much away.
Whether it was the lighting or his restraint, he didn’t push. Just nodded, then turned and melted into the crowd.
I sank back against the couch and dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
“You good?” Riff asked.
I nodded, lifting my bottle again.
“It’s different,” I said.
He laughed. “Yeah. Last time we were feral. Now we’re hydrating responsibly in the middle of a sex club.”
“Water’s important in sex clubs,” I said. “Keeps everyone clear-headed about consent.”
“You’ve been watching too much Fifty Shades,” he teased.
I elbowed him.
Then I saw pink.
Iggy was on the dance floor, back pressed to the bare chest of a tall, muscular guy with umber skin and braids. The contrast hit hard. Dark and light. Solid and slender.
Iggy lifted his arms, hooking them around the guy’s neck. A dark hand slid over his stomach, trailing upward until it disappeared beneath the chains on his harness. Iggy’s mouth fell open, his head tipping back against the man’s shoulder.
“You like him,” Riff said.
“What are you talking about?” I replied, eyes still locked on the scene.
“Don’t play dumb.”
He shoved my shoulder. I barely felt it.