Page 62 of Jealous Guy

I have a million reasons to say yes. Maybe more. But one reason stands out above all the others. Above the thundering arousal that roars through my veins. Above the endless longing I feel for Jordan, and always have. Above the fondness I feel for him. The friendship. Above the yearning, the desire, and all the lonely nights I’ve lain in bed and fantasized about this moment. That reason is this: as he lies behind me, with his chest pressed against my back, I can feel Jordan’s heartbeat…and it’s racing as wildly as mine.

34

Jordan

Orion’s body is warm. He feels good in my arms. Solid and right. He’s squirmy, but not how he usually is. He’s squirming to increase the contact between us, not lessen it. I’m holding him tightly. I’ve slid my lower arm under his neck, curling it on his chest, so he’s pressed as firmly against me as I can get him. His ass is all kinds of everything. Soft. Hard. Muscular. Mush. Twin mounds of flesh with a valley between them that was made for me. Every time he squirms, my dick swells and juts against him harder.

His waistband is digging into my other hand as it struggles to find purchase. His drawstring is tight. Frustrating. Maddening. I know there’s a way to deal with it. There must be. But I can’t think what it is right now.

I can reach deep enough that my fingertips graze the head of his cock and a little of his shaft. It’s not as much as I want, but it’s something. Something good. Something so goddamn good I’m not sure how I lived without it. It’s hot and smooth to touch. Electric. It feels exactly like I expect it to, only in an unexpected way. It’s swollen and hard, like I am. Sinew and muscle I want to call mine.

Mine.

Mine.

He’s hard because of me.

Swollen because I’m close to him.

Hot because he’s in my arms.

Leaking from the tip because I’m touching him.

Me.

No one else. Only me.

The rush of arousal those thoughts send through me has me dragging my hand out of his pants and tearing at the drawstring so roughly I’m surprised I don’t hear a seam ripping. Orion helps, replacing my hand with his and untying the knot as I pant behind him. When it’s done, when his waistband is loose, he holds it open for me, taking my hand in his and guiding it in sweetly.

My fingers clamp around him like a magnet, and he moans on contact. He moans. For me.

“Can you be quiet?”

It’s the last thing I want. I want him screaming my name, letting everyone within earshot know he’s mine, but I know he’s not ready for that. He’s a private person, someone who’s kept a lot of himself hidden for a long time. I don’t want to make him do anything he won’t be comfortable with tomorrow.

“Yeah,” he rasps, answering a little too quickly for my liking.

Because he’s Orion, I can’t resist kidding around. I might want him as a lover now, but he was my friend first, and friends take the piss out of each other no matter what the circumstances are.

“Are you sure?” I hum, dragging my teeth along the curve of his neck. “’Cause you were pretty loud both times I put my dick in you.”

He huffs a pained sigh. There’s an eye roll in his voice. A loud one, and fuck me, I love that. “Yes, dipshit. I’m sure. I’ve been coming my brains out in the room next to yours for years, and you never heard a peep, did you?”

Oh shit. That’s hot.

My hand slides up and down, my dick thrusting desperately against his perfect ass cheeks. The contact is incredible, a taste, a morsel, a promise, but it isn’t enough. I want more. More skin. More squirming. More of those little twitches and strangled gasps Orion emits when I touch him.

I release his cock with enormous regret and yank his pants down to his knees. My hand finds his ass immediately, and the second I have that warm hunk of flesh in my grasp, I lose it.

I see red and purple and flashes of gold. Arousal rips through me in a way I’ve never experienced. A way that makes me lose time.

When I come back to myself, Orion is on his knees. His tank and pants have been stripped off him and lie in a puddle on the floor. A wavy stripe of moonlight highlights his nudity, painting a portrait that’s so beautiful my heart skips a beat.

His legs are spread, his back arched.

“I-I didn’t bring any lube,” he says quietly.

“S’okay,” I slur, “don’t need it for what I’m going to do to you.”