“Bodhi …” my knees turn to jelly as my first orgasm starts to throb between my legs, desperate to be set free.
“Henna …” he whispers, lowering his body to lick and suck my belly button while sliding off my panties.
No words can describe how it feels to be physically worshipped by a man who has my name permanently tattooed on his body—like he wants to always feel me on his naked skin. Like he wants to make sure every other woman knows he’s mine. Bodhi let me go and kept me forever at the same time.
“You’re so beautiful.” His hands palm my ass and his tongue teases my clit, stopping just before I let go. He tastes his way back up my body, letting his hands follow every curve and line like he sculpted me and he’s admiring his work.
We kiss again as he walks us the few feet to the bed. I unfasten his jeans. He breaks the kiss to watch me, each one of his breaths ragged with anticipation.
I rid him of his jeans and briefs, stopping on my way back up his body to taste him the way he tasted me. Hooded eyes watch me as his lips part. My gaze stays connected to his while my tongue makes a slow, wet swipe up his erection. I give him a devilish grin.
“Don’t lick it like one of your lollipops, suck it in hard and deep like the last drag of a joint.”
He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m doing. Fisting the base of his cock, he guides it into my mouth. “Fuuuck …” He hisses when I take a hit, sucking him hard.
My skin heats like I’m melting. I’ve missed him—his warmth, his gentle hands, and hard body. I’ve missed the familiarity of us.
Bodhi’s abs contract while his breaths become harsher. I release him and press my lips to his hipbone for a few seconds before dotting a kiss on each letter of my name.
“My Henna could never be temporary.”
Emotion stings my eyes. The way he loves me is more beautiful than anything I’ve seen in the whole world—and I’ve seen a lot.
Bodhi sits on the bed, taking the weight of my breasts in his hands. His mouth makes love to them while I straddle his legs, up on my knees, rubbing myself along his erection. Licking and biting his way up to my neck, he palms the back of my head and whispers in my ear, “Let me grab a condom.” He sucks in my earlobe, biting it and dragging his teeth across it.
My heart freezes because my mind decides to wander into dangerous territory. He didn’t know I was going to be at Coachella. Yet, he has condoms. I know, I really know that it makes total sense. After all, it’s Coachella. The year I met Bodhi here I had twelve condoms with no name in particular assigned to any of them. It was just the smart thing to do because … it’s Coachella.
I sit back on his lap, resting my forehead against his chest, eyes shut.
He kisses the top of my head. “Henna, what’s wrong?”
My mind hates me. Why does it have to go there? And why does my heart have to follow it? I purchased condoms over the past two years—more than once. I have absolutely no right to be upset or feel hurt by Bodhi having condoms. Where’s the off switch for my mind?
But … this is Bodhi. I told him about Noah, and if he asks, I’ll tell him about every man who ever touched me. We are greater than every mistake, stronger than any lie, and our love is embodied in the truth.
That is Henna and Bodhi.
“You have condoms, but there’s no way you bought them for me.” That’s all I say. I don’t need to apologize for how I’m feeling. He’ll know. Bodhi will understand.
His strong, calloused hands cradle my jaw, lifting my gaze to meet his. “Yes.” Deep lines of pain form along his forehead. “So what are we going to do about it?”
My heart will trip over a million things while chasing Bodhi Malone. I need it to get up, dust off, and keep running. At times like this, it needs to outrun my mind. I need to let my heart win.
Keeping my blue eyes locked to his, my hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. His eyes leaden.
“Henna …” He watches me touch him. “What are we going to do about it?”
I lift onto my knees again, whispering my lips over his. “You didn’t buy those condoms for me.” My tongue traces the seam of his mouth. He opens up for me. Our mouths fuse as I sink onto his erection.
Bodhi’s hands grab my hips to stop me for a second. I drag my tongue along the roof of his mouth and curl my fingers into the hard muscles of his back. He groans into our kiss and pulls me completely onto him.
My breath catches as he fills me—my body, my mind … my heart.
Within seconds we become a tangled mess of arms and legs destroying the sheets while our moans and the relentless creaking of the bed frame fills the air. Bodhi drives into me hard. Every muscle of his body is ridged and demanding just like his kiss. We roll in every direction, desperate for more, for it to last, for time to stop.
“Bodhi …” I beg for more and harder. He gives me more, so much more that it feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of me to capture my entire soul.
Covered in sweat, with the sheets ripped entirely off one side of the king mattress, my name rips from his chest as his warm release fills me.
“I love you so … damn … much …” He pants into my neck with the weight of his collapsed body pinning me to the mattress.
I’ve never felt so thoroughly fucked, claimed, owned, desired, needed, and loved.
“Bodhi?” My fingers slide through the back of his hair, feeling something stickier than sweat. “Your stitches.”
“Fuck the stitches.” It’s as if even lifting a finger is too much work for him.
“I fear they’ve torn open and you’ve lost your mind. We can’t fuck the stitches. They’re kind of important.”
He lifts his head from the crook of my neck. “I’m fairly certain I lost my mind approximately three years ago.”
“Funny.” I wrinkle my nose. “But seriously, you’re bleeding.”
He rolls his eyes and groans, easing off me onto his back. I inspect his stitches. They’re still intact, but the cut is bleeding a bit. “I think resting for the afternoon didn’t involve what we just did.”
“I think you’re full of shit,” he mumbles with his eyes shut, both hands resting on his chest.
Ignoring him, I clean up in the bathroom and wet a washcloth to deal with the blood.
“Does it hurt?” I blot his head.
“Nope.” He doesn’t even flinch.
I set the wash cloth aside. Kneeling behind his head, I bend over and kiss him upside down. “I missed you beyond words,” I whisper.
His eyes open, looking a few shades darker blue beneath the curtain of my hair around us. “You hated me.”
“Yes.” I drop soft kisses all over his face. “But I loved you more.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Bodhi
When I saw her in the Mexican restaurant, I felt certain that I was dead and she was a dream. I was good with that. If she came to me only in dreams, then I never wanted to wake up.
Still, I had nothing to offer her, but that didn’t take away from how badly I wanted her. Life without Henna is nothing short of my heart trying to beat against a wall of broken glass. Slowly bleeding out.
“Everyplace was simply a place without you.”
Since the day I fell down the stairs, breaking my father’s back, I’ve felt pretty damn unworthy. Until Henna.
“They’re cold.” She walks her naked body over to the desk and grabs the fries. “I say we eat them anyway.”
“I like how you think.”
Henna pops one into her mouth and struts her sexy self back to the bed, completely comfortable in her own skin. Straddling my midsection, she dips two fries in ketchup and feeds them to me. Then she kisses me. “I missed you.”
I think she’s said it at least a dozen times, but I don’t complain. It’s pretty fucking spectacular to be missed. But the way she says it makes me think that she’s saying it more for herself than for me, like she needs to keep reassuring herself that I’m here and she no longer needs to miss me.
Kissing the tip of her nose, I grin. “I missed you too. Is your dad going home Monday?”
She nods, eating another french fry.
“Are you going home?”
Licking her fingers and giving me a hard-on, she nods again.
“How would you feel about riding home with me and Alice?”
She tosses me the biggest grin. It hits me smack in the middle of my chest. “Do you make the fifteen-hour drive straight through or would we stop to have sex in the back of Alice?”
I love her. So much …
“I have to be home by Wednesday.” My lips twist, hiding my ridiculous smile. “But I think we might be able to stop once or twice … or a hundred times.”
As much as I can’t help but be deliriously drunk on Henna’s insatiable desire to have sex, in the pit of my stomach, I know her newfound enjoyment is the result of other men breaking her in, and it kills me. I just can’t let it kill us.
My abs tighten as Henna nibbles on a fry and traces the letters of her name with the pad of her finger. I curl her hair behind her ear, just watching her and the way that beautiful freckled face comes to life seeing her name tattooed on me.
“When?” Blue eyes find mine.