Elizabeth Finn - Restoring Jordan

I’m alive again. I carried a weight of guilt I more often than not refused to acknowledge with every woman I indulged in for one night before turning them loose. I wanted nothing more from them than their bodies, and I made that fact clear. While they accepted this for their own reasons, I used them to satisfy my hunger for sex, but in that dark corner of my mind I pretended didn’t exist, I felt guilt. I was using them and denying my emotional needs.

But the girl beside me is different. God only knows why, but she is so compellingly different. I feel guilt with her as well, but for a completely different reason. My guilt with her is for sharing her bed but not a bed that belongs to us both; it’s for being in her home rather than a home that is ours together; and it’s for taking her body but not fully giving her my heart. Her whole being begs for more than meaningless, cold sex, and while she doesn’t ask for more than what I’ve given her, I want, for the first time in so many years, to give her more.

When I wake, I’m alone, but he’s tinkering with something in the kitchen. I move from the bed and grab my clothes, tossing them on quickly before padding barefoot down the hall. Entering the kitchen, I find him half in and half out of the sink cupboard—must have found my leak. Not going to say that’s not embarrassing. Jordan is lying on his back, and as I clear my throat he slides forward to peer at me while leaning back on his elbows. He’s smirking.

“You realize using a pan to catch a leaky pipe is only effective if you intend to change the pan occasionally?” He’s still smirking, and I give him my best snarled lip.

He chuckles, shaking his head, and sits, slinging his arms across his knees, still holding the wrench he was working with in his grime-streaked hands. He’s wearing his charcoal-gray wool slacks and nothing else, sitting on my ugly, old, dirty kitchen floor. It’s a travesty really. I’m guessing the slacks alone are worth more than my kitchen.

“So what exactly is your point?” I feign ignorance with another screwed-up face.

He’s quick to respond, his amusement showing in his sarcastic smile. “Well since you asked. I got up thinking I’d make dinner… Then, I discovered there is literally no food in your fridge.” His turn to screw up his face in a sarcastic grimace that makes me laugh. “Then, I found a frozen pizza in your freezer. Then,” and yes, his “thens” are becoming quite exaggerated, “I found out your oven doesn’t work. Then, I cleaned up the cheese that fell off the frozen pizza, and then, you won’t believe what happened when I rinsed the washrag in the sink.” He pauses for effect as I shake my head in mock consternation. “Water started pouring from under the sink onto my feet. And now you find me here.” He’s smiling his beautiful seductive smile once again.

“Hmmm. That’s…”

“I’m not finished.” He cuts me off, laying on the exaggeration full force. “I’m now starving, and not just starving, but starving for pizza. I’ve decided your landlord should be arrested for allowing you to live like this, and I’m starving. Starving. Pizza starving.” Enunciating each word. He’s having fun. Mr. Serious, or is it Mr. Sexy-Serious, is really quite funny when he wants to be. “I’m glad you’re dressed. We’re going out for pizza.”

“Can I wear this, or do I need to change?” I’m suddenly feeling a bit underdressed.

“You can go naked so far as I care as long as I get my pizza … and a shower first.” He holds up his dirty hands. Then, letting his eyes rake over my body hidden beneath my baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants, he continues. “Perhaps your body first, and then a shower. Take your shirt off.”

I waste not even one second before pulling the sweatshirt over my head, already tingling in anticipation at his words, and once I’m standing in front of him in only my yoga pants, he asks me to turn around. I do slowly, and as I move, I hear him stand from the floor. He closes the space between our bodies in an instant, and suddenly his warm breath is on my neck where he places a small kiss.

“Do you know how incredible your ass looks in these pants?” His voice is husky in my ear as my body continues to respond.

I’m in too good a mood not to let my sarcasm play his game. “How incredible?”

Rather than words, I feel his mouth. First his lips graze my shoulders, but they quickly move down my back, trailing tickling kisses as they go. Once at the small of my back, he plants warm, sucking kisses on the skin just above my waistband, slipping his dirty fingers gingerly past the waistband and easing my underwear and pants down my hips to my thighs.

“Lean over the counter.” I bend at my waist as he watches. He sinks to his knees behind me and slowly and gently kisses, sucks, and trails his tongue along the round cheeks of my bottom. His touch is relaxing and soothing to my tense and aroused body. His mouth moves enticingly close to the cleft of my cheeks before moving to the exposed lips of my vagina as they reach the apex of my thighs. I shudder at the light teasing touch of his mouth, craving more.

When his mouth makes very deliberate contact with the sensitive lips of my sex, my stomach muscles clench and contract. He’s so close to my bottom, and the exposure has me quivering in nervousness and excitement. He runs his tongue between the slick folds of skin as my muscles continue to go crazy, but he abruptly stops, stands, tells me to stay still, and walks from the room. He returns moments later and tosses a condom on the counter by my hand and tells me to spread my legs farther apart. I do, waiting for him to undress and reach for the condom, but he doesn’t do either. He returns to the floor behind me, and his mouth latches to me quickly, licking, sucking, and laving every inch of my needy skin.

He torments my flesh until I come unglued, and my orgasm wobbles my knees and I slacken against the counter. Standing behind me once again, he leans to my ear and speaks as I fight to catch my breath. “My fingers are too dirty to touch you. Is this?” He’s touching the handle of the polished marble pestle sitting in the mortar directly in front of me. Holy shit! He can’t be serious, but of course he is, and as he grasps the handle and holds it in front of me waiting for my response, he speaks again. “I need to know because I’d hate to fuck your sweet little pussy with this if it isn’t clean. So tell me, is it clean?”

I could lie. I could say it isn’t. Save myself this little game he has in store for me, but I don’t. I don’t want to stop him, and as much as I want him inside of me, I want to give him what he wants. I nod, unable to find any words, and as I do, he pulls the pestle out of my line of sight and behind me, trailing the cold, hard tool down my back. It sends a shiver through my body as it runs its course over my bottom, landing at the warm, wet entry still begging to be touched. The cool, hard material soothes the warm, desperate need radiating from my body, and as he gently pushes the phallic instrument into my body, I tense. The invasion doesn’t compare to Jordan’s breadth and size, but it’s hard as steel and cold against my warm and wet skin.

Every slight and slow movement into my tight sheath spreads the cooling sensation deeper. He’s working it into my body slowly, withdrawing it after every small thrust, pushing deeper and deeper with every penetration. Once he’s reached my depth, my channel is cool and soothed from the foreign shaft. He thrusts with a gentle and controlled power as he moves his body to close the space beside me. His unoccupied arm rests easily on the counter next to me as his hand caresses and pinches my nipples. He’s watching the side of my face as I pant and writhe next to him, and leaning to my ear he speaks once more. “How does that feel?”

I have to fight to get the words out in my utter lack of composure. “Cold … hard.”

“Do you like it?” I nod quickly as he pinches my nipple and nearly sends my body into the throws of another orgasm, but he isn’t done with me yet. “I want to watch you fuck yourself. Reach between your legs.” I do, and as my hand meets his, still thrusting his gentle strokes, he moves the pestle to my hand, and I take the cool handle within my shaky hand. I push gently, feeling the ease with which it enters my aroused body, and as I continue his strokes he steps back behind me and kneels again.

His mouth moves to the cheeks of my bottom, once again kissing and sucking the muscles of my buttocks with his powerful lips. He sucks, grips, releases, and starts all over again as I continue to thrust. His breathing is quickening, and I can hear his arousal in the shuddering breath that escapes his lips, and when he orders me to come I fall apart in an instant, once again fighting to stay on my feet. Standing swiftly behind me, he grabs the condom packet, tears it open, drops his pants, and pulling my hand from the pestle lets it drop to the floor before pounding into my entry.

His heat fills me and his girth stretches me as his groin pins my weak body to the counter, and what was cool and hard becomes a tingling, thick warmth that invades me and distends me. He thrusts harshly one stroke after another, pausing only long enough to spin me around, lift me to the counter, and then drive another powerful stroke to my core. His lips attack mine as his tongue takes over my mouth, and he continues to claim my body. Coming with clenched jaw and a nearly pained look on his face, his strong body spasms and pulses within me. He finally drops his forehead to mine as his breathing slows.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He finds his voice after I’ve spent long moments listening to his body calm.

“Umm. The … uh … hot knob is cold and the … uh, cold is hot…” I’m humiliated, but he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “And … uh … you have to be quick or the tub will flood… drain’s not … working so well.” He pulls from my forehead, smiles gently, and leans to my mouth. His kisses are sweet, all the fervor and fury of his body released with his orgasm, and his lips are now gentle and soft.

He pulls his still-hard length from my body as he bends to grab his discarded pants from the floor. He pulls his wallet from his pants, pulls out a credit card, and after asking me to order whatever kind of pizza I want so long as it’s pizza, he kisses me one more time before he turns and walks from the room. I’m mesmerized by his figure and strength.

He intrigued me and aroused me the moment I first saw him in the bar nearly a month ago, and he’s more intriguing and arousing in this moment than I ever imagined he would be. I know him, and yet, I don’t. I feel close to him, but I can’t say I understand why. He doesn’t do “next times,” yet he keeps coming back for more.

I stayed with Adeline as long as I dared before leaving. I didn’t want to seem too desperate, though I without doubt am, and while I wanted to drag her off to my house to enjoy for the remainder of the evening, I willed my body to leave hers and left alone to suffer the loneliness I feel anytime I’m away from her. Amazing how quickly she’s taken over my thoughts and mind. I used to enjoy my freedom, the ease of my life, but it’s now more pathetic than desirable.

When I arrive at Foster’s the next morning, I seek her out before I even make it to my office. At least at Foster’s I have a valid reason to be close to her other than being obsessed with her. When I pop my head into her cubicle to see her chatting on the phone with someone, a quick pang of jealousy hits. I have no reason to think she’s talking to another man, but her ease and casualness with the other unknown person leaves me wanting her to have that same comfort with me. She’s close to whoever it is, and I want to be close to her too. She hangs up quickly, flashing a beautiful smile, and though I shouldn’t, I duck quickly into her cube and plant a gentle kiss on her warm, supple lips.

“Who were you talking to?” I hide the intense interest in my voice by standing nonchalantly by.

Her smile is gentle and unknowing as she responds. “My best friend. She wants to take me to lunch today.”

“We’re going to be at the site later. You should have her pick you up there.” And introduce her to me. I can’t help but wonder if she’s spoken about me to her best friend. She lost her virginity to me. Isn’t that something worthy of sharing with a best friend? I’m like a jealous boyfriend, and aren’t I? I want to mean something. She sure as hell means something to me; what that actually is, I have no idea, but it’s unnerving to say the least.