Page 54 of Reckless Desires

And holy shit, is it the stuff of erotica novels.

A few minutes later, I hear Bordeaux zip his pants up as I slip my shirt back over my head.

“My god, what am I going to do with you, Isla Robles?” he asks.

I don’t even think before the words come out of my mouth. “Well, hopefully, everything we just talked about… I’ll see you in a couple of days, and then you can show me what you’re going to do with me.”

Thirty-Nine

Isla

Commuovere (v.) to stir, to touch,

to move to tears.

___________

A few long, grueling days later, I’m finally standing in front of Bordeaux as he belts out a song I had never heard until listening to their latest album the way to Indiana. The crowd around me takes turns shouting Bordeaux’s name, their fists high in the air. I feel like I’m in a sea of people who love him as much as I do, and it’s both strange and incredible.

I don’t take my eyes off him as he slides his hands up and down his guitar, playing the song that inspired the tour’s name, A Long Way from Okay. His muscles flex and curve with every single strum of the guitar. I can see why women love him—everything about him screams sex. My eyes roam over his fitted black tee down to his tight black pants. Even his guitar is black. The only color on him is his electric green guitar strap.

His hair is in perfect place as he jumps around the stage, singing and breaking every so often, cupping a hand around his ear, beckoning the audience to sing back to him. Seeing him on a stage like this, in an arena of this magnitude, takes my breath away. My entire body is covered in goosebumps when the words fall from his lips—the same lips I’ve kissed and that have kissed every inch of my body.

I may not be at the bottom of a barrel anymore

But all I can say is

I’m a long way from okay

This song is one of my favorites on their album. I hadn’t listened to them prior to falling head-over-heels for Bordeaux, but I figured on my way here, I should probably brush up a little on their music. Their sound is a mix of Pop Evil and Adelita’s Way, two bands Veronica has brought me to see in the past. Reckless Desires reminds me of them. I want to love their music, and I think I do, mainly because it’s Bordeaux and his band, and how could I not? It’s growing on me the same way Bordeaux has.

At the same time, I know how shitty his label is—at least from what he’s told me. I can only imagine how much more incredible they’d be if they had any control at all over their careers.

I’m jerked out of my thoughts, a new song blaring from the stage, as a woman elbows me in the side of the face. I turn, looking at her, but she’s in such a daze over Bordeaux that it seems she has zero control over her limbs. My eyes make their way to Bordeaux and he’s staring right at me, biting his lip and strumming his guitar. I swear to God, he has never looked sexier than in this moment. Every bone in my body aches for him to be pressed against me, inside of me.

He mouths, “Are you okay?” I nod because I am. Nothing could ruin this for me.

He tried convincing me to stand backstage and watch, but I told him I wanted the full Reckless Desires experience. You can’t go to a rock show and stand on the sidelines. I probably wouldn’t have gotten an elbow to the head on the sidelines, but this is more than worth it.

Everyone around me starts jumping to the beat, waving their arms in the air, and I do, too, allowing the melody to take me over. I remember how much I love live music, music in general. I remember what I told Bordeaux the very first time I met him.

You can get lost or get found or stay somewhere stuck in between. Wherever you want to be. And it’s so fucking true. My God, it is so true. And where I want to be, right now, in this very moment, is wherever Bordeaux Daniels is.

I open my eyes, the crowd around me belting out lyrics along with Bordeaux, and Miller and Declan, who also sing background vocals. I struggle to think of a time where I had this much happiness flowing through my veins. I don’t think there was a time. Pure ecstasy takes over as I focus on Bordeaux, who rips his shirt off and throws it into the crowd. Sweat rolls down his chiseled chest and I’m so damn high on this feeling that all I can think about it running my tongue up and down his skin, pulling his body into mine, screaming his name...

Bordeaux flicks his microphone on his headset up and by his ear, opting for a microphone that stands in the center of the stage. He yanks it off the stand and wraps the cord around his arm a few times, his lips moving against the mic, making every single woman—and probably some men—jealous of an inanimate object.

Every inch of me wants

Every inch of you

Do you even know the things we could do

If you’d let me be alone with you

I swear he’s looking right at me, although I know it isn’t possible. I feel like where he’s moved to now, up on a high portion of the stage overlooking the crowd, there’s no way he could still see me. But it’s like he’s singing only to me. Everyone else in the crowd fades away, like I’m in some cheesy 80s movie with a guy with a boom box on his shoulders.

My heart swells in my chest while watching him do his thing up on stage. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I don’t. He commands the stage and the crowd, and all I can think about is how badly I want him to use that kind of force with me later, too.

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