Author's Note: Originally, this was only going to be just a one-shot. I'm still not sure if I want a full-length story out of this but here's another chapter to tie you over. Thank you for the reviews! They are greatly appreciated.


He spent a good portion of the evening staring at the ceiling. He spent the other portion staring at his bedmate. She was wearing boy-shorts that left very little to the imagination, begging Randy to spread her cheeks and give it to her doggystyle. She borrowed one of his tank tops that hugged her ample breasts so tightly, Randy swore he saw Naomi's areolas winking at him. Yet, he couldn't make one single move on her. She was sleeping in his bed and he was being considerate enough to let her sleep in ease.

She was torturing him by doing absolutely nothing. Bitch.

As Randy adjusted his position to face Naomi, he let out a deep sigh. For three years, he has dealt with her shit. For three years, he was the "secret." He was frustrated. He was pissed off. Most importantly, he was hornier than a motherfucker. His lover was sleeping his bed and he could've sworn every crevice of her body was calling him to fuck her. And, his hands were officially tired from the on-going masturbation he did since she fell asleep a few hours prior.

Feeling Randy's eyes on her, Naomi didn't bother to meet his gaze. For all she cared, he could stare at her until dawn. She needed to get away from her home situation for a few hours, even if it meant Randy wasn't going to get any play. "What is it, Orton?" She whispered.

Randy caressed her face again and she slightly moaned at his touch. Randy was respectful enough to masturbate in the bathroom. However, Naomi wasn't sure if he was trying to disturb her by his loud moaning or the rapid-fire flesh slapping. Knowing she didn't hear a faucet turn on, the only concern Naomi had was if Randy's hands were sticky. If he she wanted him to touch other parts of her anatomy, she would let him know.

But he knew the routine. She would come over and rest in his bed for a short while. They would get into a small debate about her home life before proceeding with sex. She would soon go home before daybreak. She needed comfort, not sex. He was sensitive to her situation and understood what was happening. It was something he was accustomed to. It was something that has been on going for the past three years.

It was something he hated. "You didn't answer my question," he replied.

Taking in a deep breath, Naomi let out her frustration. The arrangement was simple enough. They were neighbors that just happened to be sex partners. Sometimes when they didn't hate each other, they were friends. But Randy was prying too much into something that had nothing to do with him. "I'm not concerned," she finally spoke.

"So he knows you're over here?"

Here we go again. "I thought we weren't going to talk about my husband, Randy."

"We're not," he then replied, "Just wondering if Gay Boy Wonder is going to interrupt tonight."

Naomi gave Randy a cynical glare. From day one she has known him, Randy always provided his personal views and off-color commentary on the pairing. Shannon Koch. The name brought out schoolgirl giggles and endless jokes from Randy. The name alone tells me he sucks cock, he once kidded with Naomi, is that why you never changed your name?

Part of it, Naomi thought. The other reason was obvious to anyone who knew Shannon. If there was an example of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' Shannon's face would be found in the dictionary. He was the son of a Republican senator who was against anything remotely homosexual. Shannon's father, Edward, was a frequent guest on right-wing talk shows and led any protests against gay marriage. Shannon was his leading spokesman and never shied away from his own feelings on homosexuality. On the cover, Shannon appeared to be his father's right-hand man.

Yet, it was just that—a cover. Shannon represented everything wonderful and free about homosexuality. He was a frequent visitor at the hidden gay nightspots in St. Charles and maintained a secret relationship with his gay lover. But if Shannon wanted any future in politics, his sexuality had to be kept under wraps. And what better way to do that by having a faux marriage with a then-unsuspecting Naomi Withers.

Naomi knew exactly where her husband was, just like he knew what she was doing at the moment. It was a sadistic game of 'I Know What You're Doing' and neither one wanted the other to win. "He's not going to interrupt, Randy." She assured.

"Good." He then nudged her to turn over. He cupped her ass and smoothed his hands over her amber-colored skin. He reached a hand over to her heat and began to pleasure her. Naomi responded by opening her legs to accommodate the feelings.

Despite what was going on in her debacle some called a marriage, Naomi had to admit Randy was her saving grace from insanity. From his chiseled body to the soft baby blues that called her, Randy was a wet dream no one wanted to wake up from. His tongue was explicit, experimenting in different techniques to make her body scream. His hands were magical with his long fingers that played every note on her body, creating new orgasmic highs with every climax.

But it was his dick that Naomi loved the most. It was long, thick, and perfect. She loved to suck him off and he loved to let her. She could get on top of him and ride for hours while he massaged her clit. He could be soft and sensual or hot and dirty. By all means, Randy was the perfect lover.

Getting her soft and wet, Randy's thoughts quickly dissipated from playing second-fiddle to whether he had enough Magnums to last throughout the night. He'll deal with Naomi's fake-ass marriage later.