content warnings (!!!) sexual situations, questionable consent // nsfw, 18+
January didn’t suit Colette, with the cold, the dirty road slush, and her skin dry as sandpaper. Granted, the summer rain and heat didn’t suit her, either. Colette preferred the specific two weeks of late September when the fall air was crisp and the colors were lovely, too early for all that gaudy Halloween decor, not too early for pumpkin spice everything, which she would scoff at in public and devour in private.
The boys were behaving themselves tonight. She ordered some pizza for dinner, after which the boys put on a movie in the living room and she sat at the dining room table with her laptop to do some work.
Jordan said he would be home late. Some work errand that had him driving hours out into the countryside for a delivery, and she tried to tell him, you know you should ask for per diem pay, for meals and gas reimbursement. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he would say, but he never complained about things when he should.
After he hugged the boys, he came over to the dining room and leaned down to hug her, his lips brushing across her cheek in a light kiss. It was all sweeter than she cared for and lingering with curiosity. He smelled like cake, which was not the worst thing he’d ever come home from work smelling like—motor oil, paint fumes, sweat—so she didn’t push him away.
“Oh, no, what do you want? The boys are still awake.”
He didn’t say what he wanted, he just stared at her with his eyes full of questions. She didn’t have time for questions if he wasn’t going to ask them.
“Did something bad happen?”
“No,” he said.
“Well, okay. I hope you got paid overtime tonight. You don’t work a twelve hour shift out of the kindness of your heart. That’s why you need to take a union job. There are rules for stuff like this. Besides, she’s paying you garbage. Oh, and the bathroom sink is leaking again.”
He lost interest in her opinions and went to the living room to watch cartoons with the boys for their last half hour before bedtime.
“They’re not staying up late just because you’re home late,” she called out toward the living room.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Come upstairs later, if you want.”
“Well? Are you staying or going?” she asked as he lingered near the door. “Why are you being so weird tonight?”
“I’m not being weird.”
“Good,” she said, then she finally put down her phone.
For all of his shortcomings, there was one way this man never disappointed her. As it should be, after so many years of practice. If he hadn’t learned what she liked by now, she wouldn’t have kept him around for so long. He was strong. He had endurance and stamina. She liked it just the way she liked it, vigorous, steady, and lasting. Not too long, of course, but just long enough. Which he delivered every time. She couldn’t fault him there.
But he wasn’t finished yet. He had his eyes closed, moving slowly, she suspected he was about to take his time.
“Mmm, hurry up, though. I have to work in the morning.”
He came to a full stop inside her, then pulled out. He let out a huff, exasperated, almost a laugh. “Jesus, never mind. I’ll use my fucking hand.”
She grabbed for him, but he had already moved out of reach.
“Oh come on, don’t be such a baby. Come here, I’ll blow you.”
He didn’t respond, just shook his head and left the room. They weren’t in the habit of romance and gentle words. They didn’t dwell on feelings and emotion. Out loud, at least. Tonight, though, he was touchy and acting strange.
For a man who was so hard in so many hard ways, he was also so incredibly soft sometimes. She didn’t know what to do with that softness. It was a language she didn’t know how to speak. She found it irritating and frustrating. No, you don’t get to end this, you don’t get to have the last word. He didn’t understand how much he needed her. He was a mess without her. Did he remember that? But she knew how to sort things out. She had her ways.
So she dressed again and came down to the couch.
She knelt in front of him, tugged on his pajama bottoms, but he wasn’t helping.
“I’m not in the mood anymore,” he said.
“You will be.”
He rolled his eyes and looked at the wall, but he didn’t push her away.
She stroked him until he aroused again. It didn’t take long. She knew his tricks. She’d been pleasing him for ten years, on and off, for better or worse. She knew his strengths, and she knew his tender spots, too. So maybe she poked those tender spots too hard sometimes.
She worked him hard and he finished in her mouth.
“See, you’re not mad,” she crowed.
“I’m still mad,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes. For the first time in too long, maybe, because she didn’t remember his eyes being full of so much spite.
“Well, suit yourself.”
If she had known that would be the last time they were ever together, she might have been nicer, let him stay longer, maybe committed the pleasure to memory a little better. But that’s the thing about last times—you rarely know when they’re about to happen.
Whatever. They were a bad match, probably, but they were family. Maybe they were shitty family, but they were the only family they had. He said that from his own mouth. Colette knew this man and she knew he didn’t lie, which made it a promise.
Too bad he always promised more than he could ever deliver.
authors note: it might be notable that the whole first chapter of Jordan’s flashback story was not told from his own point of view, but instead, from two women who both want something from him. That was a bit of an intentional choice. But you will hear from him directly in the following parts.
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