CHAPTER 72
KIAN
My ass is sore, and the wet spot seeping through my jeans is as uncomfortable as it is hot. After Trent helped me get dressed, he carried me back to the truck. It was so freaking sweet, I almost died. But when my ass connected with the firm leather, I couldn’t hold back my flinch.
The guilt in Trent’s eyes while he fawned over me had me trying to contain my eye roll. I’m not fragile. I’ve had plenty of stuff up my ass. It’s just different when it’s something attached to an actual person.
He was so gentle and took his time prepping me. The stretch I felt from his fingers has my hole feeling empty now and begging to be filled again by him already.
Compared to some of the rough porn stars out there, I think Trent would make a great one. His thrusts, his body language, the way he kissed me. Our videos would be killer if we made content. People would be out of their minds with lust.
Once Trent has me situated, and himself situated, he looks at me with so much love that my fingers twitch with the need to touch the air and see if it’s tangible.
“So,” he starts, putting the truck in drive and carefully pulling away from the parking spot, taking extra care to avoid the potholes in the old lot.
I stare at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
“How was it?” The tips of his ears burn pink, matching the blush on his face.
A wide smile takes over my mouth seeing his bashful side. The man who had me folded in half like a lawn chair is acting shy now. It’s adorable.
I shrug my shoulders, hoping to come across nonchalant. “It was okay.”
“Oh… okay.” His eyes focused on the road slowly downcast, the air around us freezing with tension. I feel awful about the joke as soon as I see the sullen look on his face.
“I’m just kidding, Sunshine. It was perfect. You were perfect.” I lean across the console and kiss him on the cheek, feeling the rough stubble against my lips. “I love you,” I reassure him, pulling back and resting my head on his arm and twining my hand around his resting on the console. The need to touch him and be close to him pumps through me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He furrows his eyebrows, alternating his attention from the road and then back to me.
Am I okay? I just got dicked down, amazingly I might add, in a park named after me. That my boyfriend bought for me. I think I’m doing better than okay.
“Trent, I promise. I’m okay. It was a dumb joke. That was…intense. Mind-blowing. It was extraordinary. Just like you.” I take a page out of his book, tracing symbols and words on the cords of muscles in his arms.
The drive to Mitch’s is faster than it should be, and my emotions… and my ass… are raw. I love Mitch, and I want to see him and spend time with him. It’s been constantly us over there, or him over at Trent’s. I know one day I won’t be able to use Trent as a buffer for the hard stuff, and the universe is giving me signs that today will probably be that day.
“Can we go home and shower before we go over to Mitch’s?” I ask. “I’d rather him not see the debris on us from our romp in the park.” And I’m not one to pass up on the opportunity of seeing Trent in the shower, completely naked, with his sleeve of tattoos on display for my eyes only.
“Yeah, but we’re in charge of dinner tonight. Mitch said it’s our treat, since we’re showing up late.”
I gape at him. “You told me that he knew and was okay with it,” I accuse.
“We were supposed to be there forty-five minutes ago. The only reason I know we’re on dinner duty now is because he sent me multiple messages. I hate to tell you Freckles, but he knows exactly what we were doing.” Groaning, I thud my head against his arm, feeling his chuckle rumble. “It’s not the first time, or probably the last. At least he didn’t walk in on us.”
I cringe. “He has once, though. Do you not remember how traumatizing that was? I couldn’t look him in the eyes for two weeks. And he constantly made jokes.”
“He’ll be doing the same tonight. He’s already started.”
***
One quick shower, keeping our hands off each other while we’re trying to get dressed, and two extra strength tylenol later, and we’re ready to go. Trent looks mouthwatering, and if it weren’t for me already worrying about what Mitch would think, I would demand Trent pose so I can take pictures of him. He’s the perfect model to try out my camera on.
“You’re going to model for me when we get back, just so you know,” I tell him, staring up at him from where I’m sitting on the couch gawking at him.
He smiles, showing off the gap between his teeth. He’s wearing a dark gray henley, with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, showing off his tattoos. Specifically the one of my eyes, and I want to trace my tongue across it and eat him up. Those aren’t appropriate thoughts before we go over to Mitch’s house though. His jeans are glued onto him, the tree trunks he calls legs somehow fitting in the tight blue material.
“Quit staring, or we’ll be late.” Trent bends over and kisses me on the crown of my head, running his fingers through the curls I just put product on.
“Your hands are going to be sticky. You better wash them before we go. We don’t want Mitch getting the wrong idea,” I say.
His laughter is loud, and echoes through the house, filling the space with the joyous sound. I want to bottle it up and store it away so I can have it whenever I want.
He goes to the kitchen to rinse his hands, and I take in the space in front of me. How much has transformed in a small amount of time. Our shoes are sharing racks by the front door, a mix of Converse, work shoes, and a pair of kitten heels I got for my photo shoot next month.
I haven’t asked Trent to go, because I’m not sure if I’ll back out like I’ve been doing. But I want to go, not because I want to model, but because I want to show Trent the world. He deserves to have adventures and experiences, and I want to be the one to supply him with them.
There’s framed pictures of us on his mantel. Collages of our polaroids, a picture of us at graduation, pictures of us with Mitch that we took on self-timers. It’s a story of our life together, and there’s still so much space waiting to be filled.
His closet is full of my clothes, and I don’t even know why I keep the hotel room when it’s about as useless as condoms at a convent, but sometimes we hang out there instead of over here.
It feels like we’re really dating this time, getting to know each other and our hobbies and interests. Different from the first time we were together when we were two kids who put their faith in each other. But now, we’re healthier. We have friendships outside of each other, we have communication skills we didn’t have before, and most importantly, we have the knowledge of what it’s like to be apart.
And that’s the driving factor that keeps me working on myself more than anything. I know what it feels like to lose Trent, and I never want to feel like that again.
If I have to go to therapy every day to work through my issues to make sure we have a chance in this life, I will. I will work however hard I need to just to make sure I can have Trent in my life.
He comes back into the living room, sitting down beside me and pressing in close enough I can smell his aftershave. He’s keeping his stubble, but he makes sure to shave the stragglers. I would have never thought it before, but I love the stubble lining his cheeks. It gives him a distinguished man look. Which is what he is with all the different businesses him and Adam have invested their money in together. He’s grown a lot since I left, and I love seeing the happiness on his face knowing that he’s doing what he loves now. Even if I don’t always understand it.
“Do you want to go to California with me next month?” Smooth. Very smooth. Not exactly how I planned on it coming out, but I guess there’s no time like the present.
“California, seriously? What are we going to do there?” he asks. The excitement he’s trying to hide is charming.
“Well, there’s lots to do. We could go to Disneyland, the beach, the Hollywood sign. You know, just be typical tourists.”
There’s a crap ton of other stuff to do, but the main thing I want to take him to is a poetry night. The lineup is full of queer poets, and I want him to do something that he loves. He’s always loved poetry and writing, and I know he says he journals now, but I want to be able to give him the inspiration to be himself.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Yeah?” I question back, parroting his response.
“Yes! Of course I’ll go with you.” He tackles me onto the couch, my back meeting the cushions and his full weight crashing on top of me. He kisses all over my face and neck before coming back to my face and worshiping it with his mouth.
“I love your freckles,” he says against my face, kissing my cheeks. “I love your smile.” He traces my mouth with his finger, and I nip at it. He pulls it away laughing. “I love your determination.” My smile slowly drops as awe takes over. Because this man loves me, not just for how I look or because of our history. “I love your snarky attitude and your obsession with photography.” He loves me for me. Not what I can provide for him, but for what’s inside.
“I love you,” I say, pulling his mouth to meet mine in a flurry of emotions. “I love how strong you are. How you always take care of me. Your dedication to the things and people you love.”
Trent rests his forehead against mine, sharing the same breath, and I know I could live forever in this moment.