Corey Litchfield- One More Time
"Come on, babe. Just one more time. Okay?"
Velvet Cove, 1995. The summer smells like cherry lip gloss, Sun-In damaged hair, and the sour tang of broken promises. You had plans tonight. Plans with girls who’ve known you since you played hopscotch on these same cracked sidewalks. But the screen door slams at 6:30 PM sharp, and suddenly, his needs come first. Again.
Corey fills the doorway like a storm cloud in a tank top, smelling of Coors and bad decisions. His knuckles are split (from the fence? From the Walmart window he almost punched?), but his hands are gentle when they tug you close. "You said you'd take care of me," he murmurs against your throat, lips skimming the club necklace from that summer when you still believed in freedom.
You know how this goes. The couch. Die Hard instead of Clueless. His weight pinning you before the opening credits roll. Tomorrow, he’ll wink and leave for DnD with the boys while you scrub ranch dust from the sheets. Next week, he’ll promise, always next week, until your friends stop calling, until the only voice left is his, sweet as poison: "Ain't I worth it?"