20. Blaise

TWENTY

Jordan textedme earlier to say he was coming over when I finished work, and I saw his car on the street when I pulled in, but he's not in it. Maybe he went for a walk? As soon as I get out of this suit, I'll call and see where he got to.

A car pulls into the waiting bay as I approach the door, and I recognize it as belonging to Ricky, the son of the owner of Drey's favorite Chinese takeout place. Ricky does most of the deliveries, since his dad believes Uber Eats and DoorDash are evil, and he's delivered here a lot of times.

Sure enough, he smiles at me as he gets out of the car. "Hey, Blaise. Order for Drey—do you mind taking it up? I've got another one to drop off still."

"Sure." I grab the bags, tip him, and swipe myself into the building. It's only when I'm halfway up the stairs that I realize Drey ordered a lot of food, even if he was planning on me sharing it.

Then I get into the apartment and realize why. My roommate and my boyfriend are sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, arguing animatedly while they inexplicably move random items around. Is that a toilet paper roll? Why's that in the living room?

"This is a weird kind of party," I observe, kicking the door shut behind me and carrying the food to the kitchen. They both turn.

"You're home!" Jordan exclaims, his face lighting up.

"I am. I see you've met Drey." And bonded over… a pencil holder and the weird statue Drey's mom insisted on putting on the TV cabinet?

"We were just discussing why baseball is so much better than basketball," my adorable boyfriend says smugly, and Drey snorts.

"The other way around, jock. Lucky they make you wear a helmet, or your brain might be even more scrambled than it is."

"I've never been hit in the head… in the past five years," he tacks on, and I laugh.

"I'm going to change. Start dishing up this food, or I'll be eating the furniture when I get back."

Jordan trails after me into my bedroom, leaving Drey to handle dinner, and throws himself onto my bed, sighing.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking off my jacket and hanging it. "Did something happen with your parents?" Oh god, please don't let them have told him they hate me. I thought last night went so well!

He waves that off. "Nah, brunch was fine. They should be landing in a couple hours, and they'll text me when they're home."

Phew. I nudge off my shoes and say, "What is it, then? You seem down."

"Not down," he corrects, staring at the ceiling. "Just… thinky. I told Coach."

I stop halfway through unbuttoning my shirt. "Oh." Ohhhhh. "Was he mad?" Jordan was completely convinced his coach wouldn't be homophobic, but I can't deny it's been a tiny worry for me that he's wrong.

"No, he was totally cool. As long as you're not associated with a gang or other crime organization, too young or old for me, and nobody got pics of me at a gay sex club, he really doesn't care. Even said that if we changed our minds and decided we did want to go public, he'd support us." He pauses. "Though he looked like the thought gave him an ulcer."

I chuckle. "At least he said it. That sounds like it went well, then."

"Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Wearing only my pants, I sit on the bed beside him. "So why are you so thinky, then?" I lightly tug one of his earlobes. Now that they've healed, he's discovered they're more sensitive, and touching them always gets a good reaction from him.

Sure enough, he shivers a little and smiles. "He said he got a call about me last week. A scouting kind of call."

"Wow." That's so not what I expected him to say. "Flattering—but also, you definitely earned it. You've been on fire lately."

"I guess."

I'm not sure why this has got him so introspective, but I figure distraction is the way to go. "It makes sense that they'd put feelers out now, while you're a sophomore, right? But they probably wouldn't even want to talk to you for another year, when you're closer to graduating and you've really proven yourself." I'm talking out of my ass—I have no idea how this all works. But that seems to perk him up a bit, so I keep going. "And just think of the bragging rights in the meantime."

Laughing, he sits up and leans over to kiss me. "You creative people know how to think right. Come on, let's eat. Drey said he has to leave soon, and I was thinking, since we're gonna have the place to ourselves and there's a whole week until my next game… maybe we could try anal tonight?"

My mouth goes dry, and it's only his hopeful expression that stirs me to croak, "Sounds good."

Drey's long gone, and Jordan and I have been making out on the couch for ages when he pulls back and sits up. "So… sex."

Sitting up beside him, I wrap an arm around his shoulders, and he leans his head against me. "It all counts as sex," I remind him. "Not everyone likes anal."

"I want to try it, though. I, uh…" He squirms a little. "You know I like it when you finger me. Sometimes when I'm in the shower, I… experiment."

My lips twitch, but I'm careful not to sound like I'm laughing when I say, "I'm guessing you like that too."

He nods. "I think I want to try bottoming first. Is that okay with you?" We've talked about this before, when we talked about sexual health and condoms. He knows I'm vers but prefer to top, and I hope that hasn't influenced his decision here.

"Of course it's okay with me," I assure him. "As long as you're sure that's what you want."

Lifting his head, he meets my gaze. "I really do. I mean, I want to try it the other way too, but this first time, I'm kind of excited to bottom." His face gets red, but from the way his breath hitches in his chest, I know he means he's literally excited, and that gets me revved up too.

"Let's go into the bedroom, then. You'll be more comfortable on the bed." Plus the lube is in there, and we're definitely going to need it.

He bounces up and grabs my hand, making me laugh as he tows me along. "Just you wait," he promises over his shoulder. "My ass is going to ruin you for any other man."

My eyes drop to said ass, and I smirk. "That mission has already been accomplished."

It's his turn to laugh as he gives his booty a shake, and I tackle him onto the bed, where we get distracted with more kisses. Kissing Jordan is addictive. I could spend a lifetime doing just this.

The press of his hard cock against my thigh redirects my thoughts. Okay, so I'd probably want to spend some of that lifetime up close and personal with his dick. "How do you want to do this?" I murmur between kisses.

"Shouldn't you be telling me? I'm the novice here."

I snort. "Please, let's not pretend you're not going to be the bossiest bottom ever born. How do you feel more comfortable? Hands and knees? On your back? Riding me?"

He hesitates, and vulnerability flashes across his face. "I think… on my back? I want to see you, and I don't want to drive until I know what I'm doing."

"Sounds great," I assure him. "Want me to prep you?" I lean over to get the lube from the nightstand, and when I turn back, he's wearing a wicked smile.

"I want you to watch."

"Exhibitionist," I tease, as if the idea didn't make my dick jerk in my pants. "Let's get naked, then."

To say that Jordan puts on a show for me would be vastly understating it. I strip off quickly, but he… He turns the act of removing jeans and a tee into a three-act performance, even without music. By the end, I have a firm grip on my cock just to keep from coming. "If you don't want this to be over too soon, you better get a move on," I croak, and he saunters toward the bed.

"I guess Mila making me watch Magic Mike wasn't such a bad thing after all," he muses, lying down beside me and grabbing the lube.

"Channing Tatum?" I ask. I know all about his thing for celebrities.

"Joe Manganiello." He squirts lube onto his fingers, bends his knees up, and inserts the first digit like a pro.

"Whoa. You really have been playing in the shower." I bite my lip as I watch.

"Yeahhh," he breathes. "Lube's better than conditioner, though."

I glance up in time to see his eyes drift half-closed, a tiny smile on his mouth, and I lean in to kiss him.

When I break away, we're both panting a little, and he insists, "Don't… distract me. I'm busy."

I don't bother to respond, just stroke a hand down his chest the way I did the day we met, leaving my palm on his lower abs as he adds a second finger.

"You're so fucking hot, Jordan," I murmur, eyes glued to those fingers sliding in and out, loosening him up for my dick. "I can't wait to get inside you."

He whimpers. "Fuck, yeah. Me too."

By the time he's taking three fingers easily, his face is flushed, lips parted, and I'm at the edge of my control just having watched him. How I'm going to make this good for him, I have no damn clue, but I will. "Ready?" I whisper, and he nods.

I've never gotten a condom on so damn fast in my life.

This is far from the first time I've ever done this—so, so far. And yet, the moment when he slides his fingers free and I position the head of my cock against his hole, I meet his gaze, and… I can't deny the feelings that swamp me.

This is special. It means… more.

"Stop me if it hurts," I remind him, my voice as unsteady as my emotions, and when he nods, I push forward.

There's the usual resistance, and then he relaxes, and I slowly slide in, deeper and deeper until I'm fully seated. I look anxiously at his face, but that hint of a smile is back. "Okay?" I check.

"Yeah. It's… weird, but good. I thought it would hurt, or be uncomfortable, but I guess I might be born to bottom."

I snort. "Or you're an athlete with really good muscle control, and you've been fingering yourself for a while."

He gives an experimental little wiggle that makes us both gasp. "Whatever it is, I think this is the part where you start thrusting and make me see heaven."

"I knew you'd be a bossy bottom." But I obey, pulling back almost all the way before pushing home again… and again. He moans, a deep, drawn-out sound that sends shivers through me, and I pick up the pace a little.

It's his first time; be gentle,I remind myself, but he's so into it, urging me on, meeting my thrusts, making the most arousing, delicious noises, that I can't hold back, driving in harder, faster, until we're both sweaty and panting and incoherent.

I'm going to come. I can't stop it. Fumbling desperately, I hook one hand under Jordan's knee and adjust our position, and on the next thrust, he screams.

Yes!

"Holy—"

I thrust again, drilling his prostate, and his words cut off, his eyes rolling back.

On the third thrust, he comes, the hot clamp of his ass tightening around me, and I let go, let myself experience the best orgasm of my life before I carefully pull out and collapse beside him.

"Jesus," he whispers, long minutes later, and I smile at the ceiling.

"No, just me."

He snorts and fumbles for my hand. "I'm definitely not someone who doesn't like anal."