Page 42 of Tips and Trysts

“I bet last night’s show wasn’t enough for you.” Everett’s expression is wry when he leans over the table and murmurs, “You’re sitting there wearing a sweet little campaign-approved outfit when we both know your body is pierced and yearningfor me.” His eyes lower to my chest like he can see my nipple piercings through the fabric.

“You’re pathetic,” I force myself to say. “As if I’d fool around in a coffee shop with someone who looks like he cried tears of joy into the sleeve of his Ralph Lauren button-down when he saw Vampire Weekend perform live for the first time.”

Everett presses his lips together and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Alright, how about this,” he offers. “Go to the bathroom, take off your panties, and bring them back to me.”

My brow tightens. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because if you got a taste of how fun it is to sneak around, these mandated outings might feel less painful. Obviously, we both want to fuck—”

“Cocky.”

“—and we both have to be on these outings. Fine. Let’s make them less miserable.”

“Other than mild entertainment, what do I get if I do?”

“A nice tip,” he replies, grinning outright. “A very nice tip. Only the best for my good little…”

Whore. The essence of the unspoken word lingers in the insinuation like a morning fog, vaporous and translucent and inexplicably mesmerizing. Everett is willing to say it, but because he’s a good boy, he’s waiting for permission.

And I so want to give him permission.

I’ve always had a degradation kink. Even when I was a teenager, doing my calculus homework at the kitchen table and pretending to use my phone as a calculator, I was really texting my then-boyfriend, goading him to call me a slut. The taboo enticed me. The juxtaposition thrilled me. Cora Flores was the perfect daughter: flawless SAT scores, the valedictorian, and Harvard-bound—as far as most people knew. The real Cora was anything but perfect.

Felix was the first boyfriend to degrade me to my face. It made him uneasy, but he loved me, he claimed, so he did it.Fuck me like a whore, Cora. Fuck me like the slutyou are. He never put much behind it—perfunctory at best—and gave me exactly what someone would find if they typed “best degradation phrases” into Google and clicked the first result.

Everett claims he’s a high achiever. Well, he can prove it to me.

“Just my panties?” I clarify, exhaling like this is tedious—a favor to him, even.

My question makes his face brighten. “Yes, princess.”

“And a tip?”

His expression is smug. “Of course,” he confirms, dragging his hand through his hair. Naturally, the motion catches the attention of no less than four other patrons. The guy at the next table even stares slack-jawed at Everett for three whole seconds until he notices my glare.

Everett, on his part, is staring right at me, waiting.

“Fine. I’ll be back.”

I walk through Tryst, trying to keep my face straight. Part of me knows this is silly. He’s obviously going to stop me.Obviously.

But another part of me hopes he won’t—the same part still fixating on what he wrote in my chat.

I’m going to think about this night forever—especially when I fill those needy, slutty holes with my cum.

I take the bathroom key from the corkboard outside the door, unlock, and open it to reveal a small, single restroom.

The door stops before I can close it.

When I turn around, Everett is sliding through the doorway. He locks the door before he faces me and slants back against the teal wood. He’s quiet. In the low bathroom lights, the shadows on his face amount to a fair impersonation of a marble bust of a Roman emperor.

This man ismagnificentto look at—and I wonder if he tastes as good as he looks.

“I couldn’t wait,” he informs me, voice low and thick like honey. “Panties off.”

Thirteen

CORA

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