Thirty-Two

EVERETT

“In fact,” my father says after he’s glared at me long enough, “secrets could destroy us if we let them.” He rises from his chair. “Who’s going to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Cora states without missing a beat.

A pang of guilt rolls through me. It’s bad enough Cora is in PR-mode, wearing a modest, boring ass cocktail dress despite my protests, but she just lied for me—again.

“If something were happening here,” my father goes on, speaking slowly while looking at Cora, “we should consider the optics of a woman like you seducing my only son.”

The room goes silent—I think. In truth, fury rings so violently in my ears that I can’t even focus until Cora grabs my hand.

“You think I pursued Everett? It would be more believable to say the bullet bounced off him and ricocheted into me, you dick-shaped—”

“I’d like to talk to my father alone,” I interject.

Cora’s brow furrows and she glares at me—rightfully so.

I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, but this is between him and me.”

Understanding passes over her face, and Cora bobs her chin.

Once she’s gone, I face my father again. There’s a vein protruding from his forehead, marring his classic features, and I bet he spent decades learning how to hide it.

“Go on,” I urge, breaking the silence. “Say it.”

His exhale is measured, and he raises his hands, gesticulating like a politician when he says, “Everett, your potential as a candidate—”

“Tell me she’s going to ruin my life. It’s what you’re thinking, so say it.”

“Everett,” he continues, composed as usual. “ Son , this is a critical moment for our family. You and I are both running for office and our campaigns will impact each other whether we like it or not. I’m hosting a fundraising luncheon to kick off my Senate campaign next month, and I’d like you to introduce me. And Everett, the Logan family will be a real political dynasty .”

“Fine. Cora and I will be here.”

“But—”

“If it’s after the primary, we’ll be public,” I insist. “I’m not hiding anymore.”

His gaze slips into a narrowed glare. “Then you’re going to lose the election.”

“I won’t. My campaign is flawless. Whoever wins the primary wins the seat. It’s a guarantee.”

“And after? Do you genuinely believe you can get anywhere in DC with her on your arm? You’ll fail.”

A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow past it. “You have so little faith in me,” I murmur.

Even in the face of desperation, his fa?ade never slips. He wants to slap me. Strangle me. He probably wants to contact several priests and coordinate an exorcism—and we’re not even Catholic. But Warren E. Logan doesn’t break. “You’ve worked your entire life for this.”

My eyebrows flick upward, and I sigh the same way he did: slow, measured, and masking what I actually want to say: Fuck off.

Instead, I give him the politically correct response: “But you’ve worked much longer, haven’t you?” I breathe out, and for the first time, I don’t tell him what he wants to hear. Instead, I say, “I’m not breaking up with Cora. You’ll have to kill me if you want us apart.”

***

When I return to the party and whisper, follow me , before grabbing Cora’s hand, she’s game. In fact, she doesn’t question anything until I bring her into another room, perch her on my father’s desk, fit myself between her legs, and work my hand under her dress.

“Now?” she asks right before I kiss her.

I’m tugging her panties to the side and don’t stop. “I need this,” I reply before pressing our lips together once more.

Cora lets out a sigh, but she spreads her legs even wider. “You’re the horniest man alive.”

“Have you seen you? It’s a miracle I remember to eat.” I shove three fingers into her right off the bat, but I could have started with four. She’s wet .

She takes out my erect cock, glancing at the pierced head and smiling. Without being told what to do, she places my cock at the entrance to her pussy. For a delicious moment, my piercing touches hers—and fuck , I love when our hardware kisses.

I surge inside her and drive toward a fast climax. When she’s close, I pull out, whirl her around, and bend her over the desk. Her hands grip the edge, and when I enter her again, she comes while moaning into her forearm to keep quiet. I follow on the tail end, emptying my cum into her while I massage my thumb against her asshole, and I’m obsessed with the way she whimpers the entire time.

When I lick the skin between her delicate shoulder blades, I know I should feel guilty about where we are, but I don’t. I don’t give a single fuck, actually.

Years ago, the lieutenant governor gave my father this horrendous, solid gold, engraved pen to sign important documents. Today, I use it to write the word EVERYTHING on the globe of my girlfriend’s ridiculously nice ass.

“Let me guess: It says, ‘mine,’ doesn’t it?” Cora asks, scoffing.

I take out my phone and snap a picture. When I show it to her, she can’t stop the smile that fills her face. “You’re spiraling, Everett.”

I nod, not denying it—certainly not when I take a thousand dollars cash out of my wallet and slide it into the top of her dress. “Come on,” I say, giving her ass a sharp spank before I cover it with her skirt. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”