Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
IGGY
We fell into Bodhi’s hotel room in a tangle of limbs. Our kisses were all teeth and tongue and raw, unfiltered want. The door barely had time to close before Bodhi was tugging my cropped tie-dye T-shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
He hadn’t changed after the concert. His leather vest hung open, his upper body bare, dark tattoos stark against pale skin.
I leaned in without thinking, dragging my tongue over the vines etched along his collarbones.
Down to the butterfly at the centre of his chest. Across the curve of the dragon’s tail brushing his pec.
I only stopped when I reached his nipple, taking it between my lips, feeling it harden as I tugged gently with my teeth.
Bodhi groaned, low and rough, like the sound had been pulled straight from his gut. His hands flew to my hair, gripping hard enough to sting. It only spurred me on, made me bite a little deeper until my teeth left a red mark against his skin.
We’d had to wait for this. After the confession backstage, after the adrenaline, after pretending we weren’t seconds away from tearing each other apart. Now that we were finally alone, it showed in the way we moved, the way we clung to each other like we’d been starved.
When our little bubble had burst backstage, reality had come crashing back in fast. We’d barely made it to the green room before the questions started flying.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Why did Riff know before the rest of us?”
“How could you keep this a secret?”
“Is Iguana just as hot without clothes?”
That last one earned Thump a shove from Mick and a growl from Bodhi.
Clara had managed to rein them in eventually, but we both knew the teasing and interrogation would resume tomorrow once the post-show buzz wore off. After weeks of sleep, perform, travel, repeat, our formerly secret relationship was apparently hot shit.
But now, finally, we were alone.
Hidden from curious stares and unasked questions. With nothing left between us but heat, breath, and the truth we’d already said out loud.
Bodhi tugged me away from where I’d been determinedly sucking his nipple with the clear intention of bruising it, and crashed his mouth onto mine.
I slipped his vest from his shoulders and lobbed it vaguely in the direction of the cuck chair, not wanting it sacrificed to the floor.
While Bodhi fumbled with his belt, I stepped out of my tartan skirt, silently thanking past-me for choosing something so wonderfully practical.
Unlike a certain frontman, who was shimmying and hopping in a valiant but failing attempt to escape the tightest jeans known to man.
I bit back a laugh as he struggled, hopping from foot to foot, tugging and swearing under his breath. Honestly, the pause was a blessing. It gave my dick a chance to calm the hell down so I didn’t come the second Bodhi looked at it.
When we were finally, mercifully naked, Bodhi slightly flushed and breathing a little hard from the exertion, we just . . . stopped.
We took each other in.
I felt his gaze crawl up my body from my toes to the crown of my head, slow and deliberate, the weight of it like a caress.
I did the same, my eyes lingering shamelessly on his cock, standing proud and unapologetic.
Mine mirrored it, the two of them pointing at each other like dowsing rods, unerringly locating the source of our mutual ruin.
I stepped closer.
So did Bodhi.
I stepped again.
And again, he matched me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, closing the last inch of space between us, and when our cocks finally brushed, we both let out soft, satisfied moans.
Skin to skin, warmth and softness meeting the faint tickle of his body hair.
His lean, performer-built muscles felt solid without being hard, grounding without being rigid.
And the scent of sandalwood and spice clinging to him beneath the sweat made my head spin.
Bodhi lifted a hand and tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
His blue eyes were nearly black in the low light filtering in from the Milan skyline, hungry and intent. His jaw ticked like he was barely restraining himself from devouring me whole.
“Get on the bed, Iggy,” he said, leaning in until his lips brushed mine. “I’m going to devour you.”
“You sound like a kinky Hannibal Lecter,” I deadpanned.
He snorted, the tension cracking just enough for him to smack my ass, hard enough to make it jiggle.
“Get on the bed and spread your legs, you asshole.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” I saluted and flopped back onto the mattress, landing on my back.
“So, we’re doing pirate role-play now?” he teased.
I bent my knees, planted my feet, and spread my legs deliberately until I knew he could see everything.
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” I replied.
Bodhi’s breath hitched, his gaze flicking between my face and the space between my thighs, that familiar intensity sliding back into place.
“I just want you to be you,” he rasped.
My breath caught. I nodded.
“I can do that.”
Bodhi placed one knee on the bed, then the other, crawling up my body like a lion stalking its prey.
He settled between my legs, my knees brushing his sides, and leaned down to kiss me.
I was just lifting my arms to wrap around his neck when he pulled away, leaving me wanting as he reached for the bedside drawer.
He returned with a travel-sized bottle of lube and a condom.
I smirked. “Stash them away in preparation?”
“A Boy Scout is always prepared,” he replied, nipping at my lower lip.
I scoffed. “You’ve never been a scout in your life.”
Bodhi grinned and rose onto his knees. He uncapped the bottle and slicked his fingers with clear liquid.
His hand dipped out of sight, and I jolted at the shock of his cold, slippery touch circling my hole.
Goosebumps rippled across my bare skin. His free hand gripped my tattooed thigh, hard enough to bruise beneath the bright ink.
Marks that would linger, hidden, like a secret only we knew.
One I’d feel every time I pressed my legs together.
There was the slightest pressure, and then he breached me, sliding in past the first knuckle, then the second.
He pulled back, only to sink in again, slow and deliberate, repeating the motion until my muscles loosened and I melted into the mattress.
The pad of his finger brushed my prostate before disappearing again, a fleeting tease that made me twitch.
“Fuck,” I breathed, rocking my hips down onto his hand. “You tease.”
“You need to learn some patience.” He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh.
“Your face needs to learn patience,” I muttered, making him laugh.
My hips jerked as he pressed firmly against my prostate. Then he did it again, and I cried out, a sudden spurt of precum leaking from the tip of my cock.
“You fucker.”
Bodhi leaned down and dragged his tongue up my shaft, lapping up what I’d spilled.
I shuddered, fisting the sheets as he sucked the head into his mouth, his tongue digging into my slit.
When he released me, my cock fell back against my stomach with a dull, wet slap.
He lifted his head and met my eyes from between my legs.
“You should be careful about mouthing off,” he said calmly, dark smirk in place. “When I’m the one controlling your body right now.”
His voice alone made me want to come on his face and kick him at the same time.
He withdrew his finger, then returned with a second.
He spread them wide, scissoring me open, making space for what was coming.
Part of me wanted to not react out of pure spite.
To lie there, silent, and force him to work harder.
But Bodhi was right. He was playing my body like a fiddle, the way he always did, dragging pleasure out of me until I saw stars.
And just when I thought his fingers were enough, he opened his mouth and swallowed my cock to the root. The heat of his mouth, the glide of his tongue, the wetness spilling down his chin as he sucked made my vision blur.
“Jesus—fuck!”
My hands flew to his head, gripping his dark hair.
The product he used was sticky against my palms, but I didn’t care.
I bucked into his mouth, and he gagged softly as I brushed the back of his throat.
The constriction nearly undid me completely, and I was grateful when he pulled back, staring up at me with watery eyes that still managed to smile.
I inhaled. Exhaled. My breaths came shaky and uneven.
Bodhi released me from his mouth and pressed a third finger inside me.
My head fell back when he hit my prostate with the kind of precision most men could only dream of.
With his mouth too far away now, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
I alternated between gripping the sheets, fisting my own hair, and reaching for whatever part of him I could find.
He watched every twitch, every micro-expression that crossed my face. His eyes sparkled with something close to awe. I could practically see the cogs turning in his head, the careful calculation behind every move, all leading towards the same goal.
Break me.
Then put me back together.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped, his tongue dragging teasingly over my balls. “I could watch you like this all day.”
“That’s because— shit, Bodhi—” I huffed, breathless. “Because you’re a sadist.”
He grinned.
“Don’t,” I went on, voice cracking as sensation piled too high. “D-don’t make me come yet—mm. I want to come . . . with you inside me.”
Bodhi sank his teeth into my inner thigh, sharp enough to make me yelp. The flash of pain scrambled my senses, and I couldn’t tell whether it pushed me closer to the edge or pulled me back from it.
Then his fingers were gone. The sudden emptiness made my chest ache. My body clenched instinctively, my hole twitching around nothing.
“Please,” I whined, sitting up and reaching for him. “Fuck me.”