Page 75 of Jealous Guy

I put my coffee on the counter, sighing loudly, and spin around. When I turn my back on him, Jordan whimpers softly. “Oh God, there’s your perfect ass. Just attached to you, like always.”

He closes the space between us in less than a second, and big, warm hands are all over me immediately. He kisses my neck as he slides both hands in my pants and kneads my ass cheeks with meaning. His touch is gentle, slow, and sure, just how I like it. Blunt nails graze the underside of my cheeks, squeezing to test their weight. He does it until my thoughts slow. Until my blood runs thick.

I know from experience that there are a million different ways this little ritual could play out. I could end up bent over the counter getting my ass enthusiastically eaten, or I could find myself on my knees on the floor with his dick rammed inside me. I could get my prostate pummeled, or, if I play my cards right, I could swallow Jordan’s load before my coffee has gone cold.

One thing’s for sure: no matter how it plays out, since Jordan and I got together, my first dose of caffeine is no longer the highlight of my morning.

Today is different though. Jordan peels his hands off my ass, whining softly in my ear as he does it. He kisses me lightly on the lips and holds his hand out to me. I slot mine in his and our fingers lace together.

Holding hands with Jordan still makes me giddy. It makes me smile whether I mean to or not. There’s a softness to it. A sweetness that rouses butterflies low in my belly and makes them flutter uncontrollably. It happens every time he reaches for my hand, but there’s something familiar about it now. Something natural and known. Something I’ve gotten used to. Something good that I’ve started to accept is a permanent fixture in my life.

He leads me to the bedroom and swings the door open.

The lights are off and the curtains are drawn. It’s dimly lit, with only a little light stealing in through the cracks. Despite that, I spot the change in the room instantly. I can’t miss it because it’s quite literally glowing.

My jaw drops and my free hand flies to my mouth.

There, on the wall above my bed, is one of the most spectacular creations I’ve seen. It’s large, almost as wide as my bed and at least three or four feet high. I’m not sure if you’d call it a painting or an installation, but it’s a work of art either way. It’s a night sky with a mythical slant. A dark, moody sheet of midnight blue pierced with a galaxy of stars that have been lit from behind. On the left, above my side of the bed, there’s a figure that has been subtly carved into the night. A hunter pinned in the stars.

“Orion,” Jordan says softly. “My love. My friend.”

My eyes sting and hot tears spill down my cheeks. Jordan takes me into his arms and wipes them away, taking care to kiss each eyelid when he’s done. His smile isn’t burned paper. It isn’t easy, and it doesn’t look like it costs him nothing. It looks like it costs him a lot. It’s all the smiles I’ve ever seen on him heated and rolled into one.

“Jordy,” I cry, winding my arms tightly around his neck. “It’s— It’s incredible. It’s unbelievable. Thank you so much.”

He raises a careless shoulder, though I can tell he likes my reaction. “It’s no biggie. Andy did the painting, but I poured the resin, drilled the lights in, and had the idea.”

“The resin and lights are my favorite part,” I tell him quickly. “And the idea.”

His brows shoot up happily. “They are?”

“Absolutely. I hardly even noticed the painting.” He shakes his head at me and laughs, reaching behind me to swat my ass. He gets distracted on contact and starts fondling it instead.

He releases me suddenly and steps back, unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off. “Almost forgot. I got something for me too.”

He stands in front of me, just out of arm’s reach, looking outrageously pleased with himself. “How do I look?”

He’s wearing sweats that fit like a dream and hang sadistically low on his hips. So low that a decadent sliver of skin is exposed when he moves. I see a hint of the V that cuts into his body and leads to the bulge in his pants. My hand floats up, tracing the line where fabric and skin meet.

I finger the drawstring of his pants, mind wandering to hot, sexy places as I tug on it. “Like a total slut show,” I mumble.

He slaps my hand away playfully and laughs. “I don’t mean my pants, bud. Check out my new top. I had it made specially.”

I drag my eyes upward with a little reluctance. Jordan’s top is one of those things that takes a moment to fully come into focus. It’s a boxy white T-shirt with a round neck. It’s a little more cropped than the tops he usually wears, which is why I got so distracted by his sweats. There’s a vintage-style print on the front, a ripe orange-pink peach with curly retro lettering above it.

I admit, I’m a little slow right now. I must be because it takes me the longest time to read what it says.

I’m dumbstruck when I do. “D-does that say Addicted to Ass?”

“Sure does.” Jordan beams. “But look closer. Look! I had Orion’s constellation drawn on the peach. Right here on the cheek.”

On closer inspection, I find that he’s right. One of the peach cheeks has little stars dotted on it that mirror those on the art above my bed.

“So you see, other people will think it says Addicted to Ass, but really, what it says is Addicted to Orion’s Ass. Neat, huh?”

“Sweet Jesus.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re not wearing that out of the house.”

“But, O, I need a new lucky T-shirt because of what happened to my old one.” He lost his old one under mysterious circumstances. According to him, it went into the wash after I wore it to Dorothy’s and never came out. “But I’m totally fine only wearing it at home because you’re the only one I’m trying to impress anyway.”