This work contains themes and scenes intended for mature readers (18+). It explores intimacy, emotional complexity, and adult relationships through contemporary romance and erotic realism. Reader discretion is advised.
The Offering
Cotton Seeks Validation
Cotton turns to Mira, a former 'devotional subtype,' for validation, but Mira has moved on to a healthy relationship and refuses to indulge Cotton's need for worship.
An Excerpt from this Chapter...
Cotton pushed past her into the kitchen. It was warm. It smelled of toast and expensive coffee beans. On the fridge, a magnet held a photo: Mira and a woman with soft arms, laughing on a beach.
Cotton leaned against the counter, trying to stop the room from spinning.
“I missed you,” Cotton said. It was the script. It always worked.
Mira closed the door. She crossed her arms, tightening the belt of her robe. “No, you didn’t. You missed being worshipped.”
Cotton flinched. The headache spiked. “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know.” Mira walked to the coffee pot. She poured a mug, but she didn’t hand it to Cotton. She took a sip herself. “Why are you here? Really?”
Cotton pushed off the counter. She closed the distance. She reached out, her cold fingers finding the warmth of Mira’s neck. She leaned in, seeking the familiar pulse, the hitch of breath.
“I wanted to see if you still felt it,” Cotton whispered against Mira’s skin.
Mira didn’t melt. She didn’t gasp. She stood rigid, like a statue tolerating a pigeon.
“I smell the whiskey, Cotton,” Mira said flatly. “And I smell someone else’s cheap perfume.”
She stepped back, breaking Cotton’s touch.
“Don’t do that. Not here. Not in my house.”
Cotton’s hand fell to her side. The rejection was physical—a slap to the chest.
“You used to love it,” Cotton said, her voice rising, brittle. “You used to beg for it.”
“I used to be lonely,” Mira corrected. “And I used to think your emotional unavailability was a mystery to be solved. Turns out, it’s just a defense mechanism. And it’s boring.”
Boring.
The word landed harder than cruel.
Mira set the mug down. She looked at Cotton with clear, unclouded eyes. There was no awe there. No desire. Just pity.
“I’m happy, Cotton,” Mira said softly. “She makes me breakfast. She asks about my day. She doesn’t treat me like a…” She gestured vaguely at the air. “Like a rite of passage.”