Trainer

by Marata Eros

  Krista cocks her head, giving me a look I can't figure. “Was she?”

  “Fuck no!” I explode off the couch, breaking our hands apart. I stalk to the window, place my forearm against the wood that wraps the glass, and stare into the black canvas of night. “She wasn't wanting it, Krista. I can't take that. Love the ladies, but only when they love me back. That's how it should always be.” I grind out each word. Just thinking about those fuckers makes me pissed off all over again.

  I hear Krista steal up behind me before her perfect embrace comes around my waist, and I cover her hands with mine. “Hey, Trainer, I believe you.”

  Turning, I look down at her, grasping her forearms. “Ya do?”

  Krista nods. “You're that kind of man.” Her eyes run over my expression, and whatever she sees there causes her to nod. “The kind of guy who'd hurt someone if they harmed someone who was defenseless.”

  Or kill them. I open my mouth to confess about Arnold Sulk.

  Then snap it shut.

  Can't. Too many truths, too fast.

  Instead, I say what I can. “The courts think it looks good for people like me to try to improve themselves.” I lift a shoulder then wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. We practically touch noses. “So me coming to you for learninʼ reading was for that.” I touch her face, feathering my thumb along her jaw. I add slowly, “Me being with you is for somethinʼ completely different.”

  “Oh?” Krista replies, her hand cupping the side of my face. “What reason?”

  Love, I figure.

  But I can't say that. I'm falling hard for this lady. Like I waited my whole life for this moment, the only moment that mattered.

  Here. Right now.

  With Krista.

  Instead of pressing me for the answer that's on the tip of my tongue, Krista grabs my shirt and pulls me closer.

  Our lips meet, and I use my other arm to set her against me as hard as two people can be and not be one.

  With a hop, Krista wraps her legs around my waist, and my hands latch onto her lush ass.

  Boner goes full tilt.

  “So much for talkinʼ,” I say, moving toward the small bedroom.

  Krista is already biting and kissing my neck, driving me insane. She shoots me a sly smile.

  “We've done enough talking for now.”

  I look down at her, pausing in the open doorway, the ancient nightlights sputtering their shitty glow just well enough to see her face. “It's my cock, right?”

  I ask it lightly.

  Krista nods. “Oh yes. It is.” Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she grins too hard to do it right.

  Then she straightens inside my palms, making herself taller, and kisses me deeply.

  Hot. Wet. Full. I gently spread her beneath me on the bed, admiring how right she looks. How right she feels.

  Krista sighs.

  It's the melody I've been waiting to hear.

  The tune of desire.

  Chapter 14

  Krista

  I arch off the bed as Trainer does the thing with his tongue down low, taking a long, wet pull down one side of my labia. In the next moment, he works himself up the other one.

  Again and again. Pausing only to flick his tongue on the bundle of sensitive nerves in the center.

  Gripping the bed linen between my fingers, I pant, heart racing. Coming, I have time to think and buck my hips hard.

  Trainer holds me still with a forearm as I yell an orgasm that sounds painful.

  It's not.

  I've just never been with a man who wants to pleasure a woman like he takes his next breath.

  His face pops up from between my legs, and he's licking my juices from his lips.

  Our gazes lock for a moment, and I give an exhausted little laugh.

  Climbing up my body, Trainer plants his forearms at either side of my face, using his hands to press all the loose hairs against my temples that had been scattered by my flailing.

  “You made me come about four times,” I say in a semi-dazed voice.

  Trainer nods. “Like it.” He kisses my lips softly.

  A lazy smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, you do.” Sliding my hand between us, I grab hold of his mammoth penis.

  His breath catches, and it's my turn to watch Trainer's expression go hard with lust, where it was soft on me before.

  “Krista,” he grinds out between his teeth.

  I'm so evil. “Yes,” I whisper, nipping at his bottom lip like a she-demon.

  “I…” His head dips, and he rests his chin on my chest. “I gotta…”

  I push him over, momentarily letting go of his hard length, and Trainer rolls over on his back, looking up at me with eyes gone liquid with desire, colorless in the gloom lit only by weak nightlights.

  I don't ask permission or give much thought. Bending over Trainer, I wrap my fingers around the base of him and bring the tip of him to my lips. After licking him, I plunge downward.

  He groans, grabbing the back of my head.

  Uncertain, I pause.

  “Please,” he says.Wetting my lips again, I slide down the length of his cock again as far as I can without gagging, which is barely a third of the way. Tightening the seal of my lips, I draw back up him, smacking hard at his tip.

  His large hand guides me back.

  Establishing a rhythm, I add my hand where my mouth can't go and work up and down, glossing my hand with spit to make it smooth.

  I know Trainer's mine when his body stiffens.

  “Gonna come,” he whispers, dropping his hands to fists at his sides.

  Lots of women have probably done this for him. Trainer's obviously experienced.

  But I bet not many of them have stayed where they were for my reasons.

  His big cock grows impossibly harder, and a subtle vibration lets me know seconds before it happens.

  Hot come shoots from the tip of him, filling my mouth, and I swallow it—more like choking and gasping for air.

  I get every drop. Savoring him down.

  When everything's gone, I lay his spent penis gently down, and he half rolls over on me, big hands caging my face.

  “Whadya do that for, Krista? I don't need nothinʼ.”

  I search his eyes in the gloom. “You give me so much pleasure, Trainer, it seemed only natural to give some back.” I cup his jaw, feeling the rough texture of day-old stubble peppering his strong jaw. “I wanted to,” I add in a voice barely above a whisper.

  He leans close. His kiss is soft, like breath and warm air above my lips. I smell me and him mingled in that gentle press of flesh.

  Trainer laughs, and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Don't think I can finish you off again.”

  His palm sweeps toward his crotch. His penis soft after what I did.

  “Was that even a possibility?” I laugh.

  His face goes solemn.

  Taking his hand, I do what Trainer did to me the other day: I kiss the middle of his palm. “This is better than sex for me.”

  “Really?” he asks in disbelief.

  I nod. “I've never…” Stopping, I think about my words then start again. “Having sex isn't always about a man putting his penis in a woman. Sometimes, it's sharing each othersʼ bodies and exchanging pleasure. That makes it ʻrealʼ sex, right?”

  Trainer stares, trailing a finger down between my naked breasts. “Felt good to me.”

  His smile is shy, and I capture his finger. “And it might also have something to do with the fact that no man has ever, ever, done the things you do to me.” I feel the blush, but bravely hold his eyes through the shy feeling, adding, “For me.”

  The amber light from an old nightlight partly illuminates his face, and I swear I can make out his answering blush.

  Trainer begins to pull away, and I haul him closer by the finger I grabbed.

  He could get away if he wanted. Instead, he gives me that bashful, wounded gaze I caught a glimpse of only last week.

&n
bsp; “Ya sure, Krista?”

  Placing my face against his hand, I whisper, “Oh yeah, so sure.”

  We lie together, legs and arms entwined, for a long time after that.

  Intimate.

  Just in the way I always wanted, and thought I could never have.

  *

  Trainer

  My lady fell asleep inside the curve of my body.

  Makes my chest feel liquid hot to watch her sleep. Not like the sweet butts. I knew what I was to them.

  They didn't want to sleep with me, and I didn't want to sleep with them.

  I wanted to sleep with a lady who'd want me. Sleeping's different than fucking.

  Giving a hard swallow, I allow myself to think the forbidden wish I'd never let myself hope for:

  Having a lady for forever.

  I been wanting a woman of my own since I could think it up. Not a whore like my mama, but a lady. A girl who would be mine. Only mine.

  Deep down, I always knew I was too dumb to deserve it.

  Searching Krista's face as she sleeps, I can't see the shit I see in so many people’s faces.

  Deceit.

  How is it that Krista escaped the lessons of lying everybody else learns so good?

  A single hair crossing the bridge of her nose lifts with each exhale, and I pluck it from her face, gently adding it to the rest of her dark, soft hair that cascades across my pillow like a fan of exotic silk.

  Darkness spills like grease into my thoughts, coating them with questions.

  What if Krista finds out about Arnie?

  It's a sealed case, Judge told me. “Nobody knows because you were a minor.”

  So why doesn't that fact make me feel better? Krista isn’t the kind of girl to blow off a murder. And Arnie wasn't dead after a single blow from that ashtray. I came back and did it as many times as it took to finish what needed doinʼ.

  Until the little bit of brains the fucker had washed up on the rank carpet like the tide from a gray ocean.

  Watching Krista, I can't help thinking that I'd do it again. Kill a dozen more Arnies.

  Judge is right. I have a taste for killinʼ now. Not just anybody. The right somebodies.

  Krista groans in her sleep. Shifting to her side, she buries her face against my chest, and my throat constricts with emotion.

  Trainer doesn't cry.

  And the kid who was Brett Rife knew better.

  Why would the urge come over me now, when my life has a glimmer of hope? Of being happy for fucking once.

  Then it comes to me: Because I didn't think it'd ever happen.

  I was hopeless.

  Then I found Krista.

  *

  Krista

  Rolling over, I find myself not in my own bed, but next to a warm body.

  Eyelids springing open, I meet Trainer’s slitted gaze. His translucent green eyes seem to glow like a cat's in the pale morning light seeping around the edges of a filmy drape that hangs from the single window.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Trainer grins, not saying a word.

  “My, aren't you the cat that ate the canary?”

  He frowns at the expression, and I want to kick myself. “I mean…” I stammer, slightly flustered. “You look satisfied.”

  Trainer nods. “I am.” Upon closer inspection, I see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot. Frowning, I ask, “You didn't sleep well?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Too busy watching my lady.”

  “Oooh…” I flutter my eyelashes at him. “I love the way you say that.”

  Trainer kisses the tip of my nose, and I suddenly think I need to get my ass in a bathroom and brush my teeth, take a pee—ick. “I'm going to use the bathroom.” I draw away, not wanting to contaminate the moment with all my morning goodness.

  Trainer lies back down, palm to chest and the other hand tucked behind his head. “Sure. Have at it all. Got a extra toothbrush in there too. Club prospects stock extra toiletries.”

  “Oh.” I don't know what he means exactly, but I'm super happy for a potential toothbrush.

  And the possibility of a shower. Like now.

  Padding across the living room, I take in the spartan space, which looks like an antique bachelor's pad.

  Clicking on the light for the bathroom, I'm guessing it was put in when indoor plumbing came to the area.

  Like in 1930.

  Wow, the fixtures are museum-worthy. The pedestal sink with chrome-covered solid brass taps is complete with a steady drip, drip into the basin.

  I check out the shower, and it's tiny, with only glass block and a small opening to slide into what looks like a porcelain enamel basin.

  The toilet is no different. The tank is huge and wall hung, separated from the bowl by an elephant-trunk pipe for refilling.

  I smirk at the archaic thing. Bet that's not a one-point-six gallon flush.

  Turning on the shower faucet to hot, I get to brushing my teeth. Checking myself out in the mirror, I decide I don't look too bad. I laugh. No, Krista, just put away wet.

  Shutting the door to the bathroom, I spit then rinse and repeat. When the water is finally steaming, I step into the shower. Using a neutral-smelling shampoo and soap sitting on a built-in tile shelf, I wash up my finely used parts, twice.

  I know that they want to be used again. My pussy gives a happy little anticipatory pulse at just the thought.

  Soft rapping comes at the door when I've just wrapped my hair in a worn towel.

  I open it.

  Trainer stands there naked, arms crossed against a muscular chest as he leans against the jamb. “Feelinʼ better now?”

  I should say so, but I'm silent. Instead, I swing the door wide, letting the towel covering my body drop to the floor.

  Apparently, Trainer's not worried about morning anything.

  Scooping me against him, he swings me into his arms. “Do I need to shower too?”

  Heart speeding, I shake my head. “No,” my voice sounds like a thread.

  “Good.” Trainer doesn't hesitate, going straight for the bedroom.

  *

  “I guess we can't do this all day,” Trainer says. “Gotta get some fuel eventually.”

  Running my hand over a stomach like flat muscled cobblestones, I reply with a question in my voice, “Looks like you're pretty cut. Do you eat a lot?” My eyebrow quirks.

  “Cut?” Trainer shakes his head, his face doing an ah-huh moment. “Don't do gym time. Eat a lotta food, though.” He smacks his hard belly.

  He's so lean. Not skinny like some men who are naturally that way. Trainer's got broad shoulders like a swimmer, an eight pack, and heavily muscled arms.

  I'm not much for exercise and I consider hearing about others doing it my vicarious exercise. Probably doesn't qualify, I guess.

  “A lot,” he says with a smirk, and heat whips across my face.

  He went after my pussy again, first with his mouth, then with his cock.

  “Yeah,” I say softly, “maybe have to take a day's break.”

  Trainer stares into my eyes, that fleeting vulnerability making a showing again in his green gaze. “Did I hurt you?”

  I shake my head. “No, but you're built big, and”—my eyes move away then back to him—“I love how you feel inside me, stretching me.”

  God do I. Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I let it pop back out. I shouldn't tell him. Then I do. “I love how big your dick is.”

  “As long as you don't think I am one.”

  Covering his lips with my hand, I say, “I'd never think that. But I'm afraid I have to prove the cliché correct: size does matter.”

  Trainer laughs. “You said you don't need…” He pauses.

  “Penetration,” I insert.

  “Yeah.”

  My smile feels bright on my face, like I captured a star of happiness. “With you. No. I don't need it.”

  I take Trainer's hands and cup them against my heart. “But I love it.”

  Trainer gathers m
e against him for the second time in a day.

  When we finally eat, it's later than ever.

  Because there were more important things to do than food.

  Chapter 15

  Allen

  He will die.

  The old coot who spawned me—who’s decided to withhold my rightful inheritance because I haven't married a sniveling, do-gooder, bleeding heart, tree-hugging cunt like Krista Glass—will eventually succumb to age.

  Yet, for now, my ass-kissing days are not behind me.

  I raise the brandy snifter, filled with a perfectly delicious sacrilegious cider beer with a bright, crisp taste, and stare at my wretched father over the fine crystal rim.

  “Cheers,” I say without enthusiasm.

  “Allen,” Orson Rothschild begins with a tone of voice I abhor, “if you were to partake of the beverage that server was intended to hold, you would sound merrier.”

  Father's smirk is the same, pushed into a surgery-enhanced face.

  He considers himself a Hugh Hefner lookalike and dresses in velvet and expensive lounge sets. He’s smoking a horrible pipe in the lavish drawing room where we meet.

  After having called me like a dog to heel to quiz me about who I've decided to permanently tolerate.

  Jesus.

  I turn away from my father's penetrating stare, hiding my sourness, and stare at the lushness of Lake Washington. The mansion’s many windows face the sparkling depths.

  Father lives in Medina, an expensive neighborhood that houses the rich of Washington state. Though Bill Gates could arguably be among the richest of the world, he resides here, as well.

  Today is gray, like many days in the Pacific Northwest, and though rain doesn't fall, the outdoors are pregnant with the potential.

  I take another sip, staring at the waves, painted an angry gray to match the sky—and my mood.

  “So how is lawyering?” Father asks casually.

  I know from raw experience that he is the least casual person of my acquaintance.

  “The same. Tedium.”

  “I see.”

  I give him a sharp look, thinking that if I have to slice and dice my face to remain youthful forever, as my father has, I might as well die now and get it over with.