Twenty-Four

EVERETT

“Princess, I’m two minutes away,” I say when the call connects. Then I swerve into the next lane, nearly clipping the car behind me. The driver lays on the horn, and the sound resonates through the plunk of raindrops hitting my car.

“Okay, and?”

“Fuck, I love the sound of your voice,” I respond, changing lanes again. “Will you meet me in the lobby, or do I have to go upstairs and carry you to my car?”

There’s a Ding! on the other end of the call followed by Cora saying, “I’m already on my way.”

Five words without innuendo have no business sounding so promising, but they have me pressing the gas and tearing through the rain-slick streets of Dupont Circle until I get to the Halcyon. The car hasn’t even come to a complete stop when Cora emerges from the building’s double doors.

Her black hair is loose and immediately goes shiny when the rain skims her. I stop breathing for at least three seconds, trying to comprehend how one person could hold that much gravitas. She’s astoundingly beautiful, yes, but her intelligence, her confidence, and her resilience are beyond definition. I’m just so fucking lucky .

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the passenger seat.

All I want to do is kiss her, but we’re idling in front of a well-lit building that certainly has security cameras. I have to settle for squeezing her hand before I loop out of the driveway and back on the road.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“You didn’t have to pick me up.”

I glance at her. “You’re right. Tonight, you can scope out places to park your broomstick, and next time you visit, you can fly over.”

Her subsequent scoff is so sexy that I want to make it my ringtone. “You can suck my asshole,” she retorts.

Please . “That’s very much on the list of things I want to do to you tonight.”

Cora scoffs again, breaking the world record for hotness (her own record), and says, “You haven’t even asked if your performance tonight was compelling enough for me to fuck you, Everett.”

“You’re still wearing my cum,” I point out.

She doesn’t confirm, but she doesn’t deny it either. She rests her hand on my thigh, and her ring-covered fingers are a perfect contrast to my tailored suit pants. We look so fucking good together, I know. We don’t look like we should be together, and that’s what makes it delicious. Forbidden.

It’s going to be so good tonight. I know it. I can feel it.

“Shit,” I blurt out once I turn onto my street.

There are two news vans parked across from my house.

The Logan House has been in the family for generations. My great grandfather got it when he was in Congress under the guise of having a place to spend the night, but he actually hosted his mistresses there. The house is in my name now, but anyone can find it.

I put the car in reverse and gun it back, racking my brain for what to do next. In the passenger seat, Cora watches the blur of cars and homes through the window as I peel to the main road. Her expression is solemn, maybe even disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, sighing past the tight frustration in my chest.

“It’s fine,” she replies.

“It’s not fine.”

“We can go back to the Halcyon.”

“Too risky. I can’t spend the night there.”

“You can drop me off and we could wait a few days.”

But waiting could rend me in two. I promised her excitement. Worship. I promised her everything, but I’m surreptitiously transporting her from one bedroom to the next.

Fuck it.

“Clothes off,” I order, briefly taking my eyes off the road to find her studying me. “Now.”

A familiar challenge rises in Cora’s expression. When she smiles, I know it’s on.

In typical Cora Flores fashion, she strips off her sweater without fanfare, but it’s still the most captivating series of motions I’ve seen all evening. Her eyes linger on me while she tosses the sweater onto my backseat. She stops there though, leaving her skirt around her waist below the band of her fishnets.

We reach a red light, and the faint glow casts over her body. She’s otherworldly, coated in red, nipples erect and topped with silver. Watching me, she tugs her skirt up and reveals the absolutely nothing she’s wearing under her fishnets.

Her pussy is puffy and presses against the webbing. The strings of netting dig into her lips, surrounding those piercings with thin lines of black, and the sight is beyond tempting. I reach out and touch her, feeling the familiar velvet of her pussy. She’s wet. Ready.

When I grab at the crotch of her fishnets and rip them open, she’s not surprised. She just spreads her legs—game for it.

I plunge my fingers in and groan at how wet she is. “You’re a slut for this shit. Is your cunt wet from sucking my cock earlier?”

Cora nods, agreeable for once.

I put my hand back on the wheel. “Put your fingers in,” I guide right before the light turns green.

Her head shake is emphatic. “Not a chance. I’m taking your cock or nothing.”

It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once I get it, I’m ecstatic. It’s happening. I turn the car so abruptly that Cora braces herself with the door handle.

Two summers ago, I coordinated a volunteer day for my team at the EPA in Rock Creek Park. Tonight, I’m going to fuck Cora there.

When I pull into the parking lot, it’s empty. Rain batters the windshield harder than it has all night, flattening the thump of my heartbeat. The night sky is a blanket of cobalt and black, coated in a dusting of glimmering stars over the vast expanse of the park. The trees look like an unbroken mass from where we sit: oak and beech, looming elms and cherry, and the evergreen holly and laurel. I know this place, but seeing it with her is like seeing it for the first time through new eyes.

But when I face her, Cora isn’t looking at the park; she’s staring at me. Her expression is one I’ve come to know: brow raised, corners of her mouth upturned—she’s curious.

The faint lights from my dashboard illuminate her mostly naked body, from the piercings to the torn fishnets to the traces of cum on her skin. She may be curious about me, but I’m positive she’s the most fascinating person I’ve ever encountered.

I kill the engine and open my door, letting in the symphony of raindrops. “Are you coming?”

“What?” is the only thing I hear her say before I emerge into the night.

The rain is relentless, torrential by definition. Cora is only a step behind me, emerging from my car topless, and her skin glistens with the glittery cast of raindrops.

A surprised laugh slips from her lips. She looks over at me, shielding her eyes—laughing. Her arm extends, hand open. I clasp her hand in mine, and together we step over the chain separating the parking lot from the stretch of grass in front of the tree line.

And we run.

The rain plummets in sheets, constant and heavy, streaming over my skin. The mud sticks to my heels and my pants are ruined, but I keep running. Cora is a half-step ahead of me, skin catching the hazy moonlight like a flickering candle and her hair dark like ink. She doesn’t let go of me. Her other hand covers her bare breasts as she moves, and she heads for the trees.

I follow her—and I now know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I would follow her anywhere.

When we reach a deciduous grove, her pace slows. She whirls around and faces me, chest heaving with labored breaths. I don’t stop moving until she’s in my arms.

My hands go to her cheeks, my chest presses against hers, and only my soaked shirt separates us. I stare into her eyes, blinking past thick raindrops, and I let out a chuckle.

She does the same.

And we’re laughing and holding each other in the pouring rain. Her hands roam over my body, caressing me until they settle flat against my pectorals.

When her forehead touches mine, our laughter dims. One of my hands moves from her cheek to the nape of her neck, tangling in her wet hair. The other drifts to her fishnets peeking over the top of her skirt. I slip under the elastic, finding hot skin and smooth edges, and I want to know every part of her.

And I want her to know everything about me: not only my body, but every thought that crosses my mind. No more secrets—for her, at least. She gets all of me. Anything she wants.

“Fuck me,” she requests, and our lips graze as she speaks.

The way I go from caressing her to lifting her in my arms is a lightning flash. Want streams through my body, racing through veins and capillaries, rushing through my hands gripping her. My feet guide us until she’s pressed against an elm tree. I’m not gentle or careful. This is what she needs.

Cora groans, pinned between me and the tree trunk, legs spread open and wrapped around my waist. When she breathes, her breasts press against my chest, and I can feel the pulsation of her heartbeat. It’s racing—mine is too.

And we stare at each other, water sluicing over our faces, memorializing the moment—seven months in the making. We move forward at the same time, like some divine thread looped around us tightens, and our mouths collide.

I kiss Cora hard, opening my mouth and finding her tongue waiting. I lick into her lips, determined to kiss every part of her. She’s kissing me back, groaning so loudly that I can feel the vibrations in my chest. Her hand is wedged between us, fumbling for my buckle, and my hand is there too, easing her pussy open with my fingers.

I stroke her piercings first, acknowledging them and thanking them for being the be-all, end-all of my fantasies. Then I touch her, skimming her clit before I work two fingers in. Her pussy is slick, and it takes everything I have not to dive right into her.

When I remove my fingers, she positions my cock at her entrance and gasps against my mouth when she says, “Call me a slut. Tell me I’m your good little slut, Everett.”

Your good little slut.

I know better than to hesitate for too long. What Cora just said is important.

Since the first time I watched her stream, she’s asked me to degrade her. A whore. A slut . Anything I want to say, I can say. I’ve been game for it because it’s hot, obviously, but I mainly do it because she wants it. Needs it.

But for the first time, Cora asked me for a compliment. She asked me to praise her. By now, I know Cora Flores well enough to understand how difficult it was for her to make this request.

So I don’t hesitate. I can’t afford to. Because when Cora needs something only I can give her, it’s my responsibility to make sure she gets it.

“That’s my good little slut. That’s my girl,” I say, positioning my cock head. Her fourchette piercing grazes my dick as I push in, entering her—entering Cora—for the first time. “Let me make it up to you.”