Page 34 of Tips and Trysts

Now, Cora sighs like she hates me. I mean it. She’s really looking at me like she detests me, and my brain is enjoying this shit—and always has. A sense of thrill ascends in me as I take in her narrowed eyes and the tightness of her plump lips. The satisfaction spreads from the hot skin on the back of my neck to my tingling fingertips—but nowhere on my body is more profoundly affected than my cock.

My brain is enjoying this shit, but my cock is loving it.

I spot an errant pill and I grab it before I stand. Pinching the pill between my index finger and thumb, I raise my hand, showing her. “Open,” I instruct.

She sets the world record for the fastest brow furrow. “Open what?”

“Your mouth, princess.”

Her dark eyes study me, assessing and unrelenting. She makes me wait, but I know she’ll do it eventually. Cora’s remarkablecuriosity always wins out—always. Hell, I know half the reason she came to Georgetown last night was curiosity.

Sure enough, her lips part.

Her pink tongue is nestled in the cradle of her jaw, and there’s a silver piercing in the center, small and unassuming. Before now, I’ve only seen it in flashes when she speaks.

I’ve painstakingly memorized every one of Cora’s piercings over the last seven months. The vertical in her eyebrow, seven across her ears, the stud in her nose, and the ring in her septum are the easy ones to track. Depending on what she’s wearing, I usually catch a glimpse of her navel piercing. With the midline in her tongue, that’s twelve.

The night I photographed her naked—easily the best night of my entire life—I logged five more: both of her nipples, the hood of her clitoris, and one on each labia.

Seventeen.

I’m not sure if all seventeen are still around seven months later, but I assume—hope—they are. I know she’s gotten at least one more since then: a fourchette she mentioned in passing once. I looked it up immediately, not knowing what it was. Now, I know. I know very,verywell what a fourchette is. I would give quite literally anything to see it in real life.

Keeping my hand as steady as possible, I place the last pill right next to the piercing in her tongue.

“Close,” I murmur.

She actually does it.

Cora’s eyes remain locked on mine as she presses her lips together, so I stare back. It’s a counterpoint to the inherent tension of desire coursing through me, and I refuse to look away. I won’t be the one to back down. One of us will; one of us has to—and it won’t be me.

“Swallow.” My order comes out barely above a whisper.

I hear it more than see it—the gulp.

“Good girl,” I murmur, taking a step back. “Give it a few minutes and you’ll find plenty of merit in my definition of funny.”

Cora takes a small step back to mirror mine, now putting an entire foot of space between us. “God, you’re hot,” she mutters.

My eyebrow ticks. “Surely the codeine doesn’t workthatfast.”

“It doesn’t. You’re so fucking hot,” she repeats, eyes raking over me.

Compliments have never done much for me, but Cora Flores almost gets me there. “Sounds like you’re considering my offer from last night,” I muse, failing to suppress a grin.

“Am I? Because last I checked, you hadn’t even apologized.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply immediately, moving closer to her. Even the minor increase in her proximity is like a shot of pure serotonin in my veins. “So very sorry.”

Her head shake is measured. “Oh no. Saying sorry isn’t enough, Everett. My expectation is that you’ll beg for it.Beg. Last night, you agreed to beg so quickly that I almost assumed you misheard me and thought I was offering a larger mason jar for you to store all the souls you’ve stolen.”

I snicker. “What, like, you want me on my knees? I will if you join me. There’s plenty of fun we couldbothhave on our knees.”

Cora parts her lips to speak, but I move closer, putting our faces mere inches apart.

“I’m sorry and I want you to forgive me.” Keeping my eyes on hers, I brace one hand on the counter and put the other on her waist.

Her stare darkens. “That’s your idea of begging?”

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