Twenty-Two
CORA
People keep secrets underneath their clothes every day. Tattoos, birthmarks, scars, pen-scrawled reminders—they reside on our skin, classified to everyone but the wearer. These secrets say so much about us.
For example, the guy standing at the center podium in a lecture hall at the University of DC—the one wearing a custom-tailored navy-blue suit with a green tie that complements his mind-bogglingly pretty eyes—has a cock piercing. It’s been there for months, apparently, present at every pre-election event and every silly verbal sparring match with the camgirl he’s been forced to know. Nobody knew except him, but it was there all the same.
And here’s a better example: Underneath my sweater, I’m wearing the cum I drew from his dick with my mouth. It’s all over my tits, and I haven’t wiped any of it away because I wanted to wear it. I wanted him to look out at the crowded lecture hall, find me, and know I was covered in it—while I sat two rows behind his oblivious father.
Fantasy becomes reality at this very moment. Everett finishes responding to a question from the moderator, and while the audience applauds, his eyes lock on mine. His expression is smug, and I love it. He deserves to be smug. Hell, he deserves to be outright cocky .
Because with the lights beaming on him and an effortless half-smile on his face, it’s glaringly obvious: Everett Logan was born for this shit.
Primary debates for a congressional seat with no voting rights aren’t interesting during most elections, but the room is packed. There are local news cameras here. Phones livestreaming. Reporters. So many eyes are on this benign election, and it’s because of Everett.
He rises to the occasion flawlessly. His responses are charming and practiced but not too rehearsed. Astute but not inaccessible. Relatable but not overly casual. He embarrasses the other three candidates handily—and from personal experience, I know he’s barely trying.
At the end of the debate, the lights brighten, the audience stands, and the candidates exit the lecture hall. Most of them shuffle off with their gaits less perky than when they trotted out earlier, but Everett strolls out—as he should.
“He did amazing,” Essie mentions. “He’s trending in local searches.”
Of course he’s trending; he won by a mile. Plus, he’s fine as fuck.
“I’m going to run the numbers on Forrester,” she goes on, bending over to fish a portable phone battery out of her gigantic tote bag. “Once I have that—”
“Hello, girls!” Alyssa, Dalton’s mother, chirps as she breaks through the departing crowd to reach Essie and me.
Alyssa Cavendish is exactly who I would want to be if I were born into indescribable wealth and privilege. She’s stunning, unbothered, and so elegant that I imagine royal households would be nervous to invite her over.
When we’re in grabbing distance, Alyssa hugs us. “I’ve missed you both. Cora, you’re looking absolutely gorgeous. Did you get the flowers I sent? And what about the basket—did you like the spa basket? I asked Dalton what kinds of things you like, and he responded with ‘books and stomping on men’s balls,’ so I figured pampering gifts might be your speed.”
“I loved it.”
Alyssa beams and gives me another hug. Before she pulls away, she whispers, “You and Everett are so blindingly beautiful together.” I don’t know how she knows, and it’s the briefest of compliments, but strangely, it feels like… pride.
“Ms. Flores,” a familiar voice calls, severing the moment. Governor Logan tips his chin at me. “You have your arm back.”
Sure do. I just used this arm to press on your son’s perineum.
“What an astute observation, Warren,” Alyssa comments with an annoyed sigh, facing the governor.
The governor does this thing with his jaw—a hybrid of a swallow and a clench. What emerges on his face is a smile, but there’s something behind it, like a grimace trying to seep through his perfect teeth.
“A pleasure as always,” he murmurs, and it’s unclear if he’s speaking to Alyssa or me.
When he’s gone, Essie releases the breath she was holding. “What the fuck was that?” she blurts out. “I’ve seen less hostile interactions outside Walmart on Black Friday.”
“Warren has a way of souring situations,” Alyssa replies, rolling her eyes.
“Cora,” Beverly chimes in, which makes Essie jump and whirl around.
“What the fuck was that ?” she questions, clutching her hand to her chest. “Were you just standing there? Why are you all so spooky?”
“Don’t mind Essie,” I request. “Did you need something?”
Pointedly, Beverly glances at Essie, who sighs. “Fine. Alyssa and I can go find Valeria and Lander—”
“Lander is with Everett and Dalton,” Beverly interrupts. “And it would be better if you kept your distance—”
“Beverly,” I cut in, taking my turn to interrupt. “You and I are in business. Reluctantly, sure, but we are. You and my girl Essie—” I cock my head at her, “are not. So you can talk to me as curtly as you want because I’m a big girl and I’m not going to fault a woman for doing her job. But if you ever make my friend feel small again, I’ll seduce Governor Logan and destroy his political career. Is that clear?”
Beverly’s lips press together into a perfectly painted mauve line that contrasts impeccably with the amused smiles on Alyssa and Essie’s faces. “That’s fair.”
“Lovely,” I say, grinning. “Essie, Alyssa, can you give us a minute?”
Once they’re gone, Beverly pulls me to the side. “What’s going on with you? Everett is uniquely poised to win, and by not fulfilling your end of the deal, you’re putting him at risk.”
I find myself nodding. “I know he is. I’m sorry, what did I miss?”
There’s a beat of silence before Beverly clears her throat. “Oh. Right—thanks. I need you to get a boyfriend or a date, remember? I can coordinate the photographer and send the photos to the right outlets, but it would help if you posted it on your socials. Simple.”
“Anything to support my friend.” My friend whose balls I sucked an hour ago. “That all?” I ask, refraining from stating the obvious: Beverly totally expected me to be a bitch about this.
She shakes her head. “Thank you, Cora.”
Once Beverly leaves, I check my phone and see two messages from Everett:
Politics Boy
My father is making me have dinner with him
Strongly considering eating meat so I get sick and have to leave, but then I’d be useless to you
Me
No worries
You were incredible, by the way. I’m really proud of you
Everett doesn’t reply, but I know he’s busy—and this is how things will likely go: him pulled in a hundred directions, and any encounters between us limited to secret trysts.
It’s not going to be easy. It’s not without risks.
But then I think about the cum on my breasts and his knowing stare from the podium.
I smile.
Turns out, not all secrets are bad.