Page 8 of The Unraveling

My phone rings on the floor where I dropped it. I glance over at it: it’s another unknown number, so it can wait. I moan and turn my attention back to Jordan, whose tongue is still teasing my nipples. His hands move my dress down to my waist and his mouth follows, lifting up my hips and sliding the dress further down still. His mouth is warm on my skin. Between the euphoric feeling and the chill in the air, I shiver. He pulls the dress off completely, and once he’s between my legs I feel as if I could finish immediately. But I want to wait for him. Do it with him, together. I want to please him. So I push him back.

“Stand up,” I whisper, pushing him gently and going to my knees. His belt is already undone, as is the top button of his trousers. I look up at him with hooded eyes and pull the zipper down. His pants fall to his ankles and his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs are stretched tight against his hard cock. I start to move them down, never taking my eyes off him, making him wait just long enough before putting my mouth around him, both of us letting out a sound of relief as I do.

My mind wanders, but not far, as I think how a guy like him doesn’t need a big dick to be hot. Some guys do—some guys only have that kind of thing going for them. But Jordan is deeply sexy. The fact that he’s endowed like the hero of an old bodice-ripping paperback romance is just icing on the cake.

I get him close and then stop, wanting this to last. He lies down on the bed, pulling me by my hand, then my wrist, then my arm, closer and closer to him until his mouth is on mine. He moves me beneath him, moves himself above me.

We start slow. I raise my hips up gently at first as he pushes into me. We move together, our eyes locked. I can feel him getting harder and harder inside of me.

God, he looks so hot when he’s sex-drunk.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper and deeper until I can feel that he’s ready and I can hardly take any more waiting. I thrust my hips up again, harder this time, and he grabs my waist, holding me there. We pause and take each other in, both loving this moment more every time we come to it. We’re like puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. We start to move again. His breathing and mine both becoming heavier, more serious. My thoughts become more concentrated and yet more abstract and synesthetic—which is exactly how I feel when I dance.

I pull him down to me now, his forehead to mine, our temperatures both now risen high despite the cold air leaking through the old windows.

“Jocelyn,” he whispers. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

I groan as we finish together, bodies entwined.

As we lie together after in the soft glow of streetlights from outside, I hear my phone buzz over and over.

“Ugh, one second. This number has been calling me over and over, let me just answer.”

He lets me go, still holding me by the thigh, running his fingers up and down me.

“Hello?” I say into my phone, smiling at Jordan.

“Hello, Jocelyn Banks?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Joel Carson. I’m…I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

I sit up fast.

“Yes?” I say, suddenly panicked. My nakedness now feeling completely inappropriate, leaving me too vulnerable.

“I need to speak with you. Are you somewhere private?”

“What happened?”

He takes a moment before saying, “She had a terrible accident last night.”

“What do you mean, accident?”

My heart rate skyrockets as I push Jordan off of me. As my mind starts to catch up with my nervous system, my hands begin to shake with the sudden surge of adrenaline. I’ve bitten the side of my tongue and I can taste blood.

“She was driving down L’Enfant around two in the morning last night and it seems like something went wrong with the car. She veered off the road and hit a tree.”

“Is she okay?”

Of course she’s not. If she was, she’d be calling.

“She’s in the hospital. She’s…it’s not looking good, Jocelyn. I’m so sorry to call and have to tell you this.”

My stomach feels like it’s filled with acid.

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