Twenty-Eight

CORA

The guy covered in tattoos and lurking near me is ludicrously hot, and I’m very much uninterested in him. He’s convinced he’s getting laid tonight though, which is baffling to me because I’ve spent the last five minutes hinting that I’m not interested.

“For the last time, I’m not going to fuck you,” I inform him before I take a long pull from my gin and tonic through the two little black cocktail straws in my drink.

…Alright, I admit: My version of hinting is a bit more direct than most, but it’s somehow still not direct enough.

He blinks, and I figure he’s fully short-circuiting until he says, “You did two shots with me, took a picture with me, and let me kiss your face.”

My eyebrow practically skyrockets. “And since we’re listing everything I did tonight, don’t forget: I also told you I’m not going to fuck you. Twice.”

His face contorts into a sneer, and this is surely the part of the conversation where he calls me a bitch, a cunt, a bitchy cunt, or a cunty bitch.

“Look,” I preempt, “I know, I know—I’m the cuntiest bitch who ever cunted, and you sincerely hope that my bitchy cunt gets what’s cunting to it.”

When I finish speaking, he doesn’t even laugh—ugh. Boring . Everett would have loved that one. Rolling my eyes, I finish my drink, slide it across the bar, and wave goodbye to the tattooed guy before he can string together a sentence. Over it.

I want to go home.

But Beverly still hasn’t texted me back to tell me if the clip I posted was good enough, so until she does, I’m stuck here.

I weave into the crowd on the dancefloor. When I find Essie and Valeria, they’re together in the center, mouthing the words to the song playing. I join them, and the three of us dance the way we have for years now. But tonight, all we get is a few minutes together before a pair of big hands slides down my hips and pulls me back against a hard body.

Alarmed, I whirl around and find myself face to face with this grabby hipster wearing thick rimmed glasses and a baseball cap. He has pretty eyes though.

“Princess, I thought you were going to be a good girl tonight,” the hipster murmurs in a voice I could never mistake. Everett presses his lips to my forehead.

“What are you doing here?” I question, pulling my head back to stare at him.

“Where the fuck did he go?” Everett responds before scanning the dancefloor with his mouth in a firm line. “I just want to talk.”

I’m such a disappointment sometimes. I studied my ass off, worked for every dime to my name, and still, I turn to mush when the most composed guy I know reveals himself to be a possessive, protective motherfucker.

And another thing is now apparent to me: Not only is Everett possessive and protective; he’s jealous .

Oh, this is absolutely magical. I smirk before I say, “He’s on his knees, eating my pussy.”

“This pussy?” Everett replies before his hand slips underneath the hem of my dress. He nudges my thong to the side and slides a finger into me.

Practically nuzzling me, Everett buries his nose into my hair and whispers, “If you’re about to tell me this pussy isn’t satisfied, we’re going to have problems. Do I not give your pussy what it needs?”

I groan when he wiggles his finger, burying it even deeper. “We’re on a dancefloor .”

Everett’s response is to add a second finger. “Tighten up for me,” he urges, speaking close to my ear so he’s audible over the pounding of the music. “Yeah, like that. Squeeze the fuck out of my fingers. Good. Now, answer me. Is this pussy getting what it needs?”

I don’t respond. I glance to the side at Valeria and Essie, who are still dancing together but clearly watching Everett and me—and beaming .

“Don’t be shy,” he goes on, kissing my temple on the same spot the tattooed guy did earlier. “My filthy little whore. No inhibitions, no hang ups. I bet you’ve played in public before—that you like the thought of a live audience. Does this pussy need to get fucked tonight?”

Everett’s tongue slides against that same point on my temple. When he pulls back, he’s grinning, wearing an expression that screams I licked it so it’s mine . Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of my pussy and glides them upwards, tracing the crevice between my ass cheeks until he comes to an abrupt stop. His brow pinches. “What the hell is this?” His fingertips flick against it, making me gasp. “You wore a butt plug to the club?”

I sure fucking did. “Maybe my pussy isn’t the thing you’re not satisfying,” I taunt. “Do you have any clue how much this ass makes me? And you ignore it? Arrogant. Oh well. Guess I have to find someone who won’t waste a perfect ass.”

Everett perks up at the sound of a challenge. He raises his hand and places his fingers on my chin, tipping my face up. “Who did you wear this for?”

I know the real question he’s asking: if I knew he would chase me tonight.

I did. I wanted him to. Still, my response is a vague, “Who knows,” and a coquettish smile.

Everett’s eyebrow rises. His expression brightens with intrigue, and he fixes a hand on the nape of my neck before he whispers, “Alley. Now.”

***

Outside, the air is brisk but heavy. It’s always like this in April: thick with the threat of rain and mild with the rise of summer. The sensation is unique to DC, a swollen, all-consuming aura that fades around the time the cherry blossoms fall. I’ve always liked this time of year, mostly for its brevity. In the three years I’ve lived here, I’ve amassed an infinite list of ephemeral but effervescent memories tied up with the mood of the District. This short transition from spring to summer is my favorite.

But the sheen in Everett Logan’s eyes as he takes my hand and helps me down the back step into the alley is far from ephemeral. Whatever is about to happen will be opaque, unprecedented—and magnificent .

The alley is drippy and dark, wide enough for trash collection, but not wide enough for parking. There’s a pair of dumpsters at the mouth closest to the sidewalk, and the opposite end stretches behind the row of businesses that share the alley. It’s quiet.

As soon as the metal door to the back entrance closes, Everett shoves me against the club’s brick wall. My shoulders collide with the unforgiving stone, but his hand on the small of my back protects me from any real impact. His other hand cups my jaw, squeezing it until it aches.

“Look at me,” he orders. His stare is convincingly dangerous. “Should I be mad at you?”

“Probably,” I dare to retort. “I’ve ruined you for all other women and I haven’t even decided if I like you yet.”

Eyebrow raised, he gets in my face and his hand lowers to cup my ass cheek. “You were going to let someone else have this ass?” He grips me. “Two days after I filled your pussy with my cum, you were going to let someone else shove their cock in you? Are you that much of a slut, princess?”

The disbelief behind his words sounds real—and I love it. My arms rise and wrap around his neck, pulling him toward me. I initiate a kiss. Open-mouthed. Filthy. Then I say against his lips, “If you wanted it, you should have taken it— fuck .”

I throw my head back as Everett tugs on the plug, testing just how tight everything is.

“We fucked for the first time two days ago ,” he reminds me before looking down at my squirming body. “But god, it’s hot how fast you move.”

Before I can respond, Everett shoves down the top of my dress, exposing my breasts. He darts down immediately and wraps his lips around my left nipple while still pulling on the plug—and we’re in an alleyway .

“Would you have let him fuck it?” Everett goes on, speaking against my breast. He switches to the other and sucks deeply before saying, “Would you have let another cock inside you even after having mine?”

I don’t answer him. I just fix my hands on his shoulders and urge him on, tacitly telling him to keep working the plug, to keep sucking on my tits.

“I told you my cock was yours. If you wanted something big and hard in your greedy little asshole, you should have told me. I give you what you need. That’s my job now.” With a gentle, measured tug, he slides the plug out of me, and I groan from the sudden emptiness. “And you have the audacity to keep slutting around the District? For fuck’s sake.”

I sigh. “Look at it, you entitled brat,” I order, playing my role.

It’s dark, so it takes Everett a beat. Head canted, curious, he studies the plug under the faint glow from a nearby wall light. His eyebrows catapult. “You’re wearing a butt plug with the letter E engraved on it?”

Smirking, I nod before pushing off the wall and rising on my toes. “I bought it with my black card.”

The look of excitement on his face is beyond elation. I think Everett just reached nirvana.

He slides the plug into his pocket and lifts me, kissing my lips like I’m going to disappear if he stops. My back hits the wall again.

And then his fingers toy with my exposed breasts while I rub his cock through his pants and whisper, telling him I want it—need it.

“I have lube in my purse,” I say around a groan once Everett starts sucking a hickey onto my neck.

“In your purse?” He pulls his head back and raises a brow. “My, aren’t we prepared...”

“Look at me. I’m stunning. I could get an offer to fuck at any minute.” I scoff. “And I knew you’d pull this shit, Everett. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

“You know me so well,” he mutters, grinning as he takes the purse I’m holding out and pulls out the little bottle of lube. And then he’s so damn cute that he loops it over his arm in lieu of putting it on the wet ground.

Apparently, this guy is going to fuck my asshole while wearing a purse.

He spins me around, and I brace my hands against the wall, well aware I’ve lost my mind—but I don’t miss it at all. The rush of a clandestine tryst, the thrill of taboo, and the downright vulgarity of fucking in an alley make my heart race. Anyone could see us. Anyone could catch us. And if they did, Everett’s career would be over. Ruined.

Everett knows this. Still, he spreads my cheeks, spits on my asshole , and penetrates me with two lubed fingers. “So damn tight,” he murmurs while working his fingers in and out, stretching me beyond what the plug already did. “I used to imagine this. Dreamt of it.”

“This?” I question, bewildered. “Spitting on my asshole in an alleyway?”

“Of being so obsessed with each other that we go at it wherever we are, like we can’t wait.” He drips his spit on my asshole again. “God, it’s pretty. Is it sensitive?”

Before I can answer, Everett bends and presses his tongue against my rim, lapping at it. At once, my body flickers with tinges of pleasure.

“ More ,” I say immediately, which makes him pull back and chuckle.

“You’re a slut for this too? Is there a hole on you that you don’t need filled?” He straightens his spine and adds another finger—three now. “I’m going to fuck so much cum into this one.”

“ Everett ,” I blurt out, scandalized for once.

“I loved seeing my cum on your tits.” His other hand reaches up and grips one of my breasts. “And in your swollen, used pussy.” His hand lowers and his fingers skim my hood piercing before they trace a circle around my sensitive clit. “But I’m dying to see it dripping out of your tight little asshole.”

He’s barely done speaking when he works his three fingers in from tip to palm. The stretch is a low burn but entirely welcome. I groan, working my hips back to ask for—no beg for more. He obliges, adding his pinky and giving me four of his fingers now.

“Everett,” I grit out, willing my body to relax. It takes a moment, but the initial shock fades into a dull ache—and shortly thereafter, immaculate friction.

“Four,” he murmurs. “Look at you, taking four fingers in that pretty ass. You take anything I put in you, don’t you? It’s perfect.”

Instead of giving him the acerbic insults or the filthy words he’s used to, I let his praise wash over me. Everett thinks I’m perfect .

“Ready?”

A brief flash of nerves strikes me, and I steady myself when he presses the fat head of his cock into me. It feels impossibly large all of a sudden, and I don’t know what I was thinking, letting him do this here. But then Everett’s hand rises and skims my stomach and my breasts, soothing me. Caressing me. Gradually, my body relaxes—and the entire head of his cock presses into my asshole.

When he breathes out, warm air skitters over my bare back and shoulders. “Did you know how tight this asshole was? Did you know how good it would feel on my cock?”

To be honest, I didn’t know.

This is my first time taking a cock here.

And I’m no stranger to anal play. I love it. I know it’s not for everyone, but I’ve always found the intimacy to be incomparable. It’s not just the taboo of the act, but the trust that comes with allowing another person to explore a part of the body so hidden, so secret, so quintessentially biological . It’s a mental act as much as a physical one—and it’s also a signal of confidence.

One day soon, I’ll tell Everett how monumental it is for me to let him do this. He’ll know how few people have touched me here, how nobody else has fucked me here, how I saved it for him.

“In an alley,” he mutters, pushing more of his cock into me. “My little slut. Ass up, cheeks spread, tits out. You’ll do anything to get it right now, won’t you?” His hand wraps around the end of my ponytail and he tugs, yanking my head back to rest on his shoulder. “Does it hurt?” he asks, speaking against my cheek.

It does. Even though I wore the plug, Everett is big and pierced. I nod silently, feeling the skin on our cheeks rubbing together.

“It’ll fit,” he whispers, switching from merciless to soothing. “You can take it. Every part of this body was built to take big cocks deep and milk the cum out of them.”

I cry out, stimulated by another thrust and his vulgar words. “You’re sick .”

“Entirely.”

“I’m obsessed.”

His free hand slides up my stomach, toying with my belly button piercing on the way to cup my tit. His palm is big and covers my breast while his thumb and forefinger pinch my nipple.

“I’ll never get over these beautiful, pierced tits,” he murmurs, toying with the barbell while working in more of his length. His hand skims the plane of my chest and goes to my neck. “On the best little whore in the entire District, and she’s mine.” He thrusts even deeper.

Now, the stretch is more than I can handle. “So full. Everett—” I plead, needing something to work against the pressure. I need stimulation elsewhere. I need—

“Use your words,” he urges, collaring me with his hand. “Tell me what you need.”

“Choke me,” I reply, grasping at his wrist. “I need it.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His hand tightens on my neck at once. At the same time, he thrusts his cock upwards and deeper into me.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Look at you taking it. So pretty on my dick. Is there anything you can’t take from me?”

His hand on my neck is firm and exactly what I need. Calm once more, dancing on the edges of euphoria, I lower my hand under my skirt and push my fingertips against my clit.

“Nobody feels as good as you do,” Everett goes on. “I’ve waited my whole—” Thrust . “—goddamn life—” Another inch . “—to own a whore like you.” He bottoms out, groaning loud and unrefined before putting his lips by my ear. “We were always meant to fuck like this.”

“I know.”

“ Mine.”

“ Yes .” The word is garbled and strained, in need of more air than he’s giving me, but I force it out anyway. I’m his.

His cheek touches mine. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, princess.”

The praise makes my heart race, and my desire spirals into necessity. I need more of his cock, more of his touch—more of his filthy words.

“How good?” I question, hoping he knows what I’m asking for.

“So damn good,” he praises, proving how well he understands me. “Everything I hoped for. Everything I’ve ever wanted. God, the money I’m going to spend on this fucking body…going to buy and fuck every inch of you, and you’ll thank me .”

The stretch is obscene, and I rub my clit like it’s a job. Everett keeps thrusting, keeps telling me I’m the best and tightest thing he’s ever felt. He knows I’m close—and he pounds into me, thighs slamming against my ass. My body tingles, welcoming the swells of pleasure against pain lapping at me like the tides. I stand there and I take it—take it like a good girl—and let him fuck me to pieces. The surrender is divine for once, and I welcome every second of being this man’s well paid little fuck toy.

And with his hands all over me and his cock deep inside me, it happens—I come .

I come while groaning his name, speaking with my cheek pressed against the brick wall. I’m unabashed. I’m loud. I’m a wrecked version of myself, shameless and thrilled and gone to pleasure.

This night isn’t ephemeral; it’s transcendent .

Everett releases my neck to put his hands on my hips. He goes for it, thrusting, gripping my skin, telling me I’m a perfect whore for him—and I am. I feel perfect for him, and he feels perfect for me, and I don’t know how either of us is ever going to move on from this.

Maybe we can’t. Maybe we won’t.

And Everett’s climax is slow after the quick work his body made of mine. Exhaling, he fills my ass and we both know I’m going to leave it there—cum dripping out of my well-fucked hole. I want it there. I love it there.

Carefully, he slides out and lowers to a crouch. Kneeling behind me, Everett traces his finger around my rim.

“At first, I didn’t think something so tiny and pink could take such a big cock,” he muses before placing his hands on my ass cheeks and spreading them, examining me in the most clinical and cocky way possible—and of course, it works on me. “Every time I watched one of your old streams, I was dying to see more of this asshole. Really pretty. Can I call it mine?”

But before I can agree, he bites my ass cheek— hard .

I drag my fist against the painted brick. The sting from his teeth is mostly sensitivity and lingering prickles from a mind- altering climax, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his teeth pressed into the surface of my skin, applying more pressure, marking me.

When he releases me, I gasp and flatten my hand against the wall, steadying myself.

“Amazing,” he murmurs before he slides my underwear up my legs and pats my ass cheek like he’s commending it for a job well done. He stands again.

I’m still facing the wall, hands braced against it, and I can feel Everett behind me. He makes me face him. And when we’re eye to eye, he adjusts my dress to cover my tits and then reaches into his pocket.

To my surprise, he pulls out his watch.

He loops the heavy thing onto my wrist and clasps it. The watch is far too large, but the look that passes between us tells me everything. He’s smiling at me, not outright, but it’s there in his eyes—in the crinkled outer corners.

He just tipped me with a twenty-thousand-dollar watch given to him by his father—the man who shaped Everett for a career in politics.

There’s a metaphor here: If it came down to it, this guy would throw everything away for me.

Holy shit.