Chapter 45 Jordan
jordan
I, Jordan Joseph Boucher, made a woman come so hard she had a pulsing clit.
My own pulse races as if my heart has never had blood pumping through it until now.
I’m lying in bed trying, and failing, to get some shut-eye.
How do you sleep with the woman of your dreams curled against you?
How do you close your eyes when the most beautiful creation is here for you to admire?
How do you find rest when the moment you’ve been dreaming of is finally here?
You don’t.
I could stay up all night staring at her.
The warmth of her body wrapped in my arms is all-consuming—everything else pushed aside until nothing exists but her.
A tear wells, spilling down my cheek. The fact that a woman like her would be the one to see past all the walls I’ve had in place for so long…
It doesn’t feel real. She didn’t judge me.
She didn’t get angry, even though she had a right to.
She didn’t try to use this for her own gain.
Well…she did use me for the orgasm, but I’m not complaining.
And since I finished too, we’ll just call this one a draw.
And the fact that she told me her tell? That she gave up the one thing most women hold close to their chests?
I brush my fingers across her cheek, pushing aside a stray piece of hair that’s fallen across her face, still in awe that I’m this close to her.
There can never be any faking it with me, and that seems monumental.
The amount of trust I have in her went through the roof after that.
It’s two in the morning, and I am wide awake watching the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she’s still breathing and that this isn’t some sort of fever dream.
Wait…how would I know if this was a dream? What if all of this is a dream? Or, even worse, what if I fall asleep and I wake up and it’s all gone? I normally count sheep, but I can’t stop counting her freckles to settle myself.
If I’m ever going to get over my past, I’m going to have to try to trust again—to let her see parts of me I’m scared to show anyone.
We made it pretty far down that road tonight.
Being here curled up with her, something pulls tight in my chest, a sense that I was right to open up to her.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Kennedy stirs in her sleep, cuddling closer and pulling my arm tight to her chest. Warmth spreads across my skin like a blanket fresh out of the dryer.
I’ve never felt anything like this—as if everything I’ve ever wanted in the world is wrapped up in my arms. I know what I want to call this, but the cautious part of my brain is struggling to catch up.
Struggling to let go of the pain of my past. But there is one thing I know one billion percent: I never want to let this go.