Twenty-Nine

EVERETT

It’s one in the morning when Lander finally drops off my girl. He has a key to my house, so I’m in the kitchen re-heating the tacos I ordered for Cora when I hear them come in. Cheeks flushed, giggling, Cora stumbles into my arms when I meet them in the foyer.

Lander shuts the door before he raises an eyebrow in that classic, intimidating Lander Dawson way. But when we had sleepovers in elementary school, I was afraid of the dark, and Lander used to hold my hand until I fell asleep. Nothing about this guy intimidates me.

“Everett, I’m going to murder you next time you’re alone,” he states.

Cora is absentmindedly running her hand along the plane of my chest while sort of standing, sort of falling over.

Yep—super drunk.

“What makes you think I’m ever going to be alone again?” I reply before I drag my hand over Cora’s ponytail. In response, she rises on her toes and lays a sloppy kiss on my neck.

“Can I sleep over?” she mutters into my skin.

“Of course, princess,” I reply before giving her waist a squeeze. I look back at Lander. “Thanks.”

Lander nods and then pokes Cora in the arm. “I’m heading out, Cora Bora. Text me if you two need me, yeah?”

Cora gives Lander a salute and waves goodbye before she heads upstairs, ass swaying amazingly as she goes.

“Well, I’ve got a car full of camgirls to bring home,” Lander mentions, gesturing over his shoulder.

I nod. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he admits with an immediate, emphatic head shake. “Caught off guard, maybe, but I like it, Ev. You seem happy. And it’s clear you need to be with her and win the election too, so let’s figure it out.”

“Thanks, Lan.”

“Love you,” he says, waving as he leaves.

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 anything so 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 experiences with 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 Cora would 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.

“I like that you marked me,” she murmurs. “I like having something aside from the scar.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before she slides into the hot water and motions for me to join her.

I position myself behind her and run my hands over her stomach before cupping her breasts. I caress them. I trickle handfuls of water over them. “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, watching a droplet slide and make contact with the ball end of her piercing.

“Beautiful.” Cora closes her eyes. “Nobody has ever said that to me.”

“Impossible.”

She sinks lower into the water. “I’ve been called cute. Sweet. Exotic .” Her sigh is languid. “I could go on, or I could send you some peer reviewed studies on Asian fetishization.”

I snort. “You’re the most interesting drunk I’ve ever met.”

She gives me a soft smile. “I guess I can add ‘interesting drunk’ to the list of things I’ve been called.”

“You’re so beautiful. And I would never call you cute or sweet.”

“What about exotic?”

“Well, actually—” I begin, clearly messing around, but she still splashes me.

Laughing, I touch her naked body, exploring her slowly for once. I tweak her pierced nipples. I walk my fingertips down her lush thighs. I graze the rim of her asshole and wonder if it’s tender.

I move my hands back to her stomach and hold her there while kissing her shoulder.

“Touch me,” she urges, placing one of her hands on mine and guiding it to her pussy.

“Not when you’re drunk like this.”

“But I’m ready for you to fuck me again.”

“I know you are, but no more tonight.”

Cora whimpers. “Please? I’m so worked up.”

“I know, princess. I know,” I assure her before I kiss her cheek. “In the morning. I promise.”

She sticks out her lower lip and a pang of unease immediately strikes me. Apparently, I can’t physically sit still when she needs something.

As a consolation, I place my fingers on her clit and rub a slow circle. Her groan could end me.

“Will you fuck me, please? Please, Everett?”

She’s starting to beg, and I hate it. Cora should never have to beg for anything.

I want to give her everything.

I touch the piercing at her entrance—the fourchette she got three months ago. I knew the precise date she got it and looked up how long it would take to heal. For four to six weeks, I was content knowing she couldn’t be with anyone else.

“You had this done after you met me.” I drag my fingertip over the metal. “Were you thinking of me when you got it? I thought of you when I got my cock done.” I slip three fingers into her pussy. “I was excited to show you one day. To put it inside you.”

Cora lets out a breathy exhale when my palm presses on her clit.

“I’ll make you come on my hand, but I need you to be loud for me—okay? We’re alone for once. I want to hear it.”

“Oh god,” she groans as I insert a fourth finger into her. The words are strained, mostly a gasp, when she says, “I was thinking of you.”

“Look at me,” I whisper.

She twists and her eyes find mine.

“I love every hole on your body,” I tell her. And then I list them: a full accounting of all eighteen of her beautiful piercings. I know them like I know my own body, and when I finish with, “I love your wet pussy and your tight little asshole,” she comes around my hand.

Her comedown is slow and easy. She practically melts, resting her head against my shoulder.

I never get to do aftercare, but tonight I wash her hair. I condition it. I soap her skin, taking my time on her asshole because I used it. I touch every part of her, even the spaces between her toes, and she’s heavy and sleepy in my arms the entire time.

When I put her into bed later, she asks again, “Will you fuck me, Everett?”

“Not tonight.”

Her disappointment comes out as a soft humph . “At least warm your cock in me while we sleep,” she urges before yawning.

So, I slide inside of her, wishing I could make love to her, but I’m content nevertheless: Cora Flores has let me in—literally and figuratively. I never, ever want to leave.

But as I’m drifting off to sleep, buried snugly inside her inimitable heat, I find myself stroking her damp hair and whispering three words that have been on my mind since the day she asked me not to lie:

Who hurt you?