Wood: A True Lover's Story

“You’re so good at that. I wanna taste you too, Hersch.” Trent folded over him, running his work-roughened hands along the tattoos covering his back. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Beautiful. Wood couldn’t recall ever being called that in his life. He squeezed his eyes closed as his orgasm hit at the same time Trent began to thrust into his mouth. He groaned, locking his jaws and riding out the pleasure as Trent emptied down his throat.

Chapter Forty-Three

Trent

Trent finally understood the saying “time flies when you’re having fun” because he’d never smiled as much in the last couple weeks than he did his entire life. He and Wood had settled into a comfortable routine where they went to work every day, came home, and ate dinner together. Typically, Wood cooked except the days he went to his meetings, otherwise Trent did his best to make them something edible.

After dinner he liked to get in some gaming time, but when Wood was finished working on his new portfolio, he demanded Trent’s attention. And he liked to use underhanded measures to get it. The experiences they’d been sharing were the highlight of his existence. Wood had missed a lot during his incarceration, and as he made up for lost time, Trent had been there to share those new memories with him. Like going to the movies, dining in fine restaurants, eating greasy hot wings and catching a Sunday night game, or just binge-watching all the great shows on new media he’d never heard of.

Then they’d fall into bed—usually Trent’s—listening to jazz and wake in the morning with their bodies entangled as if they’d unconsciously danced in their dreams. Lazily pleasuring and soaking up each other’s warmth until it was time to crawl out of bed and do it all over again.

Trent had been able to keep Wood closed in his tiny world, to himself, safe and sound from the naysayers and gossip. But now that Bishop was finished with finals, he was getting relentless in his requests to hang out, and Wood wasn’t taking any more excuses on keeping their relationship secret. Trent didn’t want to hide Wood. In fact he loved walking hand-in-hand beside him the few times they’d gone out or even picked up necessities for the house. Now Bishop and Edison were on their way over to hang out, and Wood was expecting Trent to be honest.

“Hey, you ready?” Wood asked, standing in his bedroom door. “They should be here soon. What do you want to order for dinner?”

Trent took a deep breath and ran his sweaty palms down his T-shirt.

“You look nervous,” Wood said, catching him by the elbow when he stepped into the hallway. “Don’t be.”

“If Bishop says that I—”

“Shhhh.” Wood gripped his chin, his deep voice sending heat down his spine as he gently covered his mouth with his. Trent opened and accepted the reassuring kiss, leaning against Wood’s chest. He breathed in that soft, gentlemanly scent in hopes of calming his racing heart. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“I know,” Trent lied.

Wood had him pressed against the wall, his greedy hands roaming up and down his sides before he reached around and palmed his ass. Trent groaned thinking about what’d happened this morning and what would probably happen again tonight.

“You think I’m gonna let anyone take this from me?” Wood rumbled against his throat, nipping at his pulse.

Please don’t. Trent didn’t know how he was going to convince Wood to stay with him, to not leave him, to build something together with him if Bishop didn’t approve. He was going to tell his best friend tonight that he was crazy about his old cellmate, but no matter what Bishop said, he would fight for what he wanted this time. “We better stop.” Trent grunted.

“Okay,” Wood muttered, his fingers grazing along the crease of his ass. “Just a little bit—”

Trent jumped at the sharp knock on the front door before he heard the latch open.

“We’re here,” Bishop called out, slamming the door a second later. “Where are you guys?”

Wood was watching Trent with a hurt expression, and he belatedly realized that he’d shoved Wood off him the moment he heard Bishop’s voice. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable kissing me in here,” Wood snarled, yanking open the hall closet door.

Trent scowled at Wood’s judgmental face and grabbed the door out of his hand. Just as Bishop and Edison rounded the corner, Trent slammed it shut hard enough to rattle the trailer. “Don’t be a fucking asshole.”

Wood crowded Trent until he was forced back against the wall. “Don’t speak to me that way, Trent.”

“Hey, yo. Wait a minute. What’s going on?” Bishop asked, easing his hand in between them and nudging Wood back a few steps. “Damnit. You two told me you were getting along.”