Page 44 of Jealous Guy
We’ve wrestled a lot in our lives. Jordan has an excess of energy, and it’s one of the ways he burns it off. He likes it. I like it too, for a different reason than he does, but still. It’s fun. It gets the blood pumping and activates something base in me. There’s something about testing his strength that does it for me. It always has.
This is different from those other times though. For one thing, we’ve never wrestled on a bed. Usually, Jordan takes me to the floor wherever we are—the living room, the kitchen, the entrance hall of his house back in Cape Elizabeth. For another thing, usually, when we wrestle, the point is for one of us to pin the other on his back. To hold his arms down and make him submit.
This time, I’m not trying to pin Jordan. And he isn’t trying to get me onto my back.
He wrestles me onto my front, smooshing one of my cheeks into the mattress and straddling my lower back to hold me down. He has my right arm twisted behind my back, and his other hand pinning me by the neck. I fight just enough to feel his force. To feel muscle engage and hear the little grunt the exertion punches out of him.
He leans over me when I yield, his lips less than a breath from my ear. “I’m going to take care of you, O.” I close my eyes and let his husky voice wash over me. “Real good care, okay?”
“You don’t have to. Y-you can just do it quickly and get it over with.”
He scoffs at that. “But, O. If I do it like that, I’ll be no better than a random dick in the park, and believe me, I’m way better than those guys. Nah.” The rasp in his voice makes my bottom lip tingle. “Imma give you the full service, boy.”
I nod into the mattress, or at least I think I do, and when he lets go of me, I don’t move except to spread my legs when he nudges them open with one knee. Fabric rustles and a cool breeze caresses my skin as I try to come to grips with the position I’m in. Laid bare. Legs parted. Ass presented to my lifelong best friend for fucking.
Jordan’s pink T-shirt flies across the room and lands on the floor in the far corner. His pants appear beside it two seconds later.
He strolls to his bedside table, opening the top drawer and tossing lube and a handful of condoms onto the bed next to me. I don’t move my head, and I can only see a glimpse of him through one eye, but it’s enough. More than enough. God, he looks good naked. His arms are shredded, his abs ripped. All of it converges into a hard, tight waist that swells into the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. He turns slowly, without a care in the world, and I almost whine at the sight of his cock. It’s hard. He’s naked in a room with me, and he’s hard. In real life, not in a fantasy.
Fuck me, it’s beautiful. Long and thick with a fat head and a gentle upward curve.
I try not to react, but my insides start quivering in earnest. The want building in me is so big that I’m not even sure want is the right word for it. It’s a heavy, limitless, ravenous thing. A thing with a mind and pulse of its own.
Jordan’s fingers find their way into my hair when he gets back onto the bed, tugging just enough to send a new current of arousal down my body. A current that’s separate from normal arousal. A current that exists for one reason. One person only.
Jordan scoops the sensation when it reaches my lower back, corralling it upward again with a weighty, warm hand. He plays with it, directing it to every inch of my back before he’s done with it.
“I’m gonna take my time, O.” I nod again, quickly and with my eyes wide open. “All night if that’s what it takes. I’m not going to fuck you until you’re so relaxed you can’t blink, okay? I’m going to wait until you’re inside out. Until you can’t speak. Until you can’t think of anything else.”
Okay.
God. I did not think this through.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to hide how much he affects me if he keeps talking like this. My skin is vibrating with lust already, and he’s hardly gotten started. Every hair on my head is alive with it. My dick is so hard underneath me that I can feel the humanity I’ve spent years carefully curating draining from my face. Sinking. Slipping. Working itself downward. Collecting secret parts of me I’ve hidden in my voice, in my heart, in my eyes, and eroding their shackles.
Jordan’s hands start moving slowly, following the lines of my traps. His touch alternates between firm and light. Firm and light. It sinks into me deeply when it’s firm, penetrating muscle and bone and turning it into mush. When it’s light, nerve endings fire gently, almost sweetly. Soft sensations dance down my spine and begin living a life that’s separate from me.
My mind becomes a vortex. A black hole struggling to come to grips with reality. A blank space that can’t quite believe any of this is really happening. A dark pit that knows one thing and one thing only: want.
Want
Want
Jordan’s hands move lower. They map out each knob of my vertebrae in turn, and at some point, he stops merely seeking touch and adds taste to the equation. His lips land on my shoulders, left one and then right. A soft brush of dusky flesh that comes with a decadent graze of stubble.
His kisses are intoxicating. Sweet and chaste at first, but quickly morphing into open-mouth caresses that aren’t sweet at all. Hot kisses that have a pull and a drag and a life of their own.
A scrape of teeth and a blazing trail of tongue.
Want grows inside me, bubbling and boiling until it’s almost overflowing. I force myself to keep my eyes open, so I don’t descend any further into it than I can help, and I clamp my lips together to stop the mournful whimper that’s threatening.
As if he can sense it, as if he’s in my head, inside the hazy bubble of want with me, Jordan places both hands on my ass. He squeezes my cheeks, testing the weight of them, shaking them gently until the last lick of sense has been shaken from me.
Then he spreads them.
The moan that escapes is awful. Guttural and loud and hardly muffled by the bed sheets at all. I scramble to contain it, clamping a hand to my mouth and catching as much of it as I can.
Fortunately, Jordan doesn’t seem to notice.
