This Isn't Like You!

Cory’s body won’t settle. Leah finds her staring through the curtains and asks what’s on her mind. The confession comes out fast—Cory thinks she’s lived too little, and time is speeding up. Leah’s cheeks flush pink, but she tells her there’s still room to move. Something clicks. Cory lifts her chin and decides she’s finished waiting. Weeks later her laugh is louder. She shows up sweaty from tennis, graphite smudges on her fingers after sketching naked life models, then hips rolling in a low-lit studio because a dance instructor swears “felt the beat.” Leah rolls her eyes when new outfits appear, yet she can’t look away for long. The heat between them thickens, unspoken. Tonight Cory kicks the front door shut wearing leather that creaks. A helmet dangles from her hand; motorcycle keys jingle against her hip. Leah’s mouth parts. Cory catches it, savors it. Leah stammers, half praise and half protest, and the jealousy in her voice gives her away. Cory steps close, eyes dropping to Leah’s throat, fingers already tugging the zipper of the jacket. “Thought about this,” Cory says. “About you.” Leah answers with a fast, breathless kiss. They strip each other standing in the hallway—Cory’s tongue sliding across a tight nipple, Leah’s palm cupping slick heat through cotton panties before dragging them down. Moans slip out between open-mouthed kisses. Clothes hit tile. Cory leads her to the bedroom, dominant now, pressing Leah back onto cool sheets while her mouth tastes every new inch she’s claimed.