Only Trick

“Not if he thinks he has to share you with me. Does he know we’ve been sleeping together?” I chuckle because I’ve stayed over at Trick’s several times, and he’s stayed with me too since that first night. We sleep together in the most literal sense. At least our complicated situation isn’t hindering his ability to still have an intimate, sexual relationship with Grady; although, it’s completely snuffing out the flames between me and Steven.

“No, I didn’t mention it.”

“Would he be mad?”

“No.”

I lean back to see his eyes. “Are you sure?”

He smirks. “Positive. Now go back to sleep,” he says, pulling my head back into his neck.

“Will you stay?” I murmur in a sleepy voice.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stay.”

*

I wake early to an empty spot beside me. It’s six o’clock and I have to be to work in two hours. Assuming Trick already left, I make my way to the bathroom but stop, hearing the shower and seeing the slit of light escape under the door. As I contemplate waiting for him to finish or going downstairs to make us eggs and jellied toast, I hear what sounds like a moan. My teeth clamp my bottom lips as I grab the handle to the large sliding door. Moving it barely an inch, I peek inside—heart thundering in my chest and pulsing in my throat.

Oh … my … God!

Through the steam-blurred glass shower door, I see Trick, tattoo-covered skin taut over tense muscles, head down, one hand against the wall and the other … wrapped around his cock.

My brain screams at me to shut the door. He’s human and humans masturbate. He’s a guy with a partner whom he goes months without seeing. It feels like I’m intruding on a private moment that’s certainly not meant for my eyes. Yet … I can’t look away. No matter how hard I try I just … can’t … look … away.

He’s amazing—a work of art. And I think I knew it weeks ago, but if not, I know it now. No man will ever compare to Trick. My husband, the father to my children, my earthly cliché of a soul mate will never live up to Trick. He’s perfection in my eyes.

I blink away my tears because every time I allow myself to think of him this way, all I feel is grief. It’s like I’m mourning the loss of something I never had.

“Fuck …” he groans as the hand against the wall curls into a fist and the hand holding his cock glides with quicker strokes along his hard length.

Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow again and again feeling my heart trying to break free from my chest. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my night shorts and panties, I touch myself, matching the rhythm of my hand to that of his. My fingers are his tongue along my clitoris. Then they become his cock as they slide into my wet channel. He’s less than ten feet away and I am desperate to remove my clothes and step into the shower with him. I want to taste him in my mouth and feel him buried inside of me, with nothing between us but wet, naked flesh.

He’s close … oh God … so am I. His hard glutes steel as he pulses into his hand. Into me. My fingers, his cock, thrusts inside me as I circle my thumb over my clit. He spills out onto the floor of the shower and I melt into my hand, both of us breathless. Closing the inch gap of the door, I lean against the wall next to it—flushed and ashamed.

This one’s all mine. I thought Nana and Trick were the perfect combination—what I couldn’t tell one I could tell the other. But this … it’s mine and as confusing and fucked up as it is, I just have to keep it to myself and hope it never happens again.

*

It happens again. Four more times to be exact! Once more at my house and three times at his. The last being just ten minutes ago. I think he does it every time he showers. Who can blame him? If I had that body and that penis, I’d stroke it every day too. I’m such a perverted Peeping Tom. I’d slit my wrists if he ever found out that I spy on him in the shower and masturbate with him. We’re both indulging in pleasure, yet his is normal and mine is stalker psycho.

“Grady’s flying in this weekend,” Trick announces, walking into his kitchen in jeans, no shirt—just like I like him.

I slide his plate over to him: jellied toast, eggs over easy, and juice. “Is that your way of telling me to make myself scarce for a while?”

“Hardly.” He kisses the top of my head and sits next to me at the counter. “We’re going to a party Saturday night. You should come.”