Rock My World/ A Jordan Knight FanFic✔️

16

Nora

Somehow we made it back to the hotel before the sun came up.

We went up to our room, Jordan, me, and the thudding music of every bar we'd been in tonight all muddled together, pounding in my brain. I had a cool dubbed-out remix of Baby Bash's "Suga Suga" in there, still making me dance. I danced right into the hotel room as Jordan shut the door, but despite the cacophony in my head, the room was empty. We were alone for the first time all day.

Just the two of us.

It was the end of the first night of the tour, an incredibly long night. What felt like a whole lot of nights in one.

An incredible night.

Jordan stumbled over to the beds in the near-dark and tossed his stuff off onto the floor. I turned on a light, wondering how the hell I was going to keep up with this pace as I stumbled taking off my new boots. It reminded me of the first night we'd spent together, in that other hotel room. Except this time I wasn't planning on doing anything stupid, like stripping in front of him. Which was exactly why I'd paced myself throughout the night.

Mostly.

I'd done my best to make sure that this time Jordan was drunker than I was. This was no easy feat. The man could hold his alcohol. But luckily for me, everyone and their damn dog wanted to buy him a drink, so inebriation was a definite eventuality. The real kicker was when we'd crossed paths with a bachelorette party of eight drunken women, who'd insisted on sending us three bottles of champagne. Jude had flatly refused to help us drink them, apparently feeling responsible for our drunk asses and realizing, correctly, that he was the last sober line of defense between Jordan and a stampede of horny drunk chicks. So Jordan had ended up ordering Flynn, on threat of dismissal, to drink with us.

I was pretty sure Flynn was short-pouring his own refills though, just like I was, making sure they were ten percent champagne, ninety percent bubbles.

We never said it out loud but at some point in the night Flynn, Jude and I had definitely colluded to get Jordan trashed.

I watched him stagger a little as he sat down on the bed and yanked off his boots. I then shrugged off my lucky leather jacket, tossed it aside, and did something stupid.

I decided to help Jordan Knight get undressed.

I couldn't help it. Seeing him all cute and wobbly and drunk, I felt this ridiculous but overwhelming protective urge, maybe because he'd been so protective of me with the whole roadie-blowjob thing. Maybe it was stupid and misguided, but I really wanted to look after him. I felt like it was my duty as fake girlfriend.

And I got down on my knees to do it.

"Don't worry, babe," he told me. "I don't always get wasted after a show. Wouldn't wanna disappoint you with whiskey dick."

I laughed and struggled to undo his jeans, which had an incredibly stubborn zipper. Or else I was just that drunk. He let me do it, leaning back on his hands to enjoy the show as I fumbled.

When I glanced up, his dark eyes were hooded, though not with drink. Clearly he was enjoying the fuck out of this.

"You are not that drunk," I accused.

"Am I?" A grin spread across his face.

I squinted at him, but admittedly my judgment was more than a little impaired. There were two of his sexy faces smiling down at me.

Shit. In the silent stillness of the hotel room, I was way more drunk than I'd thought.

I sat back on my heels. "I thought you were totally wasted. You drank like five million drinks."