Page 61 of Jealous Guy

I keep them closed when the bathroom door creaks open, and I keep them closed when the timber floor in our bedroom quietly groans to alert me he’s drawing near. The mattress slopes at a sharp angle, then levels as he gets into bed.

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.

He bunches his pillow, whacking it a few times to get it into the position he likes, and kicks his feet under the covers to loosen them. He doesn’t touch me, but the air around my legs is disturbed by his presence. The skin on the back of my thighs and calves is sensitized by his proximity, tiny hairs standing on end. He’s so close to me that I can feel the distinct outline of him. The bulk of him. The heat of his body.

I keep my eyes closed and take care to keep my breathing even.

The ache in my chest is sudden. A stab. A serious wound. So sharp and so deep that I have to clamp my lips together to stifle my reaction.

God, I’m so stupid.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I spent all day telling myself not to get my hopes up, and look at me now. Gutted. Devastated. Distraught. All because Jordan and I are in bed together and nothing is happening between us. He’s on his side of the bed, and I’m on mine.

The space between us may as well be a chasm.

I told myself this would happen, but I went and got my hopes up regardless.

Darkness winds around me, weighing me down and laughing at me. Taunting me with things I know I can’t have but have been stupid enough to let myself think could be mine.

“You awake?” Jordan asks, startling me so badly I jump.

“Kind of.” I take care to use a deep voice that I hope sounds sleepy, but also, because I’m not done being an idiot, sexy in a mysterious, rugged way.

I don’t think it works because he goes quiet again. There’s something off about him though. He seems tense, and he’s breathing funny. Holding his breath and then releasing it all at once.

The shrill pain in my chest is accompanied by an icy dread that swims down my limbs when it occurs to me what’s happened. Jordan is uncomfortable. Around me. I’ve made him uncomfortable by being gay and asking him to fuck me and sucking his dick. I knew this would happen. I told myself it was a mistake, and now look, reality is playing out exactly like I said it would.

I can’t believe I have the gall to be upset about it.

I swear to God, I need to get a serious grip on myself.

I’m about to give myself the lecture of a lifetime when the sheet behind me rustles. I freeze, cocking my ears and holding my breath. The silence in the room is amplified tenfold.

It’s quiet.

Quiet.

Then I hear it again.

A soft sigh of cotton rubbing against cotton. But this time, it’s accompanied by a shifting of body mass that makes the mattress rock slightly.

My heart rate accelerates considerably. My skin prickles with anticipation and hope. My mind races, landing on a giddy conclusion: Jordan has moved closer to me. On purpose.

He’s not just close to me. He’s touching me, curling his body behind mine so his knees are tucked tightly behind my legs and his chest is pressed against my back. He’s so close that I can feel his breath in my hair and the heat from his shower on my skin.

There’s a wisp where his voice usually is. A soft, hesitant breathiness that expels three words on the back of a soft puff of air. “I-is this okay?”

As he speaks, his hand moves. A warm weightiness that slides down my shoulder in increments so gradual that I feel the world spinning beneath us before I’m able to eke out a response. My mouth has gone bone dry, and any faith I had in my voice has left me, so I simply lean back against the lips pressed into my hair and nod.

The hand on my arm travels down, past my bicep, past my elbow, before leaving my arm and finding its way to my side. I tingle from head to toe. His hand pauses at my waistband, hovering for a moment, before finding the hem of my tank and sliding cautiously under it. Thick fingers splay out on my stomach, sending a bolt of heat through me. They move painfully slowly, tantalizingly deliberately, mapping out my torso, bumping over my abs, until they find the whorl of hair around my navel. They stay there for a while, smoothing my hair down in a languid circle before messing it up again. Teasing. Provoking. Playing with me until my bones turn to jelly.

Jordan pushes himself up onto an elbow behind me, dipping his head so his words dance directly under the shell of my ear.

“What about this?” A husk rasps in the dark. “Is this okay?”

A big hand curls around the hem of my tank, knuckles dusting my pecs as he lifts it out of the way. There’s no contact for a second. A steamy, swirly pause that briefly stops the room from rotating, and then his hand is on me again. It stretches out, sliding down, palm flat on my skin, grazing hot pulses of heaven into me. His hand turns, fingers pointing downward as they ease under my waistband.