Chapter 3
Sex, Frozen Chicken Dinners, Hot Sauce and Half Truths

Warning: M/F Sex, language.
Thanks to EvilGrin for beta

My hair is soaked and it'll be a mass of tangles when it's dry. Our skin is moist and pulls the sheets, dampens them, but none of that matters. I kneel in the middle of the bed as I wait for Trevor to join me. He glances at the framed picture I put on the nightstand then back at me. His face is, once again, unreadable except for the desire I can clearly see in his eyes.

Trevor yanks the covers out of the way, wraps his arms around me and lowers me to the mattress. I move, spread my legs and sigh as his hips settle against mine. The fit is perfect, his lean hips nestle in mine like they were made for me alone. Wonder if he realizes it too. That this is where he belongs.

We kiss again, but he's hard as a rock and I don't think he's willing to take this slow. He wants, needs release. I tilt my hips and his eyes go dark. He moves slightly and slides in without effort. Perfect.

No positioning, no forcing or waiting to adjust. Just sheathed to the hilt and both of us lose our breath again.

His movements are slow at first, just a small rotation of his hips as our fingers lace into each others'. Grip and hold. He puts our arms over my head, leans down to kiss me and thrusts deep. I cry out and he gives me another sharp, quick thrust.

When he pulls out, it's slow. Fast in, slow out, then he changes it, switches it, slow in, fast out. Rotate, grind. Deep and shallow. Head drags over my g-spot. Fuck, that feels so good.

I try to let go of his hands so I can pull him closer but he won't let me, just holds me there, open for him. I cry out his name as he thrust deep and hard in again a few more times and I'm trembling under him.

He lets go of my hands finally, and wraps them under my arms and grips my shoulders as he pumps in and out of me at a pace that's driving me insane. Not too fast, not too slow. In and out. Deep, slow, fast. Sharp.

I grip his back, dig deep, pull him to me, hold. Listen to his moans of pleasure, his grunts of effort.

"Yes, Trevor. Harder, please."

He chuckles again, nips at my ear, but his breathing changes and I know he's getting close.

He moans my name, the sound long and rich, deeply accented. "Fuck, Lettie," he gasps as his fingers dig deeper, he thrusts harder, faster.

Oh, fuck yeah, I think. That's it, "Right there, baby, yes. I'm gonna cum,"

His right hand leaves my shoulder and goes to my face, cupping it as he kisses me and we both still. Mouths open against one another but unable to do anything but shudder in and out air as we begin to cum together.

I arch into him, feel my nails dig deep making him growl as he unloads himself deep inside of me again.

Our foreheads rest against each other as we pant and try to catch our breath again. When I move my hand, he winces and I feel bad. I look at my fingers and see a bit of blood.

The sight horrifies me. I've never, in my life, drew blood on any man I've had sex with.

My shocked eyes snap to his and I shake my head, "Oh, God, Trevor, I'm so sorry." Fuck, my nails aren't even that long, but I still broke his skin.

His smile and chuckle is pure masculine satisfaction. The cat that got the cream and I let out a nervous breath.

"Didn't expect you to have claws," he teases me with a wink and I giggle.

"Sorry about that. It's never happened before." Though, I didn't think it was possible, his grin grows bigger, and I think he might have actually purred. "Great, now I've given you a big head."

Trevor laughs and shifts his body slightly. He pulls off the ring he wears on his middle right finger and picks up my hand. First he puts it on my left ring finger, pushes up on the bottom and then he places it on my left thumb and kisses my knuckles.

"I'll need that back, once Boulet gets me a ring, but wear this one for now to remind Bowers to stay the fuck away."

My heart is pounding and my throat feels tight. In the year I've known him, I've never seen him without this ring on. It's yellow gold and has his initial carved in it with a fancy scrolling font.

I always found it oddly sexy, that ring on his lean, long fingers. Not a lot of men wear rings like that, outside of a wedding band. It must mean a lot to him.

I look at it on my thumb, it just fits and tries to spin when I brush my finger over top of it. The metal is still warm from his hand and while I know it doesn't mean anything to him to give it to me, even temporarily, it means everything to me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to act casual. I know he'll see through me, he always does, and that makes me wonder how long he's known how I feel about him. I can't quite meet his eye when I ask him where he got it.

"My father gave it to me when I turned eighteen." He trails his finger overtop of it and then rubs his middle finger where the dent has made in the skin stands out against the darker surrounding skin.

"He died a month later from cirrhosis of the liver."

Ok, that explained why he didn't drink.

Laying naked under Trevor, his blood still tinting my fingernails as his softened penis still rests close to where I drip from him, I've learned more in these past five minutes than I have in a year. Is this why he doesn't get close to people, usually? Could it be that once you breech the wall, it just crumbles at his feet?

His voice is soft when he asks, "Size five?"

I can only nod and bite my bottom lip. Yes, size five. He goes to roll away and I stop him, "Wait, let me clean up your back first."

He grunts and tells me not to worry about it but I will. I'll obsess about infection and scars. I scramble up and go back to the bathroom. I refuse to look at myself in the mirror. I don't want to see how scary my hair looks or how obvious my feelings are in my eyes.

I find some peroxide and cotton balls and I know it's gonna sting like a bitch. He curls his lip at me when I come back in the room but I roll my eyes at him.

"Stop being a baby and roll over." He arches a brow at me but turns onto his stomach and puts his hands under his chin. I straddle him, still naked as the day I was born.

I open the bottle, moisten the little ball and put it to the worst of the marks. There's only six and one of them is more of a deep scratch. I cringe in symphony when he sucks in a breath. "Sorry." I tell him again and he just snorts.

"You're dripping on me."

"What?"

He looks over his shoulder and gestures lower with his eyes, "You're dripping on me."

I look down between my legs and see the wetness on his lower back. I snicker, look at his face and then proceed to laugh my ass off.

Trevor just blinks at me and waits me out. When I'm done, I look at him and he looks back at me, "That only made it worse."

I start to giggle again and this time he joins me.

"Aw, fuck, I can't believe we didn't use a condom. Twice." He curses and looks at me like it might be my fault.

"I'm on the pill." I tell him and he nods.

"I know, saw the pack in the bathroom,"

"Got my letter last week," I say casually and I know he'll know know what I'm talking about, "You?"

"First of the month."

"So, we're good?" I ask and he nods.

"Still should use one," he muttered and looks down at the pool of our combined cum at the base of his spine. "It's easier to clean up at least."

I'm sitting there, a brown bottle of peroxide in one hand, a bloody cotton ball in the other and all I know is that I don't want to use one with him. Ever.

"I like feeling you," I whisper, glance at him and then jump off and dash back to the bathroom where I wash my hands and grab a wash cloth for his back. I clean him up before I go back in the bathroom, try to make some sense out of my hair. In the end, I twirl it into a bun and call it a night.

Night has fallen while I was hiding, and he's turned on the lamp. The soft glow does amazing things to his skin and hair and I just want to crawl up his body and make myself his blanket. The light glints off of his chest hair and his eyes seem to glow.

My eyes are blue, very blue, but his make me weak. The way he looks at you, he knows how to use them to get what he wants. I've seen him stare down hardened criminals with them and I've seen him comfort small children with those same eyes. They make me melt and they make me weak, but most of all, they make me love him more than I have the right to.

"Are you hungry?" I ask him, just looking for something to say. He just says my name, drawls it and I stop and breathe. Try to calm myself.

I meet his eyes and try not to tremble as I do so. "I like the feel of you, too," he tells me softly and I want to melt, right there in a puddle. I give him a small smile because if I did more than that, I would probably leap around the room like an asshole.

I walk over to the chest of drawers and open the top one. I pull on a pair of white cotton boy cut panties and a white beater tank top. I hear him curse and I frown over my shoulder at him, "What's wrong?"

He points to my outfit and wiggles his finger, "That is sexier than that dress and thong you had on earlier."

"Thanks," I tell him and when he stands, I mimic his gesture back at him, "That is sexier than what you had on earlier too... though, not much."

He looks down at his naked body and back at me, "I'm not sure if I should take that as a complement or not."

I walk over to him slowly and kiss his lips, "Oh, trust me, it's a complement because you were looking really sexy in all that black."

I leave him to do what he wants to do as I head to the kitchen. There's not much here, mostly frozen dinners and I sigh. The single man's best friend. Looks like I'm heading to the store in the morning.

I do find some frozen veggies hiding behind all of the Hungry Man meals and I'm shocked that he actually eats this shit. When I hear him behind me, I let him have it.

I pull out a chicken dinner and wiggle it under his nose, "Do you have any idea what is in these? The amount of fat and sodium? They don't even taste good."

He snickers, "After eating MRE's they taste like homemade."

Well, guess I can't argue with him there.

"Is this what you've been living off of for the last two months?" He just shrugs and toss in a little dig, because that's what he and I do when we're together, "Thought you looked heavier."

He stops and looks at me and I can tell how shocked he is. It's hard not to bust out laughing. "If I've gained weight, it's cause Boulet isn't here to eat all my food or making it toxic with all his hot sauce."

I laugh at that, "Really. Who eats Tabasco on their oatmeal?"

"That's what I asked him. He told me it's hot sauce, not Tabasco. Black men don't call it Tabasco."

"It's still disgusting. Blueberries or banana's. That's what you put in oatmeal." I put my arms around his waist and grin up at him. "You've lost weight, Trevor, I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine, Colette."

"How much longer?" I ask him. We need to know, at least have an idea, but I need to know so I can prepare myself.

"It's a big job, I'd say at least a couple of months," he licks his lips and runs his finger over my forehead. "You gonna be able to stick this out that long?"

"I knew coming into this that it might take a while." When I try to move away he grips my arms tight and looks me dead in the eye.

"If you're under long enough, sometimes the lie becomes the truth."

"Is that what happened?" I whisper and he just looks at me, "Trevor? Who are you, really? Are you Trevor Lorette or are you Trevor Cobb?"

"I'm not sure I know anymore." He finally admits quietly but when I try to press the subject, he clams up. Ok, I'll ease off, for now. We got time. We got time...