Twenty-One

CORA

Something unique about Everett Logan is how difficult it is to rattle him. He tempers everything.

Other men aren’t like this, I’ve learned. When I say anything filthy, most men act shocked. Raised eyebrows. Abrupt inhales. Little surprised chuckles.

I know it’s because I’m a pretty Asian girl with big eyes, long silky hair, and mesmerizing tits. The media has led men to expect shy giggles, submissive blushing, and all kinds of bullshit that I—an educated, self-employed woman—simply don’t have time to unpack for them. They don’t expect filth. They don’t expect authority.

Everett’s response is different. When I order him to take out “my” new cock, his gaze heats like he’s been waiting for me to make this demand for months. He doesn’t even question it. He gets right down to business and loosens his belt buckle, and my heart starts racing.

“It is yours.” His eyes zero in on my mouth as he unzips his pants and reaches into his boxer briefs. “I’m glad you know it’s yours.”

He takes out his cock.

Everett has given me wondrous tips over the last week, but this is by far the best. He has—by all standards—a beautiful cock.

Like Everett, it’s understatedly elegant. It’s not veiny or ruddy or intimidating in the slightest—although its girth is noteworthy. But there’s this curve up to the head that emphasizes his length, and from the smoothness of its taut skin to the neatly groomed curls at the base, it’s clear to me that he takes pride in it. This cock is well cared for, and I love that. Not all rich boys know how to take care of their things, but Everett clearly does.

His piercing is a prince albert, which means the curved barbell he wears is visible at the tip and on the underside below the head. It suits him—like an element of surprise. I’ve seen countless dick piercings in my line of work, but never on a guy like Everett.

When I graze my fingertips over the head, he doesn’t flinch, but he does let out a slow stream of air through his nostrils. Our eyes meet. There’s a tacit exchange and an unmistakable request in the intensity of his gaze: Play with the gift I got you.

I press my thumb against the ball at the end of his piercing. The metal is warm like his skin and shifts gently from side to side as I rotate my thumb. When I push on it, applying pressure, Everett’s cock stiffens even more—and my god, this dick is rideable.

“What does everyone else think of it?”

“Nobody has seen it but you. Well, except the guy who pierced me.” He’s quiet, watching me before he wets his lips with his tongue and asks hesitantly, “Do you like it?”

“Everett,” I murmur, focusing my attention back to the cock he pierced for me—and it really is such a beautiful cock. “From this moment on, you don’t ever change this cock without my permission. Do you understand?”

Expression serious, Everett nods.

“Say it out loud,” I instruct, stepping closer. I adjust my grip, taking more of his cock in my hand and thumbing the piercing more forcefully. “Do you understand?”

“I understand.” He wets his lips with his tongue before he takes a small step closer as well. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

With my free hand, I reach into my purse for my phone, swipe, and show him my screen. There, saved on my cloud drive, is everything he sent to me last night: a file containing hundreds of emails and texts to Lander and Dalton where they shit-talked current politicians, photographs of a visibly hammered Everett in college, and a police report recounting a time when he got cuffed while protesting the construction of a condo on a butterfly habitat. There’s also an unfathomable cache of pictures of Everett smoking weed from every vessel known to man, and two pictures of him making out with other guys.

“My father’s team put it together so we could always stay ahead of a scandal,” Everett explains, expression placid as he watches me scroll through all the things that could destroy his political career. “There’s a word for it. It’s Russian. It’s—”

“Kompromat,” I fill in. “A collection of evidence that could damage a politician’s reputation.” I put my phone back into my purse. “Who else has seen this?”

“Aside from the people who collected it, only my father and me.”

The weight of his confession should feel heavy. After all, Everett just made me privy to secrets that could decimate an entire family’s political legacy. He handed them to me on a platter and all but told me to use them if he ever hurt me again.

But despite the gravity of what I’ve been given, I simply feel…honored. Respected. Special .

“I need you to admit you lied,” I say, facing him. “I need to hear it.”

“I lied to you,” he answers immediately. “I’ve lied for seven months because I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you and I didn’t know how to handle it. I avoided you and pushed you away because I knew if you wanted me, I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“But you did say no. In the elevator,” I remind him.

“That fucking killed me,” he grits. “And barely two weeks later, I’m standing here, begging you to want me. I am begging you .”

My exhale is slow. Cleansing. “And are you going to lie to me again?”

He shakes his head and gives a gentle thrust, urging more of his length into my hand. “Never.”

“Never,” I reiterate. “I don’t tolerate men who lie, Everett.”

“I know. You shouldn’t.”

“And if you lie to me again,” I go on, enunciating each word, “I’m going to destroy you: mind, body, and soul.”

Everett grins openly now. “I know,” he says before his hands go to my hips.

“Evisceration.”

“I know.”

“Like nothing you’ve ever imagined.”

“I know.”

“You won’t recover,” I continue, stroking down the entire length of his cock. “And no therapist will ever be able to help you because I’ll make your demise brutal and unprecedented. Unhinged. I’ll get my two best friends and your two best friends together, and the five of us will have a sick, filthy orgy without you. No condoms . Just sweat, and cocks, and tits, and your sad, remorseful ass watching a video of it alone. And for years, even when you think you’re over it, I’ll shove it in your handsome face. Your first day as president, when you’re sitting at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office, your aides will drop off a folder with all the important news of the day. Somehow—and you’ll never figure out how—right on top of the stack, there’s going to be a picture of me fucking the shit out of all your friends . Do you understand, Everett?”

His face is now sporting a full-on smile. “I do.”

“And I’ll use it,” I go on, tilting my head in the direction of my purse. “Your kompromat? I’ll use it without batting an eye. If you don’t think I’m patient enough to wait until you get elected, get ready to marvel, baby boy. I’ll get you impeached . That’s far worse than losing an election. You’ll be disgraced before you can even deliver the State of the Union. Do you understand me, Everett Logan?”

This time, Everett’s response is a kiss that swallows me whole. He kisses me so hard that I forget to breathe until his tongue parts my lips. I let him in, gasping as he crushes our bodies together.

His tongue is slick in my mouth, intrusive but delicious—quite like Everett. It drags over my piercing, and I feel the groan emanating from his throat. He pries his lips from mine. “Holy shit,” he mutters, holding my face close to his with a hand pressed against the nape of my neck, tangled in my hair. “I’ve never been kissed like this before.”

“Of course you haven’t,” I reply, lowering my gaze to his mouth and scoffing. “You weren’t with me.”

“But now you’re holding my cock. You’re holding it perfectly, princess.”

“You’re an asshole,” I respond, letting go.

A flash of disappointment crosses his face when I stop touching him, but he doesn’t complain. “I am.”

“ I hate you .”

“I know.”

Slowly, I place a hand on each of his cheeks and hold his face, forcing him to look at me. “You know you’re going to make this up to me, right?”

Everett bobs his head.

“Good,” I declare before flipping my hair over my shoulder. “You have a debate to win.”

“Do I? Because I could probably skip it.”

“Absolutely not,” I say before folding my lips over my teeth, prepping. “You’re going to win. You’re going to make your father piss himself with pride, but that’s not important. What’s important is you . You’re going to win because you deserve it. None of those motherfuckers can hold a candle to you, and do you know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because you’re mine, Everett. Because we both know I deserve the best. And I’m going to get on my knees and suck your fat cock and remind you that I do not suck off losers.” I flip my hair back again, ensuring it won’t get in the way. “Think about that while you fuck my throat.”

He lets out a chuckle. “You’re my favorite person ever. I can’t believe you’re real…”

“But,” I warn while lowering to the floor, “just because I’m on my knees does not let you off the hook. Are we clear?”

“So fucking clear.”

“Fabulous.” I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and admire it at eye level. “It’s so perfect, Everett.”

Watching him, I stick out my tongue and drag the tip over the ball end of his piercing—and nothing else.

“Fuck,” he groans, but he holds out the word for so long that I don’t even hear the consonants at the end. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.”

I lick the smooth head. “Tell me. Were you working to get me?”

He nods.

I give another slow lick, tasting the saltiness of his precum against the metal of the piercing. “Tell me how.”

He slides his hand through my hair. “I’ve tried all your favorite restaurants.”

“None of them are vegan,” I reply before sucking the head between my lips.

“Sometimes, I just go for the vibes.” He groans. “Yeah, like that.”

I pop my lips off the head. “Keep going,” I urge before I take him in my mouth again, sucking an inch of him this time.

“You once mentioned a podcast you liked, so I listened to all five hundred episodes.”

Moaning approvingly, I put more of him into my mouth—half of his length this time.

“Princess, your mouth is ridiculous.”

The compliment makes me take him deeper. He has no clue how ridiculous my mouth is—but I’ll happily show him.

“I learned how to mix the best gin and tonic,” he continues. “I can cook a vegan adobo. And I’ve been studying Tagalog for six months.”

I pause before I let his dick slip out of my mouth and say, “My family is from Ilocos Sur.”

He stares at me, not getting it.

“They speak Ilocano. Tagalog is a second language to them.”

Now, Everett’s dick actually deflates a little in my hand, and his brow knots so deeply that I’m tempted to smooth it because I don’t want to be the reason such a handsome guy wrinkles before he turns thirty. “I’m sorry— what ?”

“Different languages,” I explain, jerking him loosely. “You learned one my family doesn’t always use.”

His eyes widen until there’s a narrow rim of white around his irises. “I learned the wrong language?”

“Well actually, I don’t speak either,” I admit. “And since I don’t talk to my parents…”

He sighs and mutters, “Lander’s going to have a field day with this shit when he finds out.”

“Whatever. Bet your Tagalog is better than his Spanish,” I reply, sliding my hand from crown to base. “Anything else?”

“I found your Goodreads account and read every book you’ve rated five stars,” he says before he groans again. “This is the best night of my life…”

But I’ve stopped moving. “What did you say?”

“This is the best—”

“You read all the books I love?” I ask, barely able to pose the question evenly.

“Luckily, you’re discerning,” he goes on, reaching out to stroke my hair. “You don’t give out many five stars.”

My heart has never pounded harder. If Everett read all those books… “It’s still hundreds,” I figure. “ At least .”

“It’s a good thing your taste is impeccable,” he replies, gaze hooded. “The monster stuff was different but fun.”

My chest feels hot and tingly, and unprecedented want strikes me. I need this guy. Need him—right now. I need to show him all the things he’s earned.

I adjust on my knees, making my mouth as accessible as possible. “Feed it to me,” I whisper before running my tongue over his crown. “Put it in my throat.”

Everett doesn’t move beyond tightening his brow.

“Take it,” I encourage. “Fuck my tight little throat, Everett. Treat me like a whore on my knees for you.”

His stare darkens gloriously. “Treat you like one?” he murmurs before chuckling. “You are a whore. I pay you to be one.”

The words make my entire body flutter with anticipation. “Do it,” I urge. “You know you’re not supposed to.”

Carefully, I work the sleeve of my sweater over my bandaged arm. When I reveal my bare tits to Everett, he releases a faint laugh. I almost don’t hear it.

“You’re everything I want,” he mutters before he grabs my hair, cants his hips forward, and slides his dick into my mouth again.

I take all of him.

Cock fills my mouth—my throat—and a desire sparks deep in my core. I suck him, working against the pressure of his thrust, showing him how good it can be between us—maybe better than we both imagined.

Men and their cocks have always fascinated me: the way they treat them as power sources, their obsession with length and thickness, how many pussies they can get them into—or assholes, or throats. I’ve seen countless men lose their minds over their own dicks. But until tonight, I’ve never seen a man so controlled when it comes to his cock.

When he pulls out, he’s careful. Careful with his piercing against my throat. Careful with my piercing against his length. Careful .

My hand tightens on his thigh over the coarse hairs on his skin. “You can do it,” I urge, voice scratchy already. “Fuck it. Take it.”

“I need you to do it,” he counters, brow tight. “I want to see you suck it. Show me you want me back.”

“No. You’re not listening. I told you to take it—so fucking take it, Everett.” And I open my mouth, edge my tongue out, and wait.

Everett falters before he touches the head of his cock to my tongue again. I can practically see the discomfort warring inside him—the intrinsic tendency to do what he’s told, rather than what he wants.

I cup my bare breasts, toying with them, teasing my nipples. “Do it for me then. I need this.”

I need this . The words are magical. Everett drives his cock forward with alarming speed, shoving it right over my extended tongue and into my mouth. The fullness is electrifying: a crescendo of lightning and rainclouds into the stinging contact at the back of my throat. I relax, opening up to him—

—and he fucks me.

His dick is relentless and thick, working into every crevice of my throat, spreading my saliva, taking my face in a manner bordering on animalistic. He grunts. He thrusts. He urges out a labored breath that intertwines with the thud of my heartbeat.

Through my watery eyes, I watch him, admiring the ravenous, ragged expression creeping onto such an elegant face. He’s otherworldly. Everett could be royalty—but he looks far better when he comes undone.

“Such a slut for it,” he grits. “Tits out, sucking me off while you’re on your knees. Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

Perfect . For two decades, I was told to be perfect. The thought sickened me. When anyone told me I was perfect, the person they were speaking to didn’t really exist.

But when Everett calls me perfect, he’s talking about the woman in front of him—the one debasing herself without shame.

“That tongue piercing feels so damn good,” he murmurs over a groan. “I’m close.”

His words are a cue. I reach up, cup his balls, and squeeze them gently—just enough to pull a moan out of him. I use my mouth next. It’s a quick succession of motions—popping off his fat, wet cock and fitting both his balls between my lips and licking them, sucking them. His grip on my hair is unforgiving. Painful. Desperate. So, I slide my fingertips back and press on the skin between his balls and his asshole.

Everett swears aloud.

And then he’s telling me I’m everything. He’s marveling at what a whore I am, thanking me, and telling me how no other mouth feels like mine. My lips go back to his cock, and I put him back in my throat. He swears he’s going to make me happy—that he’s going to shower me with cash and gifts and tips—but it’s the words, “Let me mark you,” that nearly put me in a frenzy.

I’ll happily take the cash and the gifts and the tips—but his cum is the thing I really want.

I sit back on my shins and wait.

Above me, Everett looms with his pupils big and his eyes locked on my breasts. His hand wraps around his cock—shiny and wet from my mouth—and with a jerk of his hand, he finishes himself. His cum releases onto me, spreading across my body, landing on my nipples, my piercings, and my belly.

He watches every spurt.

“There it is,” he murmurs, and the words stutter with the motion of his jerking hand. “Look at all that cum dripping off your hard nipples. Fucking dripping .”

Satisfied, I look at my breasts and admire the masterpiece splattered over my skin. It’s everywhere .

Everett extends his hand and pulls me to my feet. I’m not eye level with him—far from it—but right now, I feel taller than I ever have.

“Unreal,” he murmurs. “Fucking unreal. You’re brilliant.”

The praise laces itself in my bloodstream and travels through the network of my veins. I try not to smile. I want to be sexy and aloof, but I can’t help it—not when Everett is fixated on the splash of cum on my tits. He reaches out, swipes the tip of his index finger through the pearlescent spend, and drags it over my skin. For several seconds, his focus remains locked on the mess spread over my chest. “Do you know what I did after you dumped that gin and tonic on me?”

The night we met. I shake my head.

“I went home, went straight to my bedroom, and jerked off into my hand. Didn’t even shower first.” His gaze rises to my face. “Now you’re wearing my cum.”

“I never thought I’d suck your cock,” I admit before I take his wrist, bring his finger to my lips, and suck it clean. “But this cock is mine, right?”

“Yours,” Everett agrees, eyes now locked on my mouth. “Even if I’m dead asleep, it’s yours.” His gaze rises. “Can I kiss you?”

The question surprises me. Nearly every guy I’ve blown has avoided kissing me after, but Everett can’t even wait for a response. He presses his mouth against mine before sliding his tongue between my lips. His mouth is minty and familiar, and I wonder if he can taste his own cum.

If he can, he doesn’t give a shit.

I pull back, breaking the kiss. I straighten his tie. I smooth his lapels. I brush his hair from his forehead, even though he looks godly when it’s messy. I adjust him until he’s perfect—until he’s Everett Logan, congressional candidate. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he responds softly. He looks fuck-drunk, not focused, and I need him to get it together and validate what I’m about to do:

For the first time in years, I’m going to lie.

I’m going to lie to the entire world and pretend I’m not screwing the shit out of this guy every chance I get.

“Where’s my tip?” I ask.

A languid smile begins at the upturned corner of his lips and spreads across his face. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, removes his wallet, and passes me an Amex Black Card. “Buy something for us to play with,” he instructs like he just asked me to pay off a utility bill.

I capture the card between my index and middle fingers and slide it into the pocket of my skirt before I pick up my sweater.

“Will you leave my cum on you?” he asks, stopping me with my arm halfway into a sleeve. “I want to know you’re sitting there, wearing it on your nipples. If I win, I want to lick it off. And if I lose—”

“You won’t lose, Everett,” I reply, which draws a smirk out of him.

I pull my sweater over my tits, feeling the fuzzy underside rub against the stickiness.

And I rise on my toes, cup Everett’s face, and whisper, “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to embarrass the shit out of them,” before planting a kiss on his cheek.