Chapter 14 #2
He released me, letting my face fall back into the pillow, and started kissing his way down my spine.
“Are you in pain?”
“Nope. No pain.” I shook my head and gripped the sheets. “Just horny.”
That evil chuckle again.
His hands grabbed my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. “What about now?”
“Only the good kind.”
He spread my cheeks wide, and I felt warmth drip against my exposed skin. I sucked in a sharp breath. When his tongue finally laved over me, slow and deliberate, gratitude for the shower I’d taken before bed flashed through my haze.
“Fuck,” I whined, hips twitching.
He urged me to bend my leg, and I obeyed without hesitation, giving him better access.
Then he proceeded to ruin me with his mouth.
Licking, sucking, prodding at my hole until it softened under his attention.
I groaned into the pillow when his tongue breached the puckered barrier.
In and out, he fucked me with it, slow and deliberate.
Between his mouth and the friction of my cock still trapped between my stomach and the mattress, I climbed higher and higher, right to the edge.
Then he pulled away.
I sobbed at the sudden emptiness.
Bodhi rose onto his knees and climbed off the bed without a word.
“Where are you going?” I asked, chest heaving as my body struggled to back away from the peak.
He unzipped the duffle bag he’d left on the cuck chair in the corner and glanced at me over his shoulder, smirking. “Grabbing supplies.”
The pause gave me time to appreciate his back. Not overly broad, but toned from years of movement. Ink spilled across his skin in familiar patterns. A phoenix rising from ashes. An anime character I recognised. Roses. A date I suspected belonged to his mum. So many stories written into him.
His back tapered into a narrow waist, then into a perfectly round ass that always filled his skinny jeans like they were custom-made. Soft. Plump. Fucking biteable. And when he turned, I finally got a proper look at the cock I’d been imagining for days.
Thick. Longer than average, but not intimidating. Cut, with a flushed mushroom head already leaking precum. Dark pubes, neatly trimmed. Heavy balls hanging beneath. A purple vein running up the length that I wanted to trace with my tongue before taking him all the way down.
He returned to the bed before I could stare myself into insanity, dropping a travel-sized bottle of lube and a condom beside me. My heart kicked harder at the sight, excitement thrumming through me. My spit-slick hole fluttered in anticipation.
He grabbed a spare pillow, and I lifted my hips so he could slide it underneath. Then I spread my legs wide and looked up at him, waiting.
“Jesus Christ,” he rumbled, wrapping a tattooed hand around his cock and stroking once. “You’d make the prettiest picture in my sketchbook right now.”
I grinned and pushed my ass higher, presenting myself. His groan sent a rush of satisfaction through me.
“Next time,” I promised.
Because posing naked for hours while he drew me, maybe bringing myself to the edge over and over as he watched, sounded like the best fucking time.
I wiggled my ass, swaying my hips. “Are you gonna fuck me, Just Bodhi?” My hand drifted towards the lube. “Or should I just fuck myself?”
He growled, releasing his cock to snatch up the bottle. “Don’t you dare.”
My laughter cut off when his slick fingers found me. He teased the rim first, slow and cruel, applying just enough pressure to make me ache. Then he leaned forward and bit my ass cheek.
My startled gasp turned into a moan as a finger slid inside.
“Oh, Christ.”
He moved in and out, stroking deep. I hoped the hotel’s walls were thick, because I was moaning shamelessly as he added a second finger. I rocked back against him, fucking myself on his hand.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he rasped. “Take what you need.”
I turned my head just enough to catch him watching over my shoulder, eyes locked on where we were joined. His fingers spread, stretching me carefully, deliberately. Preparing me.
Then he shifted.
Curled his fingers just right.
My whole body jolted like I’d been struck by lightning, a raw, animal sound tearing from my throat. He’d found my prostate. And he knew exactly what to do with it.
“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 he didn’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.”
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 perfect pirouette. 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, mouths missing 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.