#olandriaaa

KISS KISS KISS-💋

Cody Rhodes x Solange

Summary: Can you handle the heat when two entirely different worlds collide in the dark, or will the power dynamic completely consume you? They say some connections are written in the stars, while others are caught under the heavy crimson glow of exclusive nightclub lights. Solange, an international high-fashion icon used to ruling the runways and protecting her pristine image, wasn’t prepared for the gravitational pull of Cody Rhodes. He isn’t just the WWE champion; he moves with a quiet, cold, and undisputed Mafia authority that commands every room he steps into. What starts as a slow, possessive gaze across a VIP lounge quickly turns into a high-stakes game of pursuit backstage in the concrete corridors. Between her elite fashion world, his hyper and chaotic inner circle, and an undeniable chemistry that feels both dangerous and completely inevitable, they are forced to confront a heavy question: Is this just a thrilling game of power, or have they stumbled into a love that will redefine both of their empires?

This fanfic is 18+ No minors allowed!

• Warnings: Smut, explicit scenes, intense chemistry, power dynamics, emotional turbulence.

⚠️ Note: Please be aware there will be smut in some chapters, so keep an eye out for the "⚠️" symbol!

🎧 Inspiration: Inspired by the late-night, heavy melodic trap vibes of Royal44 and NOWIMYOUNG. Highly recommended to listen along while reading to catch the vibe! 🎧

Disclaimer & House Rules:

The only thing I own is my original character (Solange) and the made-up narratives. I am asking nicely once—please do not steal my stories, my plots, or my face claims as your own. I will get disrespectful about it. No shade, but all respect!

tags ! : 🏷️ @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss @amandairene88 @duhitzkay380 @prettypink-princesss @bluestrawberrypatch @mjonthetrack @christinabae @transparentphantomface @fafomama @scorpiodivazchamp @keenagurl @trippiexlove @shanthefemalerapper @lovelikebuttahbaybee @mindairy @xnightmarexpunkx 🏷️ lmk if you'd like to be tagged ! I'll add u!! 🏷️

C.2 💋

The heavy, metallic door at the end of the corridor clicked shut, the sound echoing flatly against the cold cinderblock walls. Cody was gone. But his presence—thick, magnetic, and heavy with the scent of high-end sandalwood, black pepper, and leather—lingered in the damp draft of the arena’s backstage wing.

Solange stood entirely frozen. Her back was still pressed against the rough, cold concrete of the wall, but her body felt like it was burning from the inside out. Her breath came in shallow, uneven intervals, her chest rising and falling beneath her white baby tee. Slowly, almost as if she were afraid she would break a spell, she lifted her left arm.

There it was.

Written in dark, bold, uncompromising black ink directly over her delicate wrist, tracing right across her racing pulse point, was a ten-digit number. The handwriting was incredibly elegant yet sharp—slanted perfectly, written with the steady, practiced hand of a man who never hesitated in his life.

His private line.

Solange let out a shaky breath, a soft, involuntary gasp slipping past her glossy lips. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, brilliant crimson, the heat radiating all the way down to her neck. In her world—the cutthroat, high-gloss universe of Parisian runways, luxury brand campaigns, and elite fashion weeks—she was the undisputed queen. She was used to men staring. She was used to billionaires offering her yachts, designers begging for her time, and athletes sliding into her DMs with pathetic, rehearsed pickup lines. She knew how to dismantle them with a single, icy look. She knew how to hold the power.

But Cody Rhodes? Cody had completely stripped her of her armor in less than three minutes.

He was just so massive. Standing close to him, she had been hyper-aware of the sheer physical scale of the man—the broadness of his shoulders beneath his fitted athletic gear, the hard line of his chest, the dominant way he leaned into her space without ever actually touching her until he gently took her hand. And those eyes. Those piercing, calculating eyes that seemed to look right through her, taking inventory of her soul and deciding, on the spot, that she belonged to him.

It made her feel incredibly, helplessly shy. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager. It was infuriating, thrilling, and utterly terrifying.

"Solange!"

The sharp, echoing shout of Naomi’s voice shattered the silence of the corridor. Solange gasped, her eyes widening in a sudden panic. Instantly, she yanked her left sleeve down, desperate to cover the bold black markings on her wrist. She frantically rubbed her burning cheeks with her palms, trying to force the blush to recede before her friends saw her.

"Hey! Over here!" Solange called back, her voice cracking slightly on the first syllable. She cursed under her breath, clearing her throat quickly. "In the side hall!"

Naomi and Rhea rounded the corner a second later. Naomi was carrying a sleek wardrobe bag over her shoulder, her eyes darting around the hallway, while Rhea walked with her hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, her sharp gaze scanning the area.

"Girl, what the hell are you doing down here?" Naomi asked, stopping in front of her. She frowned, leaning in closer to examine Solange’s face. "Wait a damn minute. Why are you so red? Sol, you’re literally glowing. Are you having an allergic reaction to the arena air? Is it dusty back here?"

"No! No, I’m fine," Solange said quickly, her voice a little too high, a little too breathless. She adjusted her designer sunglasses, pulling them down over her eyes to hide her gaze, but it did nothing to conceal the brilliant blush covering her face. "I just... I walked a bit too fast. It’s hot back here."

Rhea didn't say a word. She just stood there, her head tilted slightly, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her lips. Her dark eyes dropped down to Solange’s left hand, which was currently clutching the cuff of her sleeve so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

"Is that right?" Rhea asked, her voice a low, amused drawl. "You walked too fast? In a straight corridor?"

"Yes," Solange insisted, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I got turned around. Let’s just go back to the car."

"Solange," Rhea said, stepping forward. In one lightning-fast motion, she reached out and grabbed Solange's left hand.

"Rhea, don't—"

It was too late. Rhea easily pried Solange's fingers away and yanked her sleeve back. The bold, fresh black ink was fully on display, the numbers practically screaming against Solange's skin.

Naomi’s jaw dropped so low it looked like it might hit the concrete floor. She let out a screech so loud and high-pitched that two production crew members pushing a heavy metal crate at the end of the main hallway stopped dead in their tracks to stare.

"Shut the fuck up, Naomi!" Solange whispered fiercely, her face burning hotter as she desperately tried to pull her hand back, but Rhea held fast, examining the handwriting with an expert eye.

"Oh my fucking god!" Naomi squealed, clamping both hands over her mouth, her eyes practically popping out of her head. "No he did not! No the fuck he did not! Solange! Is that... is that a phone number? On your damn wrist?!"

"It's nothing," Solange pleaded, her shyness completely taking over. She felt like a high school girl caught hiding a love note. "We just... we bumped into each other. He was just being polite."

"Polite?!" Naomi gasped, grabbing Rhea's arm and shaking it violently. "Rhea, look at this! He didn't just give her his number, he branded her! He wrote directly on her skin! With a sharpie! The champion is a savage!"

"It’s a pilot pen, actually," Rhea corrected smoothly, a massive, knowing grin on her face as she finally released Solange’s wrist. "And that is not the handwriting of a polite man, Sol. That is the handwriting of a man who wanted to make sure his mark was on you. Look at you. You’re shaking."

"I am not shaking!" Solange lied, quickly pulling her sleeve back down and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I’m just... cold. The draft in here is freezing."

"Right. You're cold, but your face is literally the color of a cherry," Rhea teased, nudging Solange’s shoulder with her elbow. "I’ve seen you reject billionaire fashion CEOs without even looking up from your phone. But Cody Rhodes writes some numbers on your arm, and you completely lose your mind?"

"He's just... he’s very intense," Solange murmured, looking down at her vintage sneakers, her voice dropping to a shy, quiet whisper. "He didn't even ask for my name. He already knew it."

"Of course he knew it, you're a global icon," Naomi hyped, grabbing Solange’s shoulders and shaking her. "But more importantly... he wants you, Sol! The undisputed boss of this whole damn company wants you. Now, come the fuck on, let’s get to the car before I start screaming again. We have a whole strategy to plan."

Solange let her friends drag her down the hallway, her head spinning. As they walked back to the security checkpoint, she kept her hand tucked securely in her pocket, her thumb slowly, gently tracing the raised texture of the ink on her wrist.

While Rhea, Naomi, and a highly flustered Solange walked back to the parking garage, a completely secret, highly classified digital operation was being launched in the shadows.

The moment the girls stepped out of the arena doors, and the moment Jimmy and Jey Uso made it back to their private locker room, a brand-new group chat was created. It was an alliance that neither Cody nor Solange knew existed—a secret syndicate of friends determined to play matchmaker, whether the two main players liked it or not.

Operation Sody!

Members: Naomi💛, Rhea 🖤, Jey 🩸, Jimmy 🧸, Punk 🎀

| Jimmy 🧸: YO!!! Uces! Ladies! Did y'all see that shit in the hallway or am I fucking hallucinating?! Cody had her pinned to the concrete with nothing but his damn eyes! I thought the champ was gonna demand a private room right there in the production wing! 😂💀

| Naomi 💛: I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING IN THE PASSENGER SEAT RIGHT NOW!!! Girls, she came back to us looking like she just saw a damn ghost but her face was redder than a fire engine! She’s clutching her sleeve like she’s hiding a stolen diamond!

| Jey 🩸: On god, I ain't never seen Cody look at a woman like that. The man is usually cold as absolute ice backstage. If some network executive or wrestler steps out of line, Cody looks at them like he's gonna have them quietly removed from the building. But he was looking at Solange like she was the only damn thing in the room.

| Punk 🎀: It’s embarrassing, honestly. The great American Nightmare, the untouchable boss, completely reduced to a high school boy writing notes on a girl’s hand. He’s been in his private office for ten minutes staring at his blank phone screen. Someone needs to push him off the ledge before he starts pacing.

| Rhea 🖤: Solange is incredibly proud, guys. And right now, she’s so shy she can barely look at her own wrist. She’s staring out the window of my car right now like she’s in a tragic romance movie. If we leave it up to her, she’ll wait three days to text him just to prove a point.

| Naomi 💛: Exactly! She’s trying to play it cool but she is completely whipped already. We need to coordinate this. Jimmy, Jey—you guys need to keep hyping him up. Make him impatient. Don't let him play the calm, collected boss. Break his composure!

| Jimmy 🧸: Oh, you already know we on that! We walked into his office and I told him he looked like a straight-up gangster writing on her wrist like that. He told me to shut the fuck up and go check the gate numbers, but I saw him smiling. He’s stressed! He wants that text BAD! 😂

| Punk 🎀: I'll handle the scheduling side. If she does text him, I’ll make sure his calendar is miraculously cleared of any corporate bullshit. I’d rather deal with a distracted Cody than a moody, waiting Cody.

| Rhea 🖤: Perfect. Operation: Crimson Union is officially active. Nobody say a word to either of them. Let them think they’re playing a highly sophisticated game of cat and mouse, while we pull the strings from the back.

| Jey 🩸: Yeet! Let's get it! 🙌🔥

Inside Rhea’s SUV, the silence was thick, but the digital airwaves were absolutely buzzing. Solange sat in the back, her cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, pretending to watch the Atlanta skyline pass by. But in her lap, her phone was vibrating relentlessly.

My girls ♥️

| Nao💚: [Shared a contact file: 'Cody Rhodes 🫦'] Just in case you "accidentally" wash your wrist with heavy-duty soap, sweetie. I know your brain is currently fried.

| Solange ❣️: I am literally sitting right behind you, Naomi. I can hear you giggling. Stop texting me this.

| Rhea 🖤: She’s deflecting. Sol, for real. Are you going to text him or are you going to let that gorgeous, terrifying man think he scared you off?

| Solange ❣️: He didn't scare me. I'm just... thinking. It feels so cliché. "Hey, it's the girl from the hallway." I am an international model, I don't chase men. Especially not men who write on me like I’m a piece of scrap paper.

| Nao💚: Scrap paper?! Bitch, he wrote on your PULSE POINT. He basically put his signature on your heart rate! If a man with a bespoke charcoal suit and a neck tattoo did that to me, I’d already be planning the wedding colors!

| Rhea 🖤: She’s not lying, Sol. The energy he was giving off was pure power. He didn’t ask for your permission, he just took your hand and made his move. It’s hot. But now, you have to play the counter. If you don't text him, you’re letting him hold all the cards.

| Solange ❣️: I don't want to hold cards, I just don't want to look desperate.

| Nao💚: Desperate?? You look like a whole damn goddess! He’s probably in his locker room sweating through his expensive knit shirt waiting for a notification. Just send a simple text. A dot. A single letter. Anything!

| Solange ❣️: I'm not sending him a dot. I'm going to take a long shower, do my skincare routine, and ignore him for at least a few hours.

| Rhea 🖤: Sure you are. That’s why you’ve been looking at your wrist every thirty seconds since we left the loading dock. 😉

| Solange ❣️: I hate you both. Truly.

Part IV: The Boys’ Chat (The Round Table)

Back at the State Farm Arena, inside the private, heavily secured executive locker room reserved for the champion, the atmosphere was thick with masculine energy and unfiltered banter. Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Cody, and CM Punk were lounging on the leather sofas, a private fridge stocked with premium drinks behind them.

Cody sat in the center leather chair, his long legs crossed, a glass of bourbon resting on the armrest. He looked entirely relaxed, but his fingers were typing a slow, rhythmic pattern against the back of his phone.

The silence of the room was broken by the sharp, aggressive chime of the group chat.

Day 1🩸🍻

| Jon🩸: Yo, champ. You staring at that black screen so hard I think you’re trying to manifest a text with your mind. It’s pathetic, uce. Truly.

| Jey 🔑: On god! Just call her, uce! Oh wait... you didn't get her actual digits because you wanted to play the smooth, untouchable don in the hallway! How’s that working out for you? 😂💀

| Cody: I don't need to call her. She’ll text. It’s a negotiation, boys. Patience is key.

| Punk 🍻: A negotiation? Cody, she’s a high-fashion supermodel who spends her time in Paris and Milan surrounded by European aristocracy and billionaires who own half of luxury fashion. You think some ink on her wrist is going to make her drop her pride? She’s probably laughing about it with Ripley right now.

| Cody: She wasn't laughing in the hallway, Punk. She was shy. And she’s different. She didn't look at the championship belt, and she didn't care about the suit. She felt the weight of the room. She’ll text.

| Jimmy 🩸: Oh, she felt the weight alright! She looked like she was about to pass out from the sheer testosterone! But for real, champ, if she don't text by midnight, we pulling up to her penthouse in the Escalade. We ain't letting you pine like a teenager.

Cody: Touch my car, Jimmy, and I’ll have security bar you from the building tomorrow.

| Jey 🔑: Ooooooh, the boss is getting sensitive! 😂💀 He’s whipped!

| Cody: Focus on the show tonight. I want the opening segment executed perfectly. No mistakes.

| Punk 🍻: Sure, boss. We’ll focus on the show while you focus on your lock screen. 🙄

Once Solange arrived back at her penthouse, she immediately went to work stripping away the day. She took a long, steaming shower, letting the hot water cascade over her curls. She deliberately avoided scrubbing her left wrist too hard, watching the black ink fade slightly but remain entirely readable under the water.

After wrapping herself in a luxurious, oversized white silk robe, she sat down at her marble vanity to begin her skincare routine. She applied her serums, but her eyes kept drifting back to her reflection—and then to her phone.

"Okay, if I'm going to play this game, I'm playing to win," she whispered to herself, a spark of her usual confidence returning.

She walked out onto her expansive balcony, which overlooked the gorgeous Atlanta skyline. The late afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting a stunning, warm golden-hour glow over the high-rises. Solange leaned against the concrete railing, holding her iced matcha latte. She took a photo.

It was a masterclass in subtlety. The focus of the photo was the breathtaking sunset over the city, but in the foreground, her left hand was casually draped over the edge of the stone. Her silk robe's sleeve was pulled back just enough to reveal the faint, elegant scribble of black numbers on her inner wrist. It was highly teasing—only someone looking closely would notice the fresh ink.

Within seconds of uploading it to her Instagram Story, her phone began to explode.

Solange's Instagram Story

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@trinity_fatu: OH SHE IS PLAYING WITH FIRE!!! SOMEONE CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!!! 😏😏

@rhea_ripley: A masterclass in teasing. I know exactly whose pen that is. 😉🖤

@user_fashiondaily: Wait, is that a phone number on Solange’s wrist?! Who wrote on her?! Zoom in!

@wwe_fans: Yo... Cody Rhodes uses that exact brand of black pilot pens. I’m just saying... 👀👀👀

Across town, inside his private office at the arena, Cody was reviewing the script for the evening's broadcast when his phone buzzed with a notification. He tapped on his screen, and his eyes instantly darkened with absolute amusement and intense, possessive satisfaction.

He zoomed in on the photo, his thumb tracing the image of her wrist. He could see his own handwriting on her soft skin, glowing under the golden hour light.

"Beautiful," he muttered, a low, dangerous chuckle escaping his throat.

He stood up, walking over to the full-length mirror in his office. He adjusted his dark tie, smoothing down the lapels of his bespoke black suit jacket. He took a photo of his reflection—not a smiling selfie, but a cold, dominant shot. He was looking back over his shoulder, his face half-shadowed, the bold American Nightmare neck tattoo sharp and imposing against his collar. The background showed the sterile, concrete environment of the arena's executive wing. He posted it to his story without a single caption.

Letting the silence do the talking was his specialty.

Cody Rhodes' Instagram Story

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@So.lange: 🤫

@jimmyuso: Cody ass looking like he’s about to order a hit on someone! Sheesh, save some style for the rest of us💔

@jeyuso: The boss man don’t play! Yo style ass btw uce 🫩

@cmpunk: Stop staring at your reflection and get to the gorilla position. The show starts in twenty.

Cody's heart actually skipped a beat when he saw the notification chime. Solange had replied. Just a single, teasing emoji—the shushing face.

The game of cat and mouse was officially over. It was time to close the trap.

He tapped directly into her DMs, his fingers moving with absolute, commanding certainty.

@CodyRhodes -> @So.Lange

| Cody♥️: I see my handwriting suits you. Though, to be fair, it looks a lot better up close.

| Solange💕: Bold of you to assume those are your numbers, Mr.Rhodes. Maybe I let someone else write on me. 😉

| Cody♥️: Don't lie to me, Solange. I’d recognize my own penmanship anywhere. And more importantly, I’d recognize that wrist. You’re playing hard to get, and while I respect the pride, I’m an incredibly impatient man.

| Solange💕: Is that a threat, Cody?

| Cody♥️: A promise. I have a private black Escalade waiting outside your penthouse lobby in exactly one hour. The driver has instructions. He’s taking you to a private dining spot downtown. No cameras. No crowd. No distractions. Just us.

| Solange💕: ...I haven't even said yes.

| Cody♥️: You will. Don't keep me waiting, Solange. I don't like being stood up.

| Solange💕: I'll think about it.

| Cody♥️: Don't think too hard. You might ruin the surprise. See you in an hour.

Solange stared at her phone screen, her breath hitching in her throat. She let out a soft, nervous laugh, throwing her head back against her vanity chair.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her heart racing. "He is absolutely insane."

Within three minutes of the DM exchange, Solange's penthouse door was practically kicked open. Naomi and Rhea burst in, both of them holding garment bags, makeup cases, and a level of chaotic energy that belonged in a stadium.

"He sent a car?!" Naomi screamed before she even reached the living room. "Tell me you did not just tell us he sent a private Escalade!"

"How did you even know that?!" Solange gasped, standing up from her vanity.

"Jimmy texted Jey, Jey texted me, and I texted Rhea!" Naomi yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "The boys' locker room is literally in a state of emergency right now because Cody ordered his private security detail to escort you! You are going on a date with the Don, Sol! Get your ass in the chair!"

"I said I was thinking about it!" Solange protested, though she was already walking toward her massive walk-in closet. "I haven't decided if I’m going."

"Oh, you are going," Rhea said, leaning against the closet doorframe with a cool, authority-filled smirk. "Because if you don't step into that car, Cody Rhodes will probably have his driver wait there all night. And let's be honest... you want to go. You're just terrified because he actually has the balls to command your attention."

Solange paused, holding a designer silk slip dress in her hands. She looked at Rhea, her eyes softening into a shy, vulnerable expression. "He’s just... he’s so intense, Rhea. I'm used to being in control. When I'm with him, I feel like I'm completely out of my depth."

"That’s because he’s a real man, Sol," Rhea said gently, her voice softening as she walked over and placed a reassuring hand on Solange’s shoulder. "He’s not some fashion boy trying to impress you with a free handbag. He’s powerful, he’s dangerous, and he respects himself enough to go after what he wants. But don't forget who you are. You’re Solange Olandria. You rule the runway. Now go put on something that makes him remember exactly why he had to write his number on your skin."

Solange smiled, a surge of adrenaline washing away her anxiety. "Okay. Let's do this."

For the next forty-five minutes, the penthouse was a blur of high-fashion preparation. Naomi handled the makeup, creating a flawless, sultry "no-makeup" look that highlighted Solange's high cheekbones and striking dark eyes, leaving her lips glossy and plump. Rhea helped her style her voluminous dark curls, letting them cascade wild and free over her shoulders.

Finally, Solange stepped out of her closet.

She wore a breathtaking, minimalist black knit midi-dress that clung to every curve of her frame like a second skin. It featured a high neckline but was entirely backless, exposing the smooth, elegant expanse of her back. She paired it with simple, high-end black leather mules and delicate gold jewelry. She looked expensive, sophisticated, and entirely untouchable.

"Oh my god," Naomi whispered, tearing up slightly. "You look like a Mafia queen. Cody is going to lose his mind."

"He won't know what hit him," Rhea agreed, checking her watch. "The car is downstairs. Go get him, Sol."

Solange took a deep breath, grabbing her designer clutch. She looked at her left wrist one last time. The ink was still there, a dark promise of what was to come.

"I'll see you guys later," she said, her heart fluttering.

"Text us the second you get in the car!" Naomi yelled as Solange walked out the door.

The ride downtown in the sleek, blacked-out Escalade was completely silent. The driver, a large man in a sharp black suit who introduced himself as Wayne, drove with absolute precision. He didn't speak, keeping his eyes on the road, but the professional, secure atmosphere of the vehicle only added to the heavy, elite feeling of the evening.

Solange stared out the window, her fingers tightly clasping her clutch. The shyness was creeping back, making her stomach flip with every block they got closer to the destination.

Finally, the SUV pulled down a quiet, cobblestone alleyway in the heart of the historic district. It stopped in front of a heavy, unmarked iron door illuminated by a single, vintage gas lamp. The area looked completely deserted, tucked away from the bustling city lights and paparazzi.

Wayne stepped out, opening the door for Solange with a respectful bow of his head. "After you, Miss Baxter. He’s waiting inside."

Solange stepped out into the cool night air, the cobblestones clicking beneath her heels. She walked up to the heavy iron door, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to push it open.

The door swung open smoothly, revealing a dim, candlelit corridor lined with dark wood and velvet curtains. The faint, seductive sound of classic jazz echoed through the space. At the end of the hall, standing in the doorway of a private dining room, was Cody.

He had changed out of his media clothes. He now wore a deep navy, bespoke velvet blazer over a crisp black button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal the edge of his bold neck tattoo. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his heavy silver rings gleaming in the candlelight. His platinum hair caught the soft glow of the room, making him look incredibly handsome and entirely dominant.

As Solange stepped into the light, Cody’s eyes locked onto her.

He froze for a fraction of a second, his breath visibly catching in his throat. His gaze swept slowly, possessively down her stunning black dress, tracing the elegant curve of her neck, the bare skin of her shoulders, and the soft curls framing her face. The cold, untouchable expression he usually held backstage instantly melted into a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.

Solange stopped a few feet away, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it in the quiet room. She looked up at him through her lashes, her shyness returning in full force as a soft, warm blush crept up her cheeks.

"You didn't keep me waiting," Cody murmured, his voice dropping into that low, melodic Southern drawl. He stepped closer, his warm, expensive scent instantly enveloping her. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the side of her face, tucking a loose dark curl behind her ear. His touch was incredibly warm, sending a violent shiver of electricity straight down her spine. "You look absolutely breathtaking, Solange."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft jazz music. She looked down for a second, her lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks. "You... you don't look too bad yourself, Mr.Rhodes."

Cody let out a rich, quiet chuckle, his thumb gently brushing against her jawline, tilt-raising her head so she had no choice but to lock eyes with him.

"Don't be shy with me, Sol," he whispered, his eyes dark, intense, and completely intoxicating. "We’re past the point of hiding. Come on inside. Let’s have that conversation."

Kiss Kiss Kiss ‘💋

a/n: Cody really gon get what he want by any means 😭😭

chapter 3💋