by Jewel E. Ann
“Job injury.”
I look back at him as he bends at the waist and parts his hair just behind the crown of his head. There’s a row of stitches.
“I took a hammer to the head this morning. Some guys working above me dropped it. Five stitches.”
My nose wrinkles. “Ouch. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. No big deal. But I was told to take the rest of the day off. So … instead of baking my wound in the sun, I came back here.” He plops down on the king-sized bed. Leaning against the headboard, he turns on the TV. “Figured I’d binge-watch something.”
I grin, taking a seat in the desk chair. He’s mocking me.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Hanging out with an old friend. A woman.” I smirk. “He started acting all flirty with her, so I decided to ditch him for the day.”
“To come see me?”
“No. Yes.” My teeth trap my lower lip to stop my rambling. “I don’t know. I thought you were probably there, so I was just seeing if you …”
Touched me on purpose.
Miss me.
Love me.
“If I wanted some fries with extra ketchup?”
Yup. I love him. If there was any question about it before I walked through his hotel room door, there isn’t now.
My cheeks burn again like they did last night. Bodhi can touch me without lifting a finger. I feel him in ways I’ve never felt anyone before. “Yeah. That.” I grin, keeping my eyes on him while I reach for the phone and press room service. “Hi. Can we get an order of french fries with extra ketchup and two bottles of water? Thank you.”
The hum of the air conditioner gets really loud in our awkward silence. French fries seemed like a good start. Now what do we do or say while waiting for room service?
“Last night I enjoyed hearing about your travels.” Bodhi knows what direction we need to go with this awkwardness, but now I can’t find all those brave words I wanted to say because I just want to hug him and ask him if there was someone else. If he made it up. If he fell out of love with me. So many questions.
“I felt like I was dominating the conversation. But Rayne had so many questions.”
He chuckles. “She was pretty elated when she figured out who you are.”
“So … how do know Rayne?”
“Coachella. We met years ago. A lot of us did. This is our annual gathering now. Strangers who became good friends through music.”
“Friends,” I repeat to myself more than him.
“Is there something you want to ask me?” He cocks his head a bit.
I shake my head.
“You want to know if Rayne is more than a friend?”
Well, she’s very pretty. Of course I want to know. But when my parting words to him included I hate you, I think I lost the right to know.
My heart is completely out of control, making my chest tighten. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Digging into my bag, I pull out some cash and toss it onto the desk. “The fries are on me.” I stand and make my way toward the door.
“Jesus, Henna. That’s it?” He flies off the bed and presses his hand to the door over my head.
With my back to him, I look at my feet, holding my breath.
Don’t cry.
“I let you go. There wasn’t anyone else.”
“Why?” I say with a strained voice, teetering on the edge of losing it all.
“Because I had my dad, and he wasn’t doing well. Because I had a ranch to take care of and a job at the school to keep. And because you had the whole world and nothing holding you back … except me.”
I turn around, not caring that with one blink my tears race down my face. “You weren’t holding me back!” Anger fights with the pain. I don’t know which wants out more. I just know that they both hurt.
His face scrunches while he shakes his head several times. “I was. You weren’t living. You were tethered to me. I knew it when you told me about Noah. The guilt. That’s not living.” He rubs the tension along his forehead. “Trust me. Guilt robs you. It eats at you. It was going to destroy us eventually. I just … I wanted you to be free in every sense of the word.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make.” I wipe the endless flow of tears from my face.
“You’ve been gone for more than two years. Did you find someone?”
I lied. I still hate him. I hate him for asking me that.
“I found lots of people. I made lots of friends.”
“Did you find love?”
Biting my quivering lip, I shake my head.
“Did you let another man inside of you?” His eyes turn red, filled with unshed tears.
We stand toe to toe while years of emotions fill the air around us, while so much pain bleeds from both of us without saying a word.
“You let me go …” I whisper.
He takes a step back. My answer to his question is clear on his face. “I did. And that’s why.”
I cough a painful laugh. “You let me go so I’d have sex with other men? That’s fucked up.”
“My life is fucked-up, Henna!” He swallows hard. His face distorts as more unshed tears fill his eyes. “My father has cancer, and if I turn my back, he tries to end his life. My sister hates me. I hate my job because it reminds me of you. I hate every second of every day except the ones where I’m with you. And you left and I didn’t want to hate myself any more for holding you back. I didn’t want to be your dream that would never come true!”
“You. Don’t. Get. To. Choose. My. Life!” I ball my hands, so angry that he shut me out of his life. I’m so angry that he feels the need to suffer in silence. “I would have come home. You should have told me everything.”
“Sure.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “I should have told the girl who was suicidal a few years ago to come home and hold my hand while I deal with my suicidal father. That would have been way more fun for you than surfing in South Africa or parachuting in Spain. Waiting for me until the wee hours to get my shit done just to watch me pass out would have been way more romantic than sex with a man who had something to give you in return.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I sob. “It was sex. They had sex to give me. Empty, meaningless sex.”
Bodhi takes another step back and another, resignation settling into his face. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I was there last night. I heard the excitement in your voice when you talked about the places you saw and the people you met. I wanted that for you. Everyone wanted that for you.”
“Funny …” I shake my head. “Because after two years, a million new faces, and countless cities … every place was simply a place without you. So it doesn’t matter that everyone wanted that for me. I only wanted you.”
There’s a knock at the door. Bodhi frowns, brushing by me.
“Thanks,” he murmurs to the guy delivering the french fries. After shutting the door, he brushes by me again, setting the covered plate of fries on the desk.
“Life House, ‘Broken,’” I whisper, reaching for the door handle to leave.
Bodhi wraps his hand around my wrist to stop me. His lips brush along my ear. I draw in a shaky breath.
He whispers, “Snow Patrol, ‘Chasing Cars.’”
Snow Patrol for the win. I turn slowly into his embrace. He presses his forehead to mine, threading his hands through my hair. We close our eyes for long seconds. In my head, Gary Lightbody sings about just forgetting the world. In the next breath, Bodhi kisses me.
So this is what it feels like to understand that the world is not a place or a destination. It’s a moment. When we touch, it’s the world. It’s life.
I slide his shirt up his torso. He breaks our kiss long enough to let me ease his shirt over his head, being careful of his stitches. Kissing him again, I run my hands down his chest. He groans deep in his throat. I love that I still can affect him this way.
My mouth moves from his lips to his jaw, neck, chest, and then … I stop.
Oh my god �
��
My fingertips ghost along his skin to the black letters stacked up his torso just above his hip bone.
H
E
N
N
A
Inked permanently into his skin. I look up.
He cradles my face in his hands, brushing the pad of his thumb across my lips. “In spite of what you believe, my Henna could never be temporary.”
His mouth replaces his thumb, and we kiss harder than we’ve ever kissed each other. He palms my breast over my dress for two seconds before he shoves it down. Hungry lips devour the skin along my neck, one breast then the other while he works my dress over my hips so it drifts to the floor, a blue puddle at my feet.
“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.
“I got it the day you left.”
She nods, her brow furrowing. “Did you regret it after you dumped me?”
Coughing a laugh, I pinch her sides, making her jump. “I didn’t dump you. And I have not regretted marking myself with Henna for a single second.”