going home

When you reach for the check, Jordan waves you off. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Least I can do after dragging you out in the middle of the day.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t a drag. But I was going to grab a cab—”

“Let me drive you,” he interrupts. “I’ll take the long way, show you the city a little. You’ll get more out of that than another five minutes in here.”

You hesitate for a second, then nod. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Outside, the light has shifted—late afternoon gold cutting across the pavement. His car, an old but spotless sedan, hums to life as he pulls into traffic. He drives with an easy calm, one arm on the wheel, the other pointing out landmarks as he talks.

“That mural?” he says, nodding toward a riot of color on the side of a warehouse. “Local artists painted it after the protests. Whole block came together—kids, elders, everyone. Didn’t plan it, just happened.”

You turn to look, caught by the layers of faces and names in the paint. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles. “That’s the city I know. People think it’s all crime and empty buildings, but nah—it’s people trying to make something better.”

He keeps talking as the streets change: neat brick storefronts fading into older blocks with boarded windows and small gardens tucked into corners. You listen, scribbling mental notes, but mostly you just take it in—the rhythm of his words, the way his pride threads through everything he shows you.

“You see that field?” he asks. “Used to be a park when I was a kid. City let it go, but we’re trying to raise money to bring it back.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice, only determination. It makes you realize that for him, every scarred street is also a story of what could be repaired.

By the time you near your apartment, the sun is low and the city feels changed—closer, more alive, like something you can finally begin to understand.

Your phone buzzes: Tom: “All good? How’s the story going?”

You type back quickly, smiling despite yourself:

All good. Jordan’s giving me a ride home—showing me around a bit. It’s been amazing. I’m learning a lot.

When you tuck the phone away, Jordan glances over with a half-smile. “So? Still think Kansas City’s just flyover country?”

You shake your head. “No. Not anymore.”

He laughs softly, turning down your street. “Good. Then I did my job.”

Jordan slows to a stop in front of your building, the car idling quietly at the curb. The sky’s gone violet, the last of the day fading between buildings.

He nods toward the sidewalk. “I’ll walk you up.”

You start to protest, then stop. “It’s fine, really. It’s just there.”

“Still,” he says, smiling. “I’ll make sure you get in safe. City’s got all kinds after dark.”

For a moment, you consider it — the offer, the ease in his tone, the strange sense of safety you feel sitting beside him. Your phone buzzes in your hand. Tom: “Still at the hospital. Don’t wait up.”

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen. Then you slip the phone back into your bag and unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Okay,” you say softly. “If you want.”

He gets out, circling around to the sidewalk. The walk to your door isn’t long — a few steps, the hum of streetlights overhead, the muted sound of traffic a block away. You stop at the entrance, keys in hand.

“Thanks for showing me your city,” you say.

“Anytime,” he replies. “You’ve got a good eye. You actually see things. Beautiful inside and out. ”

It’s meant as a compliment, but something in the way he says it lingers, heavier than you expect. You nod, unsure what to do with the feeling.

Jordan lingers as you open the door. "So, um, do you want the grand tour of piles of cardboard boxes?" you joke.

He smiles and puts his hand protectively on the small of your back, guiding you inside.

Jordan smiles. “Hey, I just want to see how a big-city writer sets up shop.”

The apartment is small but bright — books stacked in uneven towers, a framed print still leaning against the wall, and a cardboard box labeled Kitchen? sitting untouched by the counter. Jordan takes it in with quiet curiosity, his gaze moving from the window view to the half-finished gallery wall.

“Looks good,” he says. “Homey. You can tell someone actually lives here.”

You laugh. “That’s one way to put it. I keep meaning to buy real furniture, but it turns out writing doesn’t pay like the movies say it does.”

He grins. “Nah, this is real life. Give it a few months, it’ll start to feel like it’s yours.”

You gesture toward the corner where your desk faces the window, a few notebooks scattered on the surface. “That’s where I’ve been trying to make sense of Kansas City.”

Jordan steps closer to look at the view — the faint grid of city lights, a sliver of skyline. “You’ve got a good spot,” he says. “You can see both sides — the shine and the shadows.”

You nod, liking the way he phrases it. “That’s what I’m trying to write about, I think. How people build lives in the space between.”

He gives a thoughtful hum. “Sounds like you already get it.”

You smile, feeling the words land with quiet weight. “Maybe. Still working on it.”

You lead him to the small bedroom, the rumpled covers and bra left on the pillow causing slight embarrassment. "And this is where I sleep" you say quickly, blushing.

"to be honest looks real comfy. I'd kill for such a soft looking bed" Jordan eases his massive frame down onto it.

You smile seeing him enjoy himself. his piercing hazel eyes meet yours, making him smile as well.

"why don't you join me down here?" he questions, spreading out his arms. He picks up the bra and it looks so tiny in his hands. he tosses it toward the hamper.

you cant really figure out why not, so you shrug and hop over him sliding naturally into the crook of his arm, draping your knee over his rock hard body. You feel a sizable lump in his pants and wonder if that is his cock.

He stares down into your face. brushing the errant hair away, fingers grazing slowly over your cheek and neck. "you really are a beautiful woman.." Jordan muses.

You've heard it before, people calling you beautiful. You never really believed them, but the way Jordan said it, you could tell it came from the heart. His big kissable lips were right there, why not? you ask yourself.

You close your eyes and before you know it, Jordan's lips are pressed against yours. you feel a flash of heat as they combine, his so large and soft, it feels like yours are enveloped in his.

his hands start to roam around your body, slowly feeling every inch of it. When he gets to your breasts, its just a shock for such big rough hands to be touching them. He takes your involuntary gasp as a sign of approval, and works his hand under your shirt, pushing the bra away with ease. His fingers on your nipples like little lightning bolts warming your body as they radiate outward.

you continue to kiss the man deeply, exploring his mouth with your tongue, while his other hand slowly slides down your waist into your pants. All this kissing has sort of broken your brain. and you rock your hips into his fingers as they gentry explore the folds of your pussy.

your heart beating fast you moan as large calloused fingers enter you slowly and deliberately, hitting so many nerve endings you are trying not to shudder. "oh fuck dude..." you gasp. Jordan chuckles, getting the response he wants out of you.

Jordan lifts up your shirt, pulling it off and unhooking your bra. As his fingers explore your clit and even deeper folds he begins kissing and sucking on your boobs.

as you struggle to remove his shirt, Jordan easily slides your pants down. the cool air caresses your pussy but you are able to finally let your legs fall wide open and his fingers explore even deeper.

You wonder what it would like to feel his cock inside. You start rubbing the front of his pants, the fabric straining with the erection he was now sporting. You could imagine letting that beast slide into your center, how great that would feel.

Suddenly, you could hear the lock in the door. it was unmistakable, it was the sound of Tom juggling bags and trying to unlock the door at the same time. "oh crap, it's Tom.."

Jordan pulls back, a hurt look on his face. "... and who's Tom?" he asks skeptically.

"oh don't be like that, he's my gay cousin." you laugh and make something up quick. "he's down visiting to help me get settled. I didn't think he'd be here uh, tonight" you say, staring at Jordan's eyes. Thankfully they soften, he believes you. "I guess we should say hi" you murmur, looking in the hamper you find one of Tom's large t-shirts and pull it over your head as Jordan buttons up his shirt, your breathing still a little ragged, you grab his hand and drag him back out into the apartment.