Page 36 of Blitz
“Holy shit,” I gasped across his puffy lips as my dick pulsed a few more times.
“Don’t pull out. Please,” he whispered breathlessly.
I nodded, kissed his lips once more, and buried my face into his sweaty neck where it joined his shoulder. His fingers moved over my heaving back as we floated downward from the summit, my cock growing flaccid.
“I gotta ease out, baby,” I said and got a sleepy sort of grumble in reply. Smiling at the tender sound, I moved reluctantly, cum oozing out of him as I did. I pulled up a corner of the sheet and tucked it between his legs before falling onto my stomach, face in the mattress as the fitted sheet was balled up under Trick’s shoulders. Or somewhere. Not really sure. Didn’t really care.
Trick lay beside me for a while, quiet, his leg resting over mine. When the silence began to move from sated to awkward, I pushed up to my elbows, ignoring the crick in my back from being in a yoga sphinx pose, and glanced to the side.
Trick was staring at me; his brow still damp with sweat and his lips tender and bright pink. The man was gorgeous. And, amazingly, he wasn’t wearing that panicked look.
“Thought maybe you fell asleep,” I lied. I’d been worried he’d been tumbling into the pit of shame after making love.
“No, I just kind of spaced out.” He moved to his side to stare at me with that piercing look he sometimes had. “You’re not like any other guy I’ve ever met.”
“Oh?” I smiled a little, unsure of where this was going. Knowing Trick and his fears, I suspected he was going to diveinto a meltdown and throw me out into the hall like a bag of sweaty trash. “Is that good or bad?”
“Not sure.” He ran a finger over an old scar on my shoulder. “What’s this from?”
“Rotator repair,” I answered softly, unwilling to startle him. It reminded me of stumbling upon a fawn in the woods and trying to interact with the timid creature. Trick was a flight risk for sure and, this here, was not a moment I wanted to lose. He was mellow, open, and temporarily willing to let those walls down for me. “First season in the pros. If you go over my body with a magic marker and make an X on every scar I got playing football, I’d look like a well-used tic-tac-toe board.”
He smiled knowingly. “We play hard sports.”
“Yep.” I heaved myself to my side to face him. The air conditioning was on, spreading the smell of sex, sweaty man, and the fragrance of some air freshener thingy somewhere in the room. “It takes its toll. In a way I’m glad this is my last year. I want to settle down. Find a man to cuddle with at night, take to dinners, and generally fuss over.”
His gaze moved from the scar on my shoulder to my face. “You want that with me?”
“I do, yes, if you’ll have me.”
He nodded, lost in thought, then he leaned over to kiss the white scar from my shoulder surgery before rolling from the bed. I watched him moving. Tossing the dirty sheet aside, padding into another room—the main bath, I soon discovered as I heard the sound of a shower being cranked on. I sat up, slowly, unsure if that was my dismissal or if I should join him. I had pushed myself on him more than I should have already. I eased myself to my feet feeling incredibly uncomfortable.
Trick peeked around the doorframe, holding out a massive pink and purple beach towel with a flamingo wearing shades on it.
“This was the biggest towel I could find.” He gave it a shake. I stood glued to the spot beside the bed. One of his sleek eyebrows quirked. “So, are you coming in to wash the jizz off or are you going to stand there looking dumb?”
“Oh. Probably going to look dumb for a few more minutes. Trick, are we done here now or are we going to be talking more? I’m not sure where I stand.”
“You’re standing in my bedroom. And yeah, we’ll talk more, but for now, I just want you close to me for a little while longer.”
That I could do.
That I wouldloveto do.
The world and its problems could hang on the line to dry just a little longer.
THIRTEEN
Trick
I was awake before Tom,watching his chest’s slow rise and fall as morning light filtered through the blinds. I’d never let anyone stay the night before. It was a rule—get off, get out. But last night, after the shower that had turned into another round against the tile wall, we’d fallen into bed, damp and spent, and I hadn’t been able to form the words to make him leave.
I didn’t want him to leave.
Now, he was sprawled across my sheets, one arm flung over his head, the other curled around my pillow. Vulnerable. Trusting. It made something twist in my chest.
What would it be like to wake up to this every morning? To open my eyes and see him there, warm and breathing, tangled in my sheets like he belonged? The thought clawed at something inside me I didn’t have a name for. Was I so wrong to want this? Was it so bad, the part of me that ached to be with a man, to be wanted and held and seen?
I’d spent so long convincing myself it was. That wanting another man meant I was broken or deviant. But looking at Tom, peaceful and real in the morning light, I didn’t feel broken—I felt human. I felt hope.
