Chapter 12

Krista

 

I close the car door then slap the lock. Knitting my hands together, I pin them to my lap then bend over to rest my forehead on the steering wheel.

I believe I escaped something awful.

Where is the relief I should feel?

My heartbeat's erratic, my mouth is dry, and my palms are damp. Telling Allen he wasn't meeting my needs in bed is so true. He says everything he ought to say, all the right things.

But there's this small part of me that feels like he just says what he thinks he's supposed to, not what he really means. I can't shake the gut feeling.

Shivering, I remember his eyes on me, like pools of ice skimming a lake. When I first met Allen through Sam, I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, with golden-blond hair and azure eyes the color of the Caribbean sea I'd never visited. He has a strong jawline and a tall, athletic build. He’s smooth with words, articulate, and apparently sincere.

Because I was so excited to be on the arm of a man like that, I didn’t see his flaws right away. Then as I got to know him, his true colors would show up in unguarded moments. He was critical and judgmental, and he always thought about himself first.

That was never more apparent than when we were in bed together. My God, he didn't even get me ready. He just used lube and pushed his way inside. He told me to get on the pill because he wasn't going to wear a rubber.

When he wanted it from behind, he ordered me to get on my hands and knees.

Like a dog.

There was never that sense of intimacy or connection.

The couple of times I asked for him to do something a certain way, so there would be a remote chance of me having an orgasm, Allen said he would take care of it.

He never did.

My vibrator was the only relief I got. I swear I went through two Costco packs of double-A batteries.

His flaws piled up, and our relationship sparkled less as time wore on. The lavish parties he attended with people not from his work, his dad's mansion, his wonderful, designer clothes—

they made me start to wonder... who is Allen Fitzgerald, exactly?

I became more distant, and Allen began to sense my slow withdrawal. Somehow. The last time we were in bed together, I knew our relationship was over.

He was rough—too rough—like he wanted to fuck me into staying. The sex seemed desperate.

Painful.

I was dry, and he didn't care. Allen pounded when I said it hurt.

My vagina felt abused for two days afterward.

I didn't tell Sam what had truly ended it emotionally for me. I was too ashamed.

But why don't I feel proud now? Now that I've terminated an unsatisfying relationship?

Allen seemed hurt—that's why.

I lean back in the driver's seat and take a sharp, sucking inhale. Letting it out slowly, I grip the steering wheel with both hands.

Well, he hurt me too.

And that's the bottom line. Treating people like you don’t care too many times makes them stop caring too.

So I did. Allen says he loves me, but his chilly eyes don't agree with his words.

Then there's Trainer.

I groan out loud.

Trainer did for me in one hour what Allen couldn't do in nearly two years of dating: shared glances, hand holding, sex, eating together, socializing…

I wasted all that time on Allen, time I can't get back, in hopes that Allen had potential.

Trainer has more potential in his pinky finger, though.

My pussy gives a little sore pulse of agreement, and a giggle escapes me. The idea is so juvenile but true. Trainer has a monster-sized penis. When I saw that thing coming for me, my heart just about stopped.

But the look in his eyes told me I had to trust him.

I couldn't let this fragile connection that had started between us be snuffed out because of my fear of death by cock.

Another bursting laugh flies out of me. God, I need help.

I sober up when I realize that despite all his bad-guy attitude and manner, something deep down told me I could trust Trainer. He's not a predator. He's a protector.

So I welcomed him inside my body—and my heart.

I close my eyes again.

It'll be nothing shy of a miracle if I can finish what I set out to accomplish with him as a learner, which is how I think of my students.

But I don't know. The way he had held me after—until we were dangerously close to when Corina would appear—was every tender thing I'd never shared with Allen.

Then there's the simple fact that I sexed him in an elementary school, on a table. Completely unlike me. “Out of character” doesn't cover what we did and where. How come I even took that risk?

I'm not sure I can be his teacher and lover.

I don't even know if I have a choice.

There are things I don't know about Trainer. And the scary part is that I'm not sure I care.

I wasn't planning on hurting Allen or having him run into me and Trainer dry humping against my car in the public parking lot.

I put my face in my hands and think about how I fucked things up.

On top of that, I remember how earth-shattering sex with Trainer was. It changed everything. I couldn't remain the same after what Trainer and I shared. 

A rapping of knuckles on the glass startles me into making one of those annoying girl noises. I yank my eyes to the window. Even in the poorly lit parking lot, I can see who it is.

Trainer.

Frowning, I crack open the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly then give an uneasy laugh, adding, “You scared the shit out of me.”

His crooked smile melts me on the spot. “Heard you tell Allen you were meeting him here.”

That's right.

“Had work to do for the club, thought I'd come by after and see that you were okay.”

My brows pinch together. Of course I'm okay. “I'm fine.”

We sort of stare. The silence isn’t exactly comfortable, but it's not bad, either. I think Trainer's just not a huge talker. Even if he was born that way, it wouldn't have lasted long with his family life.

Trainer's eyes search the parking lot restlessly. They find me again.

“Ya still wanna be with me?”

Oh yes.

The crystalline green of his irises pierces the night like emerald shadows.

That's the Trainer I'm beginning to know. No pretense. Just straight talk without inhibition or filters.

“Yes,” I answer softly, heart in my throat.

His smile is as luminous as his eyes. Radiant.

Trainer opens my door the rest of the way. “Get out.”

Okay. I slip out of my car, reaching for my small clutch purse and turn.

He shuts the door and tows me into his body. “I was worried, Krista.”

I pull away slightly. “Worried?”

“Yeah. Don't like Allen.” His serious eyes search my face. I can see why he doesn't like me seeing Allen since Trainer and I sort of made us “official” with the christening of my teacher's table.

“Not that,” Trainer says intuitively, eyes still everywhere. “He reminds me of somebody… somebody bad.”

I don't know how to respond to that. Allen made me uneasy too—especially tonight—even though he didn’t say one wrong thing.

And maybe that’s why it’s so noteworthy. Allen should have been pissed, sad, or something. But he just wore this expression of resignation—like a mask. He was neutral. Too indifferent. Too pleasant. Pleasantly creepy.

“We're through,” I announce.

Trainer stares into my eyes for another intense moment then dips his chin in a decisive nod. “Good.” He pauses for a second then asks, “Wanna go for a ride?”

Huh? Oh. I find his bike only two spots away from the Fiat, sitting there like a dangerous metal bullet. It’s engine is still ticking from cooling off.

Why not? Slowly, I nod.

For now, I feel as though I'm waking from a deep sleep, like I was dreaming during Allen and I'm waking up to Trainer.

His smile is back. I can make it out in the discs of light thrown by the streetlamps.

Trainer takes my hand and tugs me toward the waiting bike.

 

*

 

“So I'm gonna give you the five-second lesson.”

Oh? My lips twitch. “Five-second lesson?”

Trainer gives a solemn nod. “Take a lot of shit for wearing a helmet, but my mama made me promise to wear one. I don't break no promises.”

“I don't break any, either,” I agree.

Trainer leans forward and kisses my forehead. “I like that about you too, Krista.”

He cups the mound of my pussy, and my breath sucks in with a hiss.

Holy shit.

“And this.” His thumb cleaves me between the thin folds of my fashionably ripped jeans, and my pussy gives a deep hiccupping pulse in instant response.

“Ah,” I breathe as he watches my expression.

“Like that noise.” He leans forward to kiss me deeply as his finger presses harder on my clit.

I don't care about lessons anymore. I just want to be taught by Trainer.

A total role reversal.

He breaks away. “Anyways…” His hand leaves my heat, and he turns, pulling a brand-new helmet from what he calls the trunk of the motorcycle. “I got one for ya.” Fine sparkles throughout the deep-violet paint glitter underneath the streetlamp. “It's pretty.”

“Safe,” he says, though he ducks his head as if he’s shy about the compliment I gave him.

“Yes, safe.” I put it on and tighten the chin strap.

“When I do corners, you move your body with me. One body, one movement.”

“Got it.”

He continues, “When I stop, just rest against me. We're taking a short ride, out to Orting. Prez has a place up there I'm borrowing. Guys have scraped—uh… forget it.” His hand rakes over his dark hair. A few strands refuse to lie down, and he flicks them back, re-tying the entire thing into a stubby ponytail at his nape. “I'll tell ya more when we land.”

He gets on and turns his face so that half of his profile is lost to the night and shadow. Trainer nods.

I approach the bike and place a hand on his shoulder. Whipping my leg around, I seat myself snuggly behind him.

Thankfully, I forgot to take the peacoat that Allen returned out of my car, so I won’t freeze during the ride.

Trainer hands me a hair tie.

With deft fingers, I quickly braid my nearly waist-length hair then tap his shoulder, signaling that I'm ready.

The bike starts with a roar, making me jump.

Trainer shifts slightly, and I put my hand to my heart with a little laugh.

He grins, turning back to the front of the bike. He'd backed into the parking slot, so all he has to do is take off.

But Trainer sits there for a moment. And I definitely get the feeling he's a still-waters-run-deep kind of guy. He's not reactive and thoughtless. Though I think if the right circumstances presented themselves, Trainer might react very decisively.

He takes my slightly chilled hands around his flat stomach and covers them in leather… and him.

My fingers have to be like ice, but he doesn't seem bothered.

Trainer warms them with his body as we speed off.