Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JORDAN
The first thing I hear when I walk into my childhood bedroom is the sound of the shower running.
I close and lock the door, my mouth turning up in a smile as I strip off my clothes on the way to the bathroom. The door is open a crack, and when I push it open the rest of the way, my mouth goes dry at the same time my cock turns to steel because Jo is standing in front of the mirror, both arms raised as she ties up her hair. She’s naked but for a bra so sheer it’s practically see-through and a tiny matching thong. When our eyes meet in the mirror, whatever she sees in mine has her taking a sharp breath in, her nipples pebbling under my gaze.
“You can’t look at me like that when your parents are sleeping down the hall,” she hisses, even as her eyes drop to my rock-hard cock, expression turning molten.
I’m behind her in two strides, my hands gripping her hips, sliding around to run up her torso and cup her breasts. Running my nose up the side of her neck, I breathe her in, flicking my tongue over the spot behind her ear that drives her crazy, chuckling when she shivers.
“I can’t look at you any other way. You are so beautiful I can’t take my eyes off of you.” I rub my thumbs over her nipples and grind my hips forward, so my cock slides between her ass cheeks. Her gasp and the way she pushes back against me has my blood heating, lust and something deeper, more important, simmering in my veins. “And if that means I fuck you in my parents’ house while the rest of my family sleeps down the hall, then that’s what it means. You are so fucking sexy standing here in this sorry excuse for a bra while the bathroom gets all steamy. Tell me, Hurricane, did you leave the bathroom door open a little, hoping I would come in and find you like this?” I unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor. When I tweak her nipples, her throaty moan, and the way she leans back into me, has my cock leaking against her back.
“I always hope you’ll find me,” she gasps out, gripping the edge of the vanity. I don’t know if she means for it to, but her words hit me right in the chest, burrowing deep. I dip my head and trail a line of kisses across her jaw and down her neck, sucking lightly at her pulse point, feeling her moan rumble under my lips as I tug and pull her nipples into stiff peaks.
“There’s nowhere you could go where I wouldn’t find you, Jo Jo. I’ll always, always come and find you.”
I love you .
The words are right there, but I can’t quite make myself say them. Instead, I grip Jo’s chin, turning her head to the side and capturing her lips, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth to slick against hers. She tastes like beer and the Fireball she ate after dinner and Jo . It fills my senses, and my hand tightens on her chin, tipping her head farther back to take the kiss deeper. It’s all passion and fever and words left unsaid, and we kiss until we’re panting into each other’s mouths and she’s rocking back against my dick whimpering, “Please.”
“Please what, Hurricane?” I ask against her lips, dipping my free hand down to glide along the seam of her thong. “If you want something from me, you only have to ask. I’ll give you anything.”
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. Her green eyes are hazy with need, and a bead of sweat from the damp, heated room rolls down her neck to pool in her collarbone. I splay my free hand over her stomach and lean forward to lick it off, smiling against her skin as her whimper fills the bathroom even as my cock jumps at the salty taste of her on my tongue.
“Please fuck me, Jordan. Right here. Right now.” She covers my hand with hers, sliding our joined hands under the waistband of her thong to where she’s hot and dripping for me.
“Look at you,” I murmur, circling her clit with the pad of my forefinger and then dipping down to push a single finger inside, grinding down on her clit with the palm of my hand as she sucks in a sharp breath and pushes back against my finger, taking it even deeper. “So fucking sexy when you ask for what you want. When you tell me how to touch you. How to make you feel good. So, what do you want, Jo? Tell me every single thing.”
“You,” Jo moans out as I add a second finger, bending to kiss along her shoulder as I glide in and out of her, soaking my fingers in her arousal. “I just want you.”
“I just want you too.” I thrust my cock against her, groaning at the friction. Needing more. “Anywhere, everywhere, all the time. You’re all I think about. All I see. You fucking consume me, Hurricane.”
Suddenly, urgently, needing to be closer, I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down until it pools on the floor. With a hand on the center of her back, I push her forward until she’s pressed against the vanity, arms splayed out, gripping the sides of the counter. She gasps at the feel of the cold granite against her heated skin, and I press a line of kisses down her spine, smirking when I see Jo rub her thighs together. I grip her hips and pull her back so she can feel every inch of me sliding against her.
“You needy for me, Jo Jo? I see the way you’re rubbing those soaked thighs together. Your pussy needs to be filled up, doesn’t it?” I rock my hips again, pushing my cock down through her slit, covering myself in her and nudging her clit, loving the way she cries out.
“Fuck yes,” she groans, a hint of frustration in her voice. “I need you so badly. No one makes me feel like you do, Jordan. Now. Please.”
I kiss her shoulder, gripping her ponytail in one hand and winding it around my fist. “You beg so pretty for my cock, Jo Jo. Now spread your gorgeous legs so I can bury it inside that tight cunt, right where it belongs.”
She slides her legs apart and I grip my cock in my free hand, hissing at the contact. Bending my knees, I press against her entrance, sliding into her so slowly I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming on the spot at the feel of her tight, wet heat surrounding me.
“Shit, that feels good,” Jo rasps, rocking her hips back to take me the rest of the way.
I tug on her hair, pulling her up so her back is against my chest, and wrap an arm around her waist. “Look at me,” I rasp, pulling out and thrusting back in, meeting Jo’s gaze in the foggy mirror. “You keep those eyes on me so you remember who it is who’s fucking you so well. Who’s filling this perfect cunt the way it needs to be filled. And look at us. How good we look together. How perfect.”
Jo’s eyes flash as I take her in slow, steady strokes. “No one’s ever fucked me like you do. Made me feel like you do.”
Her words warm something inside me at the same time, they make me feral to prove to her that it’s only her too. And since my brain still won’t let me say it in the three words that would tell her exactly how I feel, I show her in the only other way I know how. Releasing Jo’s ponytail, I slide a hand around her neck, tightening my grip enough to have her gasping, her eyes flashing with lust and sheer want that almost brings me to my knees. I bring my other hand to her clit, working it in firm circles as I fuck her, driving my hips into hers until I’m all pleasure and sensation and unadulterated desperation.
Our bodies slapping together, our panting gasps, and the pounding of the shower are a sensual soundtrack, and when I tighten my hand around her neck in a gesture of absolute, utter possession, Jo cries out, her inner muscles clenching around me. With our eyes still locked, she reaches back and wraps an arm around my neck, bringing our sweat-slicked bodies impossibly closer.
Pleasure swims in my veins as I pound into her, and when Jo turns her head and nips at my ear, whispering, “It’s you, J. Only you,” need for her threatens to take me under. I increase the pressure of my fingers on her clit, pounding into her harder.
“It’s you, Jo. Always. Only. Fucking. You.” I punctuate each word with a thrust of my hips. It’s the closest thing to a love declaration that my fucked-up brain is capable of, and I think Jo knows it because her eyes go darker, more intense.
“Harder, J. I’m close. So fucking close,” she grits out, rocking her hips back to meet my thrusts and reaching down to cover the hand I have on her clit, helping me stroke her.
I piston my hips, bending my knees to hit the spot I know will send her flying. “Then give it to me, Jo. Come all over this dick and show me who you belong to.”
“You,” she moans out, as I slam into her and increase the pressure of my fingers on her clit. She comes hard and fast, slapping a hand on her mouth to muffle her cry. The restrained sounds of her pleasure have my dick swelling, my own pleasure crashing into me. Black spots dot my vision as I grunt out my release, letting go of Jo’s neck to hold her tightly as we ride it out together, her head pressed back against my shoulder and my face buried in her hair.
When we’re both wrung dry, I pull out, spinning her around and gathering her against me, one hand wrapped around her waist and the other stroking her hair as our hearts gallop against each other, our gasping breaths coming in tandem.
“So good,” she mumbles into my shoulder, her body shaking as she comes down from her high.
“It was so good, Jo Jo. You were so good. So perfect,” I whisper in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple and guiding her into the shower, straight under the miraculously still hot spray. With one hand anchored to her waist, I reach up and grab the shampoo. “Can you stand by yourself, Hurricane?”
She glances up at the shampoo in my hand, a confused look crossing her face. “What are you doing with that?”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m washing your hair.”
“But why?”
“Because I want to.”
She tilts her head as she studies me, looking like a dream with her hair spread over her shoulders in wet ropes, water cascading down her body. “I can wash my own hair. Been doing it for years and years.”
I glide a hand over her hair and down her back, pulling her back into me for a slow kiss. “Let me take care of you, Hurricane. I want to. No. I need to. You’re mine. Let me show you. Please.”
My voice is a plea. Let me show you because I can’t tell you. Not yet.
Somehow, Jo understands because her eyes soften, and she nods, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. Overcome, I close my eyes for a second to collect myself before I squeeze shampoo into my hand and wash her hair, following it up with conditioner before I wash every inch of her body. I take care of my own shower, then shut off the water, wrapping Jo in a fluffy towel and grabbing one for myself.
Once we’re clean and dry, we slip under the covers of my bed, and I pull her close to me, skin against skin, holding her tight, hoping I never have to let her go.
* * *
“You know, you really should sleep in on your birthday,” I say, as I walk down the stairs in the morning to a silent house, other than my mom doing her thing in the kitchen.
My mom spins around and glares at me. “Jesus Christ, Jordan. Just give an old lady a heart attack, why don’t you?”
I grin and trot down the last couple of stairs to wrap my arms around her. “Happy birthday, Ma. I’m really happy to be home.”
“Shit,” my mom mutters, wrapping her arms tighter around my waist and sniffling. “I wasn’t going to cry today.”
I snicker into her hair. “That sounds unlikely.”
She lets go of me and steps back. “I’m just so damn glad you’re here I’m not even going to get mad at you for that.” She lays a hand on my cheek, studying me. “You look good, my baby. Happy.”
I nod, thinking of Jo sleeping upstairs, feeling my mouth spread into a smile. “I am. Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”
My mom nods. “Come and tell me about it.”
Five minutes later, we have coffee and are sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island because, in a long-standing Wyles family tradition, my dad set the table for mom’s birthday breakfast last night and will be getting up soon to make all the food, after which we’ll do presents. My mom demands massive fanfare for her birthday, and the five of us have always made it our mission to deliver.
I take a sip of coffee, smiling down at the mug, thinking that I’ll ask Jo to take a walk with me before breakfast so I can show her the neighborhood, and we’ll bring the mugs because that’s our thing now. I like having things with her.
“That’s a good kind of smile, Jord,” my mom says, taking a sip from her own mug. “Does it have anything to do with the pink high-top-wearing bundle of energy sleeping upstairs?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You obviously know it does.”
She smiles, laying a hand over mine. “Of course I do. I know everything. I like her so much, baby. I like her for you, and I also just really, really like her. So does your dad. So do your brothers. She fits, Jordan.”
I nod, my eyes glued to my coffee as if it contains the secrets of the universe. “I didn’t know I could feel this way again,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think it was in the cards for me. I thought I was the luckiest fucking guy in the world when I met Allie, because who gets to feel that much love for another person, you know? And when she died, I thought that part of my life was over. Except I think…” I break off, swallowing roughly. “I thought maybe I had found it again. And then when we got here yesterday, seeing how quickly and easily Jo fit in with all of us? Now I know I did.”
When I look up, my mom’s eyes are steady on me, her hand squeezing mine. “So why do you look so conflicted, honey?”
I shrug, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. “Because it scares the shit out of me. To feel like this again, knowing how it got taken away the first time? I’m not sure I could survive it again, Mom.”
My mom’s eyes turn fierce. “Jordan, you have no idea how many times over the last two years I’ve wished I could take your pain and carry it myself. What you went through? It’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone, and we’ve all had to watch from the sidelines as you fought your way through your grief and rebuilt your life.”
I open my mouth, but my mom knows what I’m going to say before I say it and holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t you dare apologize again for grieving in the way that felt right to you. Those were your decisions to make, and your brothers, your dad, and I all understand. We’ve been waiting with open arms for when you were ready to walk back into them. And to see you ready, coming home with happiness and love all over your face? That’s all I want for you. You deserve happiness, Jordan. I want you to be so, so happy and to have all the love in the world. I know it’s scary, baby. Of course it is. But don’t run from it because you’re scared. Run to it and wrap your arms around it. And let Jo wrap her arms around you. Something tells me she’s good at it. And not just in the fun way.”
“Holy fuck, Mom,” I mutter.
She beams at me. “What? I just happened to be thirsty last night and was wandering past your room on my way to the kitchen. It’s not my fault you were taking a very loud, very long shower.”
I lay my forehead on the cool countertop, praying for a swift and sudden death. I think two years away from home have made me forget what my mom is really like.
“Okay,” I say, picking my head up. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that because it’s weird and creepy, and please never do it again.”
“Fat chance of that,” Mom mumbles into her coffee, smirking at me.
I smile despite myself because I fucking missed it here. It’s really good to be home. “Jo brought me back to life,” I say simply. “She pulled me out of the in-between I was living in and made me think about what I want the rest of my life to look like.”
My mom leans back on her bar stool, coffee mug in hand. “And what’s that?”
“I want her.” I pause, wondering if I should say this next thing and then wonder, what the hell. This kitchen, with its green cabinets, long white countertops, and the wall inside the pantry where my mom measured our heights for years and years, has always been the place where my brothers and I tell our secrets. “I want to go back to pediatrics, and I think…I think I want to move home. But I don’t want to do any of that without Jo. She’s mine, Mom, but she has a whole life in Pittsburgh, and I would never take her away from it.”
“Jordan, there is nothing on this earth I want more than to have you home. To have all my boys in one place. And for what it’s worth, I know they still haven’t filled the surgical attending position at Boston Children’s because every single time I see Marty, he asks me if I think you’ll ever want it.”
Marty is my dad’s best friend and the chief of pediatric surgery at Boston Children’s Hospital. Even thinking about that open position gives me a little thrill, but then I think about the possibility of being separated from Jo, and my stomach clenches.
My mom nods, smiling. “That look on your face tells me all I need to know. Talk to Jo. She sees you, honey—all of you. When you’re ready, tell her how you feel. When two people are committed to each other, these things have a way of working themselves out.”
The rest of the morning flies by in a free mugging excursion with Jo where we laugh and talk, and she asks me to show her the locations of all my most embarrassing childhood moments. And in Jo laughing at the picture I show her of Dippy wearing a scarf covered in balloons. And in flashes of Jo laughing with Noah and begging Elliot to tell her more about the girl from the plane and squealing over pictures of his little dog. And in Jo plopping herself down on my lap and kissing my cheek while we watch my mom open her presents, sighing and leaning back against me when I wrap my arms around her, kissing the side of her head.
As I take in Jo with my most important people, dropping into my family like she was meant to be right here with us, I think that there is nowhere I would rather be than here. And there is nothing I want more than to have her right here with me.