Page 35 of Tips and Trysts

I nod too many times. “Please,” I murmur before my hand embarks on a slow journey from her waist to the back of her thigh. I trace the curve of her ass and continue downwards, following the slope of her body. Eventually, my fingertips pass the hem of her sleep shorts and touch her bare skin. Shedoesn’t flinch when my fingers make contact with her thigh, but her muscles tighten. “Please,” I repeat, sliding my hand higher, dipping under her shorts on my ascent. “Tell me you’re not mad at me.”

Cora’s expression remains stoic. “Apologize.”

“I did.”

“Better,” she instructs before canting her head. “I know they taught you to be more persuasive at Harvard Law.”

It’s impossible to ascertain if she’s being for real—if she genuinely wants me to prostrate more than I already have. “Should I rent a skywriter?”

“If you have to buy your way out of all your problems, sure.”

“Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the things I said the night we met, for not kissing you back in the elevator, and for letting someone hurt you.”

I pause for a response, but Cora keeps staring at me, eyes narrowed. She’s unimpressed.

“More?”

“Beg.”

I let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. “You don’t—”

“Beg.”

Well, shit. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, bowing my head. “I’m so sorry.Please. Tell me you forgive me.” I shift my hand, letting the edge of my index finger graze the crest of her ass. “Please.”

“Keep going.” Her voice is firm.

More. “I’m so sorry,” I continue, grasping her bare thigh with my entire hand now, marveling at the softness of her skin. She’s royal velvet. She’s priceless. I need her to be mine. “Please. Please forgive me. I’ll be so good for you.”

Cora inhales. “Everett, look at me.”

I pull back and find her cheeks flushed pink and her chest heaving—and I’d be so much smugger if I weren’t just as worked up.

She dips her chin once. “Good. Thank you.”

“I did good?”

“Thank you,” she repeats before she dumps the pile of pills on the kitchen counter. When she faces me again, Cora reaches up and pushes her fingers through my hair. “I accept your apology.”

Her nails scrape over my scalp, running deep and making my hair messy. The glide of her hand is even and firm, and her touch spreads throughout my entire body in the goosebumps rising on my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, and the words practically spill out beyond my control.

Cora doesn’t respond and instead pushes my hair to the side, gently tugging it between her fingertips before releasing my hair entirely.

I want her to pull it.

I’ve never remotely considered what it would be like to have my hair pulled. I’ve pulled hair before—love it, actually—but the thought of Cora grabbing a fistful of mine and yanking my face toward hers…

Instead, her hand slides down my temple, grazing it until she reaches my cheek. She rests her palm there, cupping my face before her thumb nudges the corner of my mouth. By instinct, I part my lips.

I’m standing in Cora’s kitchen, her hand is on my cheek—and yep, she’s sliding her thumb into my mouth. It’s just the tip, but my lips close around it automatically.

This is…well, it’s weird, objectively—but I have no desire to stop.

I look at her mouth where her top teeth press into her plump lower lip. Her eyes are hooded and focused, fixated on sliding her thumb deeper into my mouth. Unprecedented want courses through me, spreading from this singular contact—from my tongue against the tip of her thumb.

…This is something else.

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