Why does she have to be so sweet?
Why does she have to call me baby?
Those two syllables turn my balls to lead.
Am I no better than the man who fathered me?
I attempt to wrestle back my lust and focus on the party. The reason we’re here. “There are going to be a lot of strangers down there. I’m going to make them uncomfortable with this.” I gesture to the right side of my face.
“That sounds like a ‘them’ problem.” She cocks a hip, her expression curious. “What is it about your scars that bothers you the most?”
I’ve never talked so openly about them before. Not with anyone but the doctor.
“The fact that they’re so noticeable, obviously,” I say. “The redness makes them look so angry. The scar tissue is shiny, different from the rest of my skin—”
“Red and shiny?” She reaches for my hand and tugs me toward the bathroom. “I don’t think you should ever cover up your scars, Barry, because they’re a part of you. You earned them being ahero.But…” I follow her into the dim, golden glow of the bathroom, the scent of her perfume invading my senses. The cinnamon aroma distracts me so much, I allow her to position me up against the vanity before I know what’s happening. “Just for the night, maybe we could adjust the parts that bother you most.”
When she unzips a gigantic black bag and it rolls out into a veritable drug store’s worth of makeup, my spine snaps straight. “I’m not wearing makeup, Petra.”
“Shhh.” She reaches up and strokes the side of my face, her fingertips trailing lightly down and around my scar tissue. “Trust me. I made myself look twenty-three, didn’t I?”
“Not really.”
She gasps, affronted.
“Maybe you did. But my brain already knows the truth. I only see nineteen.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
“See? Nineteen.”
Petra sniffs. “I’m going to let you get away with being mean to me, in exchange for letting me put a little matte powder on your scars.”
“What the fuck is matte powder?”
Instead of answering me, she flicks open a little black dish. I think it’s called a compact, but I’m not sure where I picked up that information. Television, maybe. “It’s a tool to decrease shine and even out one’s skin tone. I want to put on a foundation base first, but I think I’d spook you. Maybe tomorrow for the wedding.”
Petra lifts up onto her toes and taps a soft pad along the right side of my face. I hold my breath and count the pretty gold flecks in her eyes, my pulse skipping over the concentrated furrow of her brow. How gentle she’s being, as if I can feel anything in that region of my face. It’s all dead. But the rest of me is not.
Against my will, my gaze moves to her ripe little mouth.
Those slightly parted lips, her gentle breath feathering my chin from below.
She sways closer to get a better angle and her tits settle against my chest.
Her hips brush mine, my erection tucked between our stomachs and she blinks rapidly, her pupils bleeding into her irises. “It’s hard again?” she whispers.
“Ignore it,” I instruct her, hoarse.
Wetting her lips, she nods unevenly and steps away. My hands curl into the fists to keep from yanking her back up against me. “Um. You can l-look and see what I did with the matte powder. Hopefully you don’t want to wash it off.”
Reluctant to take my eyes off her, I turn slightly to view the right side of my face in the mirror, surprised when…holy shit. They’re still visible, but far less livid. She’s toned down the red and eliminated the glare that draws so much attention. In just a double of dabs from her compact.
“Well?” she asks, clearly nervous.
I’m shocked to find my throat tightening. “You did good, Petra.”
“It’s a makeup miracle!” She bounces around behind me, making my lips twitch. “You can keep this compact. I have two more just like it. I’m so happy!”
