Chapter 25
Aiden
Living with Jay these past six months—waking up beside him, sharing meals, trading inside jokes, building a home together—has surpassed every hope I had. We’ve had our hiccups, for sure, but I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.
Since he moved in, we haven’t stopped touching each other.
It’s not even just about sex. Holding hands while walking along the Riverwalk, cuddling on the couch watching a movie, falling asleep wrapped around each other, or just brushing against each other in the kitchen—we were both so touch-starved that we didn’t even realize how much we needed this.
Physical affection is definitely our love language.
On weekends, we’ve been working on small projects around the apartment or exploring the Oregon and Washington coasts, hiking local trails, and checking out every good brewery within twenty miles.
Now that summer’s here, we go to the farmers’ market every Sunday to stock up on fresh produce and find fun local treasures.
Our evenings have become a ritual. Jay always ends up in his favorite spot on the couch, curled up with his head on my chest and his body tucked between my legs.
We’ve been revisiting our favorite movies with the director’s commentary on.
Between all the pausing, rewinding, and our film-geek debates, it can take us five hours to get through a single movie.
That being said, nothing’s perfect. I’ve never lived with a partner before, so sharing space comes with a steep learning curve. The globs of toothpaste in the sink are a bit of a problem, and wet towels on the floor an ongoing argument.
With my background in porn, I thought I was prepared for anything when it comes to sex.
I was wrong. In the industry, guys were always prepped and ready to go.
Even my one boyfriend must’ve planned around date nights.
But when you live together, you quickly learn that sometimes certain parts of the body are simply off-limits.
It’s Saturday night, which means dinner and a movie. Neither of us cooked much before moving in together, but we’re learning through YouTube tutorials, a cooking class, and lots of trial and error.
We’ve burned more than a few dinners, but we always end up laughing, usually while eating cereal. Somehow, everything we do together is fun. Tonight, it’s Jay’s turn to choose the recipe.
“What’s on the menu?” I ask as he pulls ingredients out of the fridge.
“It’s my favorite dish my mom makes,” he replies, lining things up on the counter. “She’s always called it chicken dinner, but I found out the real name is Chicken Divan.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“It’s really not. It’s total comfort food.”
“What can I do?”
“Start the rice in the Instant Pot,” he says, handing me the measuring cup.
We’ve finally mastered that thing after a few sticky disasters. Now it’s one of our favorite appliances.
As I get the rice going, I wander over and place my hands on his hips, peeking over his shoulder.
“Whatever you’ve got in that sauce smells amazing.”
He gives a little shrug. “It’s curry and dried mustard mixed into cream of chicken soup, coconut milk, and mayo. Weird combo, but trust me, it’s amazing.”
We steam some broccoli, layer it with shredded rotisserie chicken in a shallow baking dish, smother it with the sauce, and top it with cheese and stuffing mix for crunch.
It’s piled high, but Jay assures me it’s fine. He slides it into the oven while I grab a couple of beers from the fridge, our current favorite IPA from a local brewery.
Settling onto the stools at the kitchen island, we sip our drinks while waiting for dinner. We’re two beers in and twenty minutes into an in-depth discussion about the décor for the rental apartment next door when I catch a whiff of something burning.
I flick my eyes toward the oven and see smoke seeping from the edges of the door, the rancid smell quickly filling the room. We both scramble off our stools.
“Shit, not again,” I cough, grabbing hot pads and flinging the oven door open to find the bubbling sauce spilling over the edges of the pan, splattering onto the heating element with a sizzle.
“Are we eating cereal again?” Jay asks with a groan.
“No, I think we’re okay,” I reply, laughing.
Despite the mishap, the dish isn’t ruined. After opening some windows to clear out the smoke, we fill our plates and sit down at the table to dig in.
“Oh my God, this is delicious,” I exclaim between bites. “This is definitely going into our regular rotation. You did good, baby.”
“Thanks. It’s much better than the pork chops we tried to bake last week. Way too dry.”
“But we’re getting better. Next week, hopefully, we’ll manage not to catch the kitchen on fire,” I say, flashing him a wink.
We clean up side by side before carrying more beers into the living room and settling on the couch.
“What’d you pick for the movie tonight?” he asks.
We take turns: one picks the meal, the other picks the movie.
“First in the Bourne trilogy.”
Jay grins. “Nice choice, Sweet Cheeks. I love me some young Damon action.”
I shake my head at his craziness. The terms of endearment he’s been trying out lately are completely unhinged. He started with fruits like Peaches and Kumquat.
Then he moved on to movie-themed nicknames. The Goonies era brought on Mouth, Sloth, and Datalicious. I laughed so hard that I was crying.
After Jay joined my weekly video calls with Lauren, they started texting, and now she gives him the worst smut-romance nicknames imaginable. He waits for just the right moment to drop one, usually when I’m drinking something, hoping to make me spit it out, or worse, right in the middle of sex.
We’ve shifted from our usual entwined position to me lying with my head nestled in Jay’s lap. Partway through the movie, during the scene where Jason Bourne is dying Marie’s hair as a disguise, I begin to feel a warm stirring in my groin.
As the couple kisses on the screen and she peels off his shirt, I’m hard as stone. My hands glide up Jay’s leg, finding that he’s just as turned on as I am. I tug at the drawstring of his shorts, freeing his dick, and begin a steady rhythm, stroking him. He pauses the movie, his breath hitching.
“Mmm, that feels good,” he moans.
I shift, flipping over to kneel between his legs, the sudden movement disturbing Maisy and Daisy from their nap on the couch beside us. They blink at us with their prude, judgmental stares before retreating to their tower in the corner, their tails held high in disdain.
He raises his hips so I can tug his pants and underwear down further, and I take his balls into my mouth one by one, sucking and licking, drawing out more moans and gasps.
Tracing a path up his veined length with my tongue, I lick his slit, savoring the saltiness of his pre-cum. I relax my throat, taking him deep, loving the feel of him filling my mouth.
I’m lost in the rhythm, hollowing my cheeks as I suck the head before sinking down to the base, his length stretching my throat. Inhaling his scent, I press my nose into his trimmed hair, choking a little but relishing every second.
I know he’s close, so I increase my efforts, using my hand to stroke him as I suck.
And then he says it. “Oh, yeah, Babydoll, give it to me good.”
That stops me in my tracks.
I pull off immediately, looking up at him, annoyance flaring. “Are you kidding me right now? Babydoll?!”
He’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
“How long have you been sitting on that one?” I ask, exasperated but fighting a smile.
Between his tears of laughter, he manages, “I’ve had that one in my back pocket for a while. Lauren read a book where one guy calls the other Babydoll and Princess. It was a fifty-fifty shot of which one I went with.”
“You will never call me Princess,” I growl, my voice a blend of annoyance and humor.
Jay pushes me down into a sitting position and crawls into my lap, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I know you secretly love my pet names for you. Don’t act all cranky about it.”
He starts kissing me, his tongue exploring my mouth, reigniting my desire.
He’s right. I hope he never settles on a pet name for me. Even though I pretend to be annoyed by them, I love the surprise of a new one, even if it is in the middle of sex.
Our kiss deepens, the movie forgotten as he wraps his legs around my waist, and I carry him to the bedroom.
Flip fucking has become a favorite of ours, a familiar dance of give-and-take. We prep each other; his gentle touch sending shivers down my spine.
He takes my ass first, his thrusts filling me until he finds his release. I hold off, waiting for him to finish before plunging into him, chasing my own climax, finishing deep inside him.
Afterward, we clean up in the bathroom, with Jay wiping away the globs of toothpaste from the sink, and I hang up my wet towel that’s crumpled on the floor from my morning shower, avoiding the usual argument.
Turning off the television and the lights in the living room, I grab us each a glass of water before crawling into bed, entwining my limbs with Jay’s. I can’t get enough of the feel of his body against mine.
“I love you, baby,” I whisper in his ear, kissing his neck, feeling him shiver.
“I love you, too, Princess,” he says, earning a groan and a pinch on the side, making him yelp.
Being with him never gets old.
Sunday morning, we head to the farmers’ market to buy our weekly produce and to browse what the local vendors have to offer.
I love these leisurely walks, walking hand in hand, just spending time together. We’ve done it dozens of times, but this morning, something hits me.
“Do you remember that night of the homecoming dance, our junior year?” I ask, squeezing Jay’s hand.
“Of course,” he replies, smirking at me. “It’s the night I was brave enough to tell you how I felt about you, and we kissed for the first time.”
He’s got me there. I was such a chickenshit, waiting for him to make the first move.
“Do you remember what you said to me as we were walking back inside?”