“I can’t either,” I growl before pushing forward, sinking into his warm body like I have the fucking right to. We both watch as I enter him, and when I glance up at his face, his brows are pinched inward as he bites down on his bottom lip. He’ssogoddamn tight, barely able to take me as I inch my way in until my hips are flush with his ass. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. You’re gripping me so fuckingtight.”
“Oh, fuck!” He grabs his cock, fist flying up and down the length as I start to move inside him. “Give it to me,” he pants, jaw slack, cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red.
We find a groove, my hips snapping as I grind into him as deep as I can go. Cries fall from his lips as he watches me move fluidly in and out of him.
Eventually, I pull out, sitting back against the headboard. “Come ride me, baby.” I grab the lotion, slathering myself up with more as he scurries off his back and onto my lap. I rub a little more on his hole before he sinks down, taking every last inch I have to offer. We groan in unison, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to mine as he starts to grind on me.
We make out like I haven’t made out in years. Hell, maybe even decades. The air around us is thick and supercharged. Something about this position makes everything feel much more… intimate than before. When he breaks his lips away, his forehead rests on mine as we move together. Reaching between us, I close my fist around his hard length, stroking it at the same pace as me inside him. Our chests are heaving, breathing in each other’s air as we inch closer and closer to the finish line.
Bodhi gets there first, moaning out a breathless, “fuck,” before spilling all over my chest. His release pushes me over the edge as his lips connect with mine again. His tongue thrusts into my mouth as my cock explodes, filling him up deep.
Neither of us makes any attempt to move for several long moments, trying to catch our breath. When we finally pull apart, he climbs off the bed, going into the bathroom, only to come out with a washcloth a moment later. He hands it to me before going back into the bathroom, probably to clean himself up.
By the time he comes back, exhaustion has set in, my eyes becoming heavy. He climbs in beside me and, much to my surprise, lets me hold him while we fall asleep… something else I haven’t done in years.
**
Before I even open my eyes, I can feel the stark emptiness beside me, and I just know… Bodhi left. Peeling my lids open, they’re scratchy with exhaustion. I rub a warm palm down my face and glance over to my left, where just a few hours ago, that space was occupied. Running a hand over where he slept, it’s cold, letting me know it’s been a while since he left.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I unlock it, hoping to find some text message from him telling me he just ran down the street for some coffee and breakfast for us. There are no new texts. But again, I already knew that, didn’t I? Still, it doesn’t stop me from sending one to him, anyway.
Me: Waking up alone wasn’t how I wanted to start my day, pretty boy. Where did you go?
I stare at the screen long enough for it to go black before I stare at it a little longer. When five minutes pass by and he still hasn’t even read the message, I heave a sigh, tossing my phone on the bed and climbing out, heading to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I empty my bladder before stepping under the scalding water, letting it beat down on my back. Images of last night filter through my mind. Bodhi is an enigma. Despite knowing I shouldn’t go there, shouldn’t want him, I can’t help it.
I’ve never felt such a strong emotional connection with anyone before. The one and only time I’d donethisprior to Bodhi, it was purely physical. Solely about scratching an itch I couldn’t scratch myself. It’s never been deeper than that… until now. Until him.
I finish rinsing off before I step out, wrapping a plush white towel around my waist, and exiting the bathroom. I check my phone, shoulders sagging when there’s nothing waiting for me.
After getting dressed, I head downstairs to check out. It’s Saturday so I don’t have to go into work, but Idoneed to go home, and I’m dreading it. Lately, being there is even more abysmal than normal. Being there is a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost. The huge house is bone-chilling in how lonely it makes me feel. Being there feels like drowning. I’m swallowed in the depths of regret and despair, unable to hold my head above the treacherous waters. It’s exhausting.
When Lorelei had the accident, they told us she wouldn’t be waking up. I felt all the things… all five stages of grief, I felt them viscerally and wholly. And then I made peace with what needed to happen, and the doctors took her off life support. They said it varies, when each patient passes after being taken off the vents, but she surprised us all when she breathed on her own. The doctors claimed it was a miracle. Except she never woke up. She’s been in this void… this in-between state of life and death ever since. It forces a little sliver of hope to plant in my mind, even though I know she’ll never come back from this. It’s a tragedy I can’t escape.
Why is this my fucking life? More often lately, one thought plagues my mind… is this my karma for never feeling satisfied or fulfilled? Is this a sick punishment that’s going to haunt me until I die?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bodhi King
Thunder roars, loud enough to shake the windowpane. It’s been storming all day with no sign of letting up. A bolt of lightning spiderwebs across the dark night sky, turning it a shade of violet for a single moment before morphing back to obsidian. Voracious rain drops pelt the cool glass where my head’s resting, and I can feel the subtle vibration of the downfall against my forehead.
Storms, especially thunderstorms, have always been my favorite. Something about the bleak darkness that comes when a storm rolls in resonates with me on a deep level. The unforgiving jolt of electricity, the monstrous boom.
There are huge chunks of my childhood that are a blur. It’s a trauma response, my former therapist once said, the way your mind tries to protect itself by blocking out times of tragedy. Anyway, through the miles of blinding fog that is my memory, I do vividly remember the many occasions I would sit in our sunroom as a kid—and even as a teenager—during a storm, listening to the sounds, smelling the moisture in the air, and watching the sky light up. I feel the safest and the most comforted when I can hear and see the sadness and vitriol pouring from the sky.
My stomach rumbles, twisting painfully into knots, begging for reprieve. One I won’t be giving it. After I woke up in that hotel room with Jules the other night, vivid images assaulted me like a ton of bricks of the night before—of everything we did, the way I acted, the way he looked at me… everything—and it was too much. Too fucking much for me to process, to deal with. So, I got dressed as fast as my limbs would move, and I left.
I left, and I walked in the pouring rain to the Waffle House down the block, since I took an Uber to the restaurant the night before, and I ate. I ate my feelings and my frustrations. I ate to forget the way Jules’s eyes felt on my body, the way he caressed my skin, and the way he filled me completely. I also ate to forget how I slept so peacefully in his arms, so at ease… I slept better than I have in years. I ate to punish myself for being such a fucking idiotagain. And lastly, I ate to feel better. Because as much as food is my enemy, it’s also my comfort. One of the only comforts I’ve ever known.
When I got home, soaking wet and disgustingly bloated, therealself-loathing set it. I locked myself in the bathroom and stuck my finger down my throat until tears cascaded down my face and my eyes were red and puffy, and then again for good measure because it’s not good enough unless I feel completely empty. Like I may wither away if I’m not careful.
He’s texted a few times. Also called. But I haven’t responded or answered a single one. What doesn’t he get?This can’t happen.It just can’t. That night was a moment of weakness. It was me deciding if I’m going to hate myself anyway, if I’m going to feel this stark, empty pit in my chest day in and day out, I may as well do something worth hating. I may as well do something that, even if just for a few hours, makes me forget how bleak and despondent my life is.
He was a moment of weakness.
A soft knock sounds at my door. I don’t really want to talk to anybody, but I know whichever of my roommates it is won’t go away until I do. I’ve been holed up in here since I got home the other day. Heaving a sigh, I run my hand through my greasy, unwashed hair, and grunt out, “Come in.”
The light that pours into the room when Elias opens the door hurts my eyes, having been sitting in the dark for the last several hours. His gaze lands on me, where I’m sitting in front of the window, and I can just barely make out the way his brows pinch together. He leaves the door ajar, so it’s not totally pitch black, and he comes to sit next to me on the nook I have on the windowsill.
