Page 90 of Tips and Trysts

Once he’s gone, I head upstairs, where the bathroom light is on down the hallway. When I enter, steam is pouring from the half-filled tub and the thrum of water against porcelain drowns out the sound of Cora humming.

Her eyes are closed and she’s leaning against the wall next to the tub, one hand on the sink, the other twirling the end of the messy ponytail draped over her shoulder. She managed to get her dress off, so she’s down to her panties—the panties still covered in my cum. Her piercings glint in the haziness of the bathroom. Soft pink tinges her skin, a blush against bronze, and dew sticks to the fine hairs on her body.

I’ve never seen anyone or anythingso breathtaking in my entire life.

I’ve always had this thing about the transience of beauty. Nature is full of things that don’t last, and Cora fills me with the same rush of urgency I’ve felt in my most poignant experienceswith the natural world. Standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Gazing at Mendenhall Glacier. Watching the Perseids.

And I wonder how one woman can be so grand, so exquisite, and still fit in my small bathroom—in my life.

“I missed you,” I tell her.

Her eyes flicker open, glossy and brown, tinged red around the irises from alcohol. Her eyelids are heavy, making her gaze look wanton, but I don’t let it distract me for once.

“You saw me two hours ago,” she reminds me, and her voice is scratchy the way I like. “You fucked my ass in an alley, Everett Logan.”

“Licked it, fingered it, and fucked it,” I clarify before I tug my shirt over my head and drop it into the hamper. “I got my fingers inside everything tight on you, princess.” My sweats go next, and I’m acutely aware of how closely Cora is watching me. I close the gap between us. “I missed you,” I repeat.

Cora exhales through her nostrils and her eyes don’t travel. This is the closest I’ve been to naked in front of her, but she’s focused on my face. “I missed you too,” she finally replies with obvious reluctance. I don’t mind. I know where that reluctance comes from.

It’s not from her begrudging acceptance of her desire for me—the asshole who insulted her. It’s not from annoyance that a mere two hours was too long for us to be apart.

It’s because she knows I’m being indescribably irresponsible—that I’m asking for this to blow up in my face. She knows it, I know it, and neither of us wants to stop.

I smile and I don’t hide it. Why would I? I hide how I feel about Cora from the entire world, but right now, it’s just us and the seven potted plants I keep in this bathroom.

Cora turns the tap, and the bathroom goes quiet. A slow drip punctuates the silence, but nothing breaks her focus. She’s cute when she’s drunk—something I won’t tell her because Corawould hate being called cute. She is though—like, really adorable—because her usual finesse is nowhere to be found. Pushing off the wall, she stumbles into me before hooking her fingers in the waistband of my boxer briefs. She tugs them down like they personally offended her and shoves them to my ankles.

The cuteness stops when she peruses my naked body for the first time. Her eyes linger on my dick and then wander back up. “What if you change your mind?”

The question lands so far from making sense that I’m not sure what to say.

“You went through all this for me,” she clarifies—because even while she’s drunk, she’s perceptive and knows I’m confused. “You pierced your dick. Risked your campaign. What if I’m not what you expected? What if you change your mind?”

I never thought I would hear an uncertain word from Cora Flores’ lips, but they echo through the bathroom’s misty acoustics. I step forward. “I won’t. And I didn’t change anything. I’m finally letting myself be the person I’ve always been—thanks to you.”

Her brow knots tightly enough to crease her skin. Without a word, I press my lips to that spot, and while I kiss her forehead, I slide her panties down her legs until she’s as naked as I am.

“I waited a long time for you,” I tell her when I pull back. “Longer than seven months. Were you waiting for me?”

She thinks about it before she nods. “I was.”

It’s all I wanted to hear. “Can I wash you?”

Cora nods again, but when I move to take off her bandage, she stops me. “I have to sleep with it covered.”

“It’s okay. I bought the same ones you’ve been using. There’s a box in the cabinet.”

Cora’s lips separate, but she quickly presses them back together. “Sure then.”

Once the bandage is off, I see it for the first time. The scar is smaller than I expected, but it’s glaring: raised and red and a clear mar against her flawless skin. She’ll have it forever.

Cora studies her scar as well, brow pinched. “It’s bad, I know. I’ve been trying to cover…”

She trails off when I press my lips against it, applying the barest hint of pressure. When I pull back, she’s watching me carefully. Her hand rises and works through my hair before she brushes a lock back onto my forehead like she always does, leaving it messy. Imperfect.

Ready, Cora rotates to climb into the tub, but I stop her. She looks over her shoulder.

Dotingly, I trace the bite on her ass—my mark. It wasn’t deep enough to make her bleed, but it was enough to bruise her skin. The indents of my teeth have left a row of crescents on her, and it’s a remnant of me—something she’ll feel for days when she sits.

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