Far beyond the events of that lonely night on the pier, Jay Gatsby has found comfort in Jordan Baker, a common partygoer at his estate and a very dear friend to Daisy Buchanan. Jordan has learned of Jay's past with Daisy, but he feels as though she deserves to know more of the story. Jordan has become one of the first people to ever receive a private invitation to Gatsby's manor. The first, but surely not the last.
The engine of the running car alerted Gatsby to the arrival of his guest. Watching from the peephole on his door, Gatsby saw Jordan Baker elegantly remove herself from the car and wave her driver off. Her hips jumped left and right with vicious swagger after each step up the stairs. Gatsby, who was perhaps a bit too eager, opened the door before Jordan could even touch the handle.
"Miss Baker, I am delighted you could make it, honestly." It took all of his strength to mask his excited anxiety with a calm and collective grin.
"If you'll follow me through the foyer…" He said as he gestured down the hallway, just before beginning a brisk trot on the hardwood mahogany floorboards.
His freshly polished shoes clacked with each step, and Miss Baker's embroidered heels made a gruesome pound against the floor as she bounded after Gatsby. "It feels so different without so many people in it." Jordan mumbled to herself as she gazed around at the beautiful décor plastered against the massive walls.
Jay stopped abruptly and looked over his shoulder with a childish grin, as if admiring Jordan's ability to think aloud.
"It really does, doesn't it?" He chuckled under his breath, maintained his composure, and directed Miss Baker into a small room tucked away by quaint sliding doors.
The room itself was small, not much larger than a closet itself. The primary focus of the room was the hand-carved dark wood table, the two padded chairs on either side, and the freshly-prepared tea set made of fine china to compliment the furniture. In the back corner of the room was a barren bookshelf and an old settee, both well-adorned in dust.
Gatsby directed Jordan into the chair opposite him, directly across the table, and poured her a steaming glass of hot black tea. "Do you take it with sugar, Miss Baker?" He asked, reaching for the small spoon embedded deep in the sugar bowl.
"No – that's fine." She said with a polite, dismissive wave of her hand. Her lips met the scalding drink and her eyes met Gatsby's, locking contact for the entirety of her sip. Most men would find discomfort in a cold gaze such as Jordan Baker's, however Jay Gatsby felt a sort of tender curiosity.
Jay reached down beside his chair to retrieve a leather-bound book which he gently placed on the table, taking care not to disturb the tea. As he thumbed through the first few aged pages, it became blatantly clear that Gatsby had constructed a codex about Daisy Buchanan chronicling virtually every moment of their past relationship.
"Shall we?" Jay asked, his eyes finding it difficult to retreat from the photographs of Daisy that were sewn into the book.
Silence settled on Gatsby like dust on a neglected sport coat. The man had, as he had many times before, become lost in the memory of Daisy Buchanan. Jordan took notice of the change in Gatsby's mood. Where most would find sympathy for the lovesick man, Jordan found weakness in his spirit. His guard was down, his emotions exposed. Like a predatory spider, Jordan Baker pounced on the opportunity.
"God, Gatsby, I'm so incredibly uncomfortable craning over the table like this. You wouldn't mind if I and your little book took ourselves over to the settee, would you?"
Gatsby was shaken from his reverie, just as Jordan had hoped. In fact, he seemed stunned more than anything. He gestured with his open palm at the book and leaned back in the chair. "By all means, Miss Baker."
Miss Baker chuckled as she trotted to the couch, her hips expressing the same swagger as they had outside. "Mr. Gatsby... Call me Jordan." She fell back into the luxurious couch, letting the dust fly up around her on all sides. As the clouds settled Gatsby saw her lips curled into a hungry, sexual grin.
Jordan provided ample room for Gatsby to sit, but the settee didn't modestly accommodate two people. The seat was for lovers - the prime reason why Gatsby had it hidden away. A seat for two is no place for just one, after all.
As if the couch's tight space had amplified the intimacy in the room, Gatsby's voice dropped to a gentle and hushed tone. "Then... I suppose it's only fair if you call me Jay." He said, his whisper articulating each word as he spoke it out loud.
Both of their jaws relaxed, their eyes drawing together more tightly. Jordan reached up and put a hand on Jay's cheek, tugging him closer to her ever so gently.
"I suppose."
The words were an invitation and Gatsby wasted no time accepting. Their lips locked as both abandoned reason for desire. Jay's hand danced on the dusty leather until his fingers found Jordan Baker's cold thigh, protruding from her dress. The cold skin shocked him only slightly, but just slightly enough to allow the realization of the situation to set it.
As his lips pressed against Jordan's, images of Daisy Buchanan danced around behind his eyelids. He was lost in his passion. Everything was Daisy, now. He could smell her perfume and taste her tongue. He became hesitant. His promise was to Daisy, to faithfully love her until she could faithfully love him back. This... moment, with Miss Baker - it hardly fit the definition of 'faithful'.
Jordan could sense Gatsby's reluctance. She found his hand and dragged it up her torso until it cupped around her breast. She tugged her lips away from Jay's and let them parade around his cheek and down to his neck. Her tongue followed Gatsby's neck to his ear, where she paused to whisper her command.
"Let go, Jay. If only for once, just let go."
Jay's thoughts were frustrated, complicated. The emotion began to mix with the reason in his brain and before logic could dominate the situation, Jay did it - he let go. He fell into the darkness inside of himself, but this time he landed on something.
That "something" was Jordan Baker.
She moaned, a mix of pleasure and pain, as Gatsby's body pressed hers to the floor. There was a kind of fury to Gatsby's passion, now. He was frenzied as he tore the back of Jordan's sequin dress, stripping it from her torso and letting it dance at her waist. The first thing Jay noticed was that her chest lacked a brassiere. Her pale breasts hung before him, bare and exposed.
Jay put his tongue to one nipple, poised in defiance to the cold air. Jordan's head fell back as she expressed her approval in the form of a gentle moan. Gatsby used his hands to pull the dress from Jordan's waist, slipping it over her legs and onto the floor. His hand straddled her pelvis, one finger slipping inside. Jordan lurched with pleasure, snatching at Gatsby's tie.
Miss Baker began controlling the rhythm of Jay's finger by tugging on his tie, pulling his face inches from her and his finger inches deeper into her. The same passion that took Gatsby had built itself up inside Jordan and she shoved him off of her. Jay tumbled onto his back across the room and before he could gather his senses Jordan was crawling up between his legs.
Her hands found the button on his trousers and with a quick action of Jordan's nimble fingers, Jay Gatsby was exposed as well.
Jordan's adeptness in this situation was a marvel, especially for Gatsby, who's whole length pressed against the back of Jordan Baker's throat. His head was pressed back against the carpet as his hand against the back of Jordan's head controlled the pace of the fellatio.
Realizing Gatsby was close to his climax, Jordan utilized a spare hand as well as her mouth. Gatsby's eyes rolled into the back of his head and Jordan knew it would be only moments until she had been fed her supper.
Right as Jordan felt a spurt of hot liquid hit the back of her throat, there was a polite knock at the door.
"Mr. Gatsby, telephone."
Gatsby groaned through his orgasm, his own pleasure drowning out his servant's notification.
When Jay opened his eyes he saw Jordan sitting between his legs, wiping her mouth and looking at him. "What?" He asked, only now recognizing how truly exposed he was. He stood to find cover.
"You've got a call, it seems." Jordan stood as well, examining the remains of her dress.
"It can wait." Gatsby said, providing her with his sports coat to cover the tear in her outfit.
Jordan took the coat but brushed Jay's hand away. "No, no. Take your call. I best be going anyway."
Miss Baker opened the door to reveal the servant waiting faithfully, a phone resting a plate. He nodded as Jordan walked by.
"Miss Baker!" Gatsby called.
Jordan spun around, a playful smile painted on her face. "Call me Jordan!" She kept spinning until she was again facing the direction she was walking in, the direction of the door.
"Will you come again, for tea?" Gatsby called after her. Jordan, halfway through the door, did not stop. She let the door close on Jay's question before it could truly reach her.
Silence again settled over the mansion like a blanket of dust. With a sigh, Jay turned to the servant who held the phone. It had by this point stopped ringing. "Who was it?"
"Mr. Meyer Wolfsheim, sir."
Gatsby nodded as he took the phone in hand.
"Call him back."