“Hey Trick.”, emeralds bright.

One time she was said his name and she flubbed it up to “Trick.” She’s been calling him that ever since, she thinks it’s cute.

He doesn’t really like it, but he smiles at it anyway.

“Hey Babe.”

She enters and he closes the door. She gives him a hug and peck on the chin, her fragrance is intoxicating. She’s so warm.

He's suddenly wide awake. No droopy eyes anymore. She looks gorgeous, like she always does, whether it's two in the afternoon or two in the morning.

He walks upstairs to his bedroom, she follows behind him. He drops his robe at the side of the bed and crawls under the sheets.

"Not modest at all, are you?" she remarks, amused, taking a seat on his bed.

"No, not really."

They're silent for a moment. He's propped up against the headboard, staring at the television but not really paying attention to the action. Out of the corner of his eyes he watches her idly toy with some things on his nightstand.

She curls up on top of the sheets, lying, facing Trent, her head at his feet. She lies on her side, propping her elbow onto the bed and letting her head rest in her hand.

"How are you?" she asks.
"Exhausted." Trent sighs. "You?"
Shrug. "I’m cool."

Her eyes study his body. Studying his eyes and lips, scaling down to his lower abdomen where the sheets are generously pulled, perusing over his chest before notices his nipple ring. Trent notices her gaze and looks down. He looks at her, smiling.

"That’s different, when’d you get that?" She’s fascinated.
"I don't remember. Not too long ago."
“Did it hurt?”
“I dunno; I was drunk.”
She laughs at him. "I like it. It's sexy. I thought about getting my button pierced but, everybody was doing that."
His eyebrows pitch up, intrigued. “Which button?”
She giggles. “My belly button. Jesus, what kind of girl do you think I am, Trent?” She whines overdramatically, feigning outrage.

Silence, again. It's not as if they've nothing to say. Their glances are conversation enough. She looks at his feet.

“I wanna paint your toes.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, what kind of guy do you think I am, Beatriz?”
“A cute one.”
“That makes two of us.”

Silence.

"When was the last time you had sex?" Beatriz asks.
Without missing a beat, "Two nights ago."
"What was her name?"
"I don't remember."
“Was she attractive?”
“She might’ve been. She had too much make-up on, left glitter on me everywhere.”
"Was she nice?"
"Nice enough."
Beatriz smiles. "Enough to what?"
"To come."

Pause.

"Did you use protection?"
"Of course."

Longer pause.

"How often do you have sex?"
"Almost every night."
"What do you do when you can't get it every night?"
"Sleep."
Beatriz smiles.

Their gazes are interlocked. Each of them, a reflection in the other’s eyes. She's trying to see into him, past the exterior, past the Trent King image and see Trenton Lucas King, the human, sexual being.

"Why so inquisitive tonight?" He asks after awhile.
“I’ll stop if I’m buggin’ you.”
“You’re not.”
"I'm curious."
"Why?"
"I don’t know who you are, Trent."
"You know who I am." He’s hesitant, unsure what she’s talking about.
"Of course I know you, but I want to know you sexually."
"Hmm."
"Hmm?"
"Don't you think the best way to get to know someone sexually is to have sex with them?"
"No, not necessarily. To know someone sexually, you should know them mentally. Sex is a mind thing, not just a physical thing. People like to think it’s not, but it is."

Trent nods, thinking about her take on the subject.

"Do you really know the girl you fucked the other day, sexually?"
"No, I guess not."

She sits up, raking her hair back away from her face. She repositions herself, her head lying on the pillow beside his. He sinks down under the sheets. His palm rests against her face, his thumb stroking her soft skin, delicately. His eyes are honest, giving away his feelings.

“What perfume are you wearing?”
“Fleurs Du Printemps. You like it?”
“You smell like candy.”
She giggles. “Trick?"
“Hmm?”
“Do you like girls with huge tits?”
“Just you.”
She blushes. “Do you think about sex a lot?”
"Right now, I'm thinking of sex with you."
“Yeah?”
Trent nods. “Yeah.”
"Am I better than the girl from the other night?"
"Much."
“Yeah?” Her sparkling eyes shine like headlights with anticipation.
“Mmmhmm.”

Trent rolls over, opens his drawer, and pulls out a condom.

"You can't sleep in my bed with you clothes on." He informs Beatriz.
"I didn't think I could."

Beatriz slips off the bed and undresses, her “Mack Daddy” t-shirt comes up over head and onto the floor. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her mini-skirt, and slides it down her legs and uses her feet to push it off. She starts to undo her half-cup bra, but Trent stops her.

“No, lemme do it.”

She chuckles and crawls back into bed, into his lap. Trent rises and expertly undoes and discards her bra like a candy wrapper. His hands cup her breasts, his fingertips teasing her nipples into stiff peaks, pinched. Her breaths become short. She kisses him, her tongue stroking against his.

Trent rolls them over, pulling the sheets over both of them. Beatriz giggles as her boy shorts are peeled away by Trent. His lips plant kisses on her lips and neck as he rubs her deftly.

He grips her thighs, massages them apart, lifting them, and pushes into her. She gasps, surprised by the suddenness and whimpers the first couple of times he rocks.

"Let me know if I'm too rough." Trent whispers.

The whimpers soon grow into soft breaths of pleasure, as she adjusts to his rhythm. His thrusts grow short and hard, before slowing when he feels her warmth pulse. Their faces close, breath on each other's lips. Moisture causes strands of hair to stick to her face; Trent smooths them away. After his final thrust, he rests for a moment between her legs. Cheek-to-cheek, she can feel the scruffiness of his jaw on her face. She clutches his back. Soft endearments whispered; he can feel them on his ear. Then, he rolls over onto his back beside her, their breathing is loud and labored.

Trent wraps his fingers around Beatriz's hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss.