Page 121 of Whistle

He was a need, essential for my survival.

And perhaps the reason I was so drawn to extinction was that Bodhi represented the end of my life as I knew it.

But also the beginning of something better.

27

Bodhi

I said I wouldn’t call.

Showing up on his doorstep was not calling.

Climbing his body, falling into his bed, and moaning while he impaled me on that big daddy dick was also not calling.

Listen. Self-control is not something I’m very good at, and I try not to be selfish. But God, I wanted to be selfish with Emmett. The idea of him standing on a stage as people who were not me bid on his time made me crazy. Bitches would be tossing down crazy amounts of money for his broody, sexy ass, and guaranteed, they would expect more than a “platonic” date.

Fuck. That.

Jealousy, hurt, and the need to lash out crawled under my skin, threatening to turn me inside out and take the fuck over. Sitting in my room and staring at all the shit Rush had left behind and the bed Lars once slept in made it worse.

Leftovers. Sloppy seconds. Like I’d been going around collecting discarded scraps to try and build a life.

FYI, gobbling down someone’s sloppy seconds is just asking for indigestion.

I mean, sure, it was nice of Rush to leave his name-brand bedding. The giant beach posters, coffeemaker, and mini fridge full of water and snacks. He even left some soap in the shower.

I knew he meant well, probably thought he was helping me out. Technically, he was. I did need shampoo, body wash, and towels. The blankets were hella bodacious. It was all stuff I didn’t have and that should have made me more comfortable.

I wasn’t comfortable.

Instead, I walked around with a heavy sense of being discarded. As if Rush walked out of his room one day, moved on to something better, and left behind all the shit he didn’t need.

One of those things he didn’t need? Me.

And now Emmett was doing some weird dating auction. For charity? Fuck Westbrook. Like that bunch of monied assholes even needed the cash.

But I needed him. So much it outweighed what small scrap of good judgment I had and landed me on his doorstep.

Did I regret it?

Ask me later when I’m not completely cum drunk and sated.

My insecurities and hurt were currently smothered by the six-foot grumpy man on top of me. I loved the way he used all his weight to pin me, how sex smeared between us and tinged the air. If I could stay like this forever, I would. If I could somehow be absorbed into his skin, my smaller frame swallowed by his larger one, I would succumb completely. Despite the impossibility of our relationship, I felt safe with him. Feeling safe was something I hadn’t truly appreciated until it was ripped away. Until I was free-falling through life with no net to catch me.

Above me, Emmett shifted, our tacky skin sticking. Swift, pungent panic burst inside me, hitting me like a strong shot and spreading through my veins like wildfire. That floaty, well-fucked feeling burned away, and I scrambled to anchor my fingers into his waist to keep him from getting up.

I wasn’t ready. I was never ready for these moments with him to end. It just wasn’t enough. I needed more, too infected with insecurity for stolen moments and heated hookups to offer any lasting reprieve.

He pushed up, the muscles in his arms flexing, his full-body strength no match for my scrawny fingers. Our bodies parted, cool air swirling between us as he hovered over me.

It was too dark to see if his eyes leaned toward green or gold, but the color didn’t matter because his attention was intoxicating, prickling my skin with awareness as though my body had forgotten he was still inside me.

“Did you mean it?” His voice only added to the spell he cast, the deep, grumbling inflection making my stomach swoop.

Perhaps that well-fucked feeling was better at hanging on than I gave it credit for. It wasn’t surprising. He was the best I’d ever had.

“Goldilocks.”

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