Chapter 14 the Honeymoon Destination
? Select the Honeymoon Destination
Thankfully, Jamie’s bathroom mirror is already fogged. Jordan can’t handle seeing what his face looks like right now.
A thin mist from the shower’s steam hangs in the air. It’s not enough to hide Jamie as he shrugs off his ugly robe. Or how clumsy he looks stepping out of his socks. The real test comes when it’s time to remove his boxers. He almost falls over, but Jordan’s reflexes are sharp.
His hand on Jamie’s elbow steadies him.
“Hold on to me.”
He braces himself against the counter. Jamie uses Jordan’s shoulder for support. With absolute determination, Jordan keeps his eyes skyward as Jamie wiggles out of his boxers.
For a long moment, Jamie’s motionless. Breathing in the steam. Mere inches from being pressed right up against Jordan.
Naked.
Jordan allows his gaze to lower just enough to see Jamie’s face. “Okay?”
“Not … really.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know how long I can stand in there.”
He motions toward the shower.
Well, fuck. Maybe Jordan should’ve suggested a bath instead? The problem is, it’s a walk-in shower. With a waterfall showerhead. Gorgeously tiled in a polished smoky ceramic.
His attention bounces from Jamie to the shower, back again. “Should I, um, help?”
“Help?”
“Yeah. Like.” Jordan lets out a shaky breath. “I can get in with you.”
“With me?”
Jordan’s brow furrows. “If you spend all day just repeating what I say, the water’s gonna get cold.”
“It won’t. This whole building is—”
“Jamie,” Jordan cuts in. “Do you want me to get in with you or not?”
Jamie’s throat works overtime as he tries to swallow. “In with me? Please?”
“Okay.”
Jordan’s not sure who he says it to. Jamie? Himself? Whatever divine being that’s watching over them, having the best laugh of their existence?
“I need to get undressed,” Jordan barely gets out.
Jamie nods once. “Do you want help?”
Jordan squints at him. “You want to help take off my clothes?”
“As, like, a friend,” Jamie stammers. “Since you helped me.”
The tops of his ears are a violent shade of red. Obviously from all the steam and heat pouring from the shower.
“Okay,” Jordan says again.
They don’t discuss who does what. It just happens.
Jamie undoes the buttons of Jordan’s shirt. The nice fabric falls off his shoulders as Jamie frees his wrists from the cuffs. Jordan steps out of his shoes, unzips his own slacks. Before he can overanalyze anything, he yanks off his socks and boxers too. They join the pile on the floor.
So. He’s naked. In Jamie’s bathroom.
It’s okay.
Jamie’s seen him without clothes before. For the most part. Fine, Jamie’s seen Jordan in swimming trunks before.
Never like this.
Jordan’s also never allowed himself to drink in another naked man before.
The cords of defined muscle under tan skin.
Wide, strong shoulders that contrast with the delicate curve of Jamie’s collarbone.
His toned chest, brown nipples. The long stretch of his torso is like the soft shores of a beach before sunrise.
Toned thighs covered in downy brown hair that matches the dusting between his pecs, the thick thatch of curls surrounding his—
Oh.
“Not … cut,” Jordan chokes.
“What?”
“Um, nothing.”
Jordan shakes his head. He denies his curious eyes a chance to go there again. He can’t afford the distraction.
Silently, he guides Jamie into the shower.
The cascading stream of hot water is nice. Relaxing. He only briefly lingers underneath before swapping places with Jamie. Jamie’s hands grip Jordan’s shoulders as he finds his balance, long fingers pressing deep into Jordan’s muscles. Damp hair hangs down into his eyes.
“I look a mess, don’t I?”
“N-no,” Jordan says through laughter.
Water splatters against the tiles as Jamie uses one hand to roughly push his hair back. “This was your idea, Jordan.”
“Was it? I don’t remember that part. You were having a fever dream.”
Jamie smirks. Fat droplets hang like morning dew on his eyelashes. Color finally returns to his skin. A nice flush that spills from his cheeks to his chest.
Jordan watches the water run down Jamie’s muscles. Sinking lower and lower. Absently, his own fingers dig into the grooves of Jamie’s hip bones.
A little groan hitches past Jamie’s lips.
“Sorry,” Jordan exhales out.
“Don’t be. I never said I didn’t like it.”
Jamie signals behind himself to the little shelf filled with body and hair products. “Should I clean up? We’re in here for a reason, right?”
Jordan thinks so. He’s just not sure what that is anymore.
Jamie struggles opening the shampoo bottle.
“Let me,” Jordan volunteers.
It smells sweet. Nectarines, maybe? He doesn’t bother reading the label. Instead, he lathers his hands. Buries them deep in Jamie’s hair, combing through the tangly waves.
A wobbly, broken noise leaves Jamie after Jordan’s fingers drag along his scalp. Jordan adds more pressure, grinning.
Jamie’s next groan catches in the back of his throat. His wet hands slip from Jordan’s shoulders, finding a grip just under his ribs. He squeezes.
Shivering, Jordan continues to work the shampoo through Jamie’s hair. At the nape, he gives a polite little tug.
“Oh, God,” Jamie gasps.
“Okay?”
Jamie nods, eyes closed. Head tipped back to expose his throat. Even in the thickening cloud of steam, he looks like art. Something to be painted, sculpted. Fine lines that take time and patience to perfect.
Jordan’s thumbs massage his temples.
“Don’t sto—” Jamie’s voice cracks.
“What was that?”
“More.”
“Yeah?”
Jamie gives another jerky nod.
Jordan’s fingers work in slow, methodic motions. He studies the deep waves in Jamie’s brow. The path of foamy suds gliding down his cheeks. Lips parted like they were made to hold and kiss and ruin Jordan.
He’s never wanted to look at anyone for this long. Until his eyes sting from not blinking. Until it hurts.
Fingers dig into his waist. That’s when Jordan realizes his hands have paused.
“I need you to trust me,” he says.
“I thought that was already established.”
Jordan huffs a laugh. “I guess it was.”
“I do,” Jamie says with a heavy exhale. “I trust you.”
Jordan’s stomach twists and knots. He smiles helplessly. “Keep your eyes closed.”
Jamie does.
Slowly, Jordan walks him backward under the spray. He rinses out the shampoo. His hand smooths Jamie’s bangs off his forehead. Jamie’s breaths even out. His lashes flutter but his eyes never open.
On his tiptoes, lips against Jamie’s ear, Jordan says, “Let me take care of you.”
There’s a noise that might be a whimper. Jordan’s not sure. The only distinct sound is the water pelting the tiles, the glass door, their bodies.
On a hook under the tiny shelf is a loofah. Jordan pours body wash over it. He inhales. The scent of amber and oak fills his nose, his chest. Fuck, this stupid scent is going to haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, isn’t it?
“Still okay?” he asks.
Jamie laughs softly.
For a beat, Jordan’s confused. Then he replays his last words in his head. Suddenly the voice in his brain isn’t his own, but a hungry, wrecked, blissed-out Jamie hovering over him in the back seat of his Jeep. Jordan’s boxers around his ankles. His body trembling from Jamie’s mouth.
“Okay. Bad choice of words.”
“No,” Jamie says urgently. “Great choice.” He rests his forehead against Jordan’s shoulder. “Best choice of words. Our words.”
Jordan’s stomach flips again.
He likes that. Their words. A place of safety. A space of assurance and trust between them.
He drags the loofah over Jamie. Scrubs his back. His other hand chases soapsuds across sinewy muscles. The sharp peaks of Jamie’s shoulder blades. The knobs of his spine. Places Jordan’s never thought about touching like this. But fuck, how couldn’t he?
Garbled sounds build in Jamie’s throat.
“I need to get to,” Jordan says, regretfully maneuvering Jamie until he’s against the shower wall, “your front.”
Jamie bites hard on his lip.
Jordan’s thankful his eyes are still closed. He wouldn’t be able to handle Jamie watching what he does next:
Smoothing the loofah over his chest. Across his evidently sensitive nipples. Down his tight abdomen. Jordan’s own breaths come fast, ragged when he looks down. When he notices how hard Jamie is.
He’s seen an erection before. His high school teammates loved playing porn clips on their phones. Yazzie had an extensive collection too. But nothing this close. Nothing has ever given him a rush of hot adrenaline like seeing Jamie’s thick dick bounce with every little touch Jordan gives him.
His free hand aches to touch Jamie. He stops himself.
“Comfort check” is out of his mouth before he even realizes it.
Jamie’s eyes blink open. His face is momentarily blank. Then a grateful smile relaxes his mouth.
“I’m good.” His gaze drops to Jordan’s outstretched hand. “You can.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jordan, fuck. I need you to.”
So Jordan does.
He takes Jamie in his slick palm. His fingers curl loosely.
His thumb glides along the shaft, eyes widening as Jamie’s foreskin unfolds from around the head.
He builds a cautious rhythm that alternates based on Jamie’s gasps.
His heart skips when Jamie’s hand folds around his to show Jordan how he likes it.
Saliva pools at the back of Jordan’s mouth.
He watches them get Jamie off together.
It’s too much, too little at once. The wet sounds their hands make. How beautiful and deliciously slick Jamie’s body looks. Amber and oak and something unidentifiably masculine heavy in the air.
Jordan’s own dick awakens, aching. His brain goes offline and instinct takes over.
He’s never played this scenario out in his head. Never thought it was something he wanted. But that night in the parking lot runs on a loop every time he closes his eyes.
Jamie’s enthusiasm. Jordan’s legs cocked open. His body so responsive.
He’s desperate to give that same feeling to Jamie.
With one hand pressed to Jamie’s chest, his other stops moving. He grins when Jamie blinks one eye open, confused and on edge.