Pausing, I let myself take a couple of breaths and really thought about this for a minute. My dick didn’t want me to do that but something deeper in me, the part where song lyrics poured out without effort, like paint filling a canvas on its own, told me to stop and think. Think, Trevor. This really wasn’t all that different from home. My mom was likely to be asleep in front of our TV right now, her last whiskey sour diluting on the coaster on the end table next to her, the ice cubes melting with the vestiges of alcohol. The house disheveled until the maid service came that week and the quiet, the 2 a.m. preternatural calm. I could link my home to this place and strip away the differences.
Darla was somebody who wanted more but had decided to – no, had resigned herself to – take what the world laid out for her. And in my own, completely different way, that’s exactly what I had done. I slipped past Cathy and outside, off the crooked porch. My footsteps crunched through whatever made up the door yard and thwacked against my soles, the flip flops little better than nothing. My hand shook, just a little, as I reached up to open the door to Darla’s carved-out little piece of paradise.
Darla
Mama’s sugars had been fine, which surprised me, but her issues were an afterthought, my brain so full of candy and fog and Trevor and – oh, dear God, all of it. I wanted to will all of the crazy, all of the neglect, all of the daily grind away and just focus on him. I’d gone into the back bathroom and done as quick a cleanup job as I could, a washcloth, a toothbrush and some dental floss like magic potions in a witch’s bag.
I needed to beat Trevor out to my little shed to prepare and be ready for what was coming. It’s funny, when I picked him up on the side of the road and found myself wanting him, that’s all it had been. Just wanting a romp, something novel. An experience that just got me out of my head and out of my life and gave me some crazy yarn to spin, sitting at a bar, telling stupid stories to other people as we descended into drunkenness.
I wasn’t so puritanical that I wouldn’t have a beer or eight when the time was right. My pot-smoking days were few and far between, and unlike so many people I knew, I didn’t get stupid drunk. Unlike two thirds of my graduating class, I had other forms of entertainment besides Netflix and altered states.
For me, it was the music – and now I had my real life lyrics in physical form before me. The maker of so many of my dreams walking up the steps to my little dream maker home. I’d spun this place into what it was as a haven. It started out because I couldn’t stand the smell of stale cigarettes – at least that’s what I told myself.
And now as Trevor walked in, the creak of the door hinge like a prayer being answered. He closed it, slid the bolt into its proper hole and then turned to me, hair damp and perfect, darker, clinging to his scalp. Those blue eyes right on me.
Then he said, “Come here.”
I took the deepest breath I could muster as Trevor kissed me, his hands roaming all over my ass and back, taking me in like he was greedy for me. My hands did the same, finding tight muscles and loose clothes and a slightly-stubbled jawline that made me want to scratch myself against it forever, inhaling the sweet scent of Trevor and my own soap and a pureness.
Lavender and eucalyptus were my favorite scents, sprinkled liberally throughout my little home, wafting through my senses as he explored me with hands and mouth and ragged breaths that spoke a language so different from what we’d said to each other even at the rest area.
Something had shifted. Something had changed. Showing him my life and making myself naked before him in a completely different way made him more there. Our there was more there and damn it if he didn’t use those large man palms to pull my ass up and grind his hard, needy erection into me.
“Sure thing,” I murmured when we came up for air between kisses, the glow of my Christmas lights making us seem warmer than I ever imagined I could be. Time to take things nice and slow, to let this little cocoon just be. Letting go of my worries about what he thought of my life was my biggest challenge until right now.
And then it just unfolded and dropped, like an apple that decides to release itself from its ripe little connection to the large tree. His fingertips grazed my face, as if memorizing the lines of my cheekbones, my lips, and I opened my mouth to take his index finger in, sucking and laving it, his groan my victory lap.
Well, not quite. That would come much, much later.
He held me and leaned me back, slowly, down to my tiny little bed, his arms and legs strong enough to gently stretch us both with little effort. So strong, so controlled – no man had done that before, a move you would see from a prince resting his princess in a bed of roses. All I had was a down-covered memory foam mattress and that was more than enough as his hands touched every part of me, cupping my breasts and inhaling me, seeming to revel in just my very presence, as if I were enough.
Without asking, he tugged my shirt up and I helped him, my silent yes an eager response to a question he never had to ask. The confidence was something new to me – Trevor wasn’t taking, and he wasn’t assuming I owed him something. This was a partnership, two people enjoying each other, and it was his sense of respect for me that was the biggest damn turn-on ever, making me pulse and throb because at the core of my being I’d always wanted this and here he was, handing it out effortlessly, eyes trained on mine, sharing a sense of something bigger than us both.
I could live like this forever. A sob crawled up my throat and I swallowed it down, the joy of finding this so great I nearly cried. Then a cold wave of air hit my chest as Trevor stripped me, his hands at my waistband, pulling my unbuttoned pants down.