Forty-Three

EVERETT

Cora Flores has this particular way of taking off her clothes. I’d call it hypnotic, for lack of a better word, but hypnotic doesn’t quite fit. Watching Cora strip is more like a shot of adrenaline, and for a long time, I couldn’t understand how that was possible.

At first, I thought it was simply the way she looked. After all, a phenomenal body is a phenomenal body, and Cora’s body? Fucking remarkable . There’s more to Cora though. Her raw appeal doesn’t come down to divine angles, or gentle swoops, or the elegant indents of her muscles beneath her skin.

Really, it’s the way she understands her body’s capabilities. Its potential. Its inherent value . For weeks, I’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars on Cora. Cash. Gifts. The Amex. In part, those tips were a resounding ‘fuck you’ to my father and every Logan who came before him. And yes, part of it was for me and my kinks—the thrill of paying her for it. Buying it. Being her customer. But some part—a part I now understand was futile—was to show Cora how much she was worth.

Watching her now, taking in every beat of her movements as she kneels in front of me on my king size bed and strips to nothing, I realize it was a fool’s errand to put a dollar amount on Cora. She’s priceless.

When she slides her skirt over her hips, she’s so clearly aware of every inch of her skin, every fine hair, every freckle, every scar. She skims them. She guides my eyes to them.

Like well-practiced choreography, she slips her bra off her slender arms and drops it off the edge of the bed. Her nipples, brown and pearled, are decorated in gold and diamonds today—diamonds I gave her. The diamonds aren’t only in the nipple bars I had crafted from one of my great grandmother’s dinner rings, but also in her earrings, a choker, and the piercing in her bellybutton. I’ve tipped her with all this gold and all these diamonds every time I’ve made love to her in the last month. Needless to say, Cora has so many diamonds now.

I like her dripping in diamonds, I’ve decided. Carats of them, in all cuts, sparkling over her body like a galaxy. I may not be able to buy Cora, but I’m going to keep tipping her like I can.

I’m shameless, and we love it. The money. The taboo. Calling her a whore and paying for it. We love this shit. If we didn’t, where would she have gotten the obscene stockpile of cash tips I discovered in her drawer last week?

At first, finding the money made me want to sit her down and explain just how much I actually have, until she explained why she kept it.

“ You’re going to fuck your whore on top of all this Logan cash ,” she’d informed me, and tonight, she gleefully scattered the bills over my bedspread.

Dramatic? Probably. But I’ve never been able to turn her down.

Naked, Cora climbs over me, resting her pussy atop my bare cock. Her mouth touches mine, and the kiss is tender for all of three seconds before she parts her lips.

She licks into my mouth, and I reciprocate without hesitation. We can be tender, sure, but at the end of the day, we’re happier when it’s turbulent. Nasty. Kind of fucked-up. And really, this form of sex is our unique version of love. Pushing each other. Taking what we need. Shit talking and keeping each other guessing. We know most people wouldn’t get it, but pretending we want something different would be a lie.

Cora and I don’t lie.

Our hands roam, exploring each other like it’s our first time. My fingers tweak the bars in her nipples and slide along the charm in her belly button. They caress her four pussy piercings—familiar gildings that greet me every time I indulge in her cunt. I touch her. I worship her.

She does the same.

Her hand cups the head of my cock, drawing pre-cum over the ball of my piercing. She jerks me deliberately, eagerly, while her mouth blazes a trail from my lips, down my neck, and onto my nipples.

“You’re so handsome,” she says between lapping at the tip of my nipple and sucking on it. “Ridiculously fine.”

Her brown eyes meet mine, big and adoring, over the hill of my pectoral. Grinning, she nips me, sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through the sensitive peak.

“Are you done teasing me?” I ask, petting her hair before I fist it. “Done pretending you’re not counting down the milliseconds until you can fill your needy pussy with my cock?”

“Fuck off.”

“Suck it,” I order, pushing on her head. “Show me what a talented little cocksucker you are.”

Her throat is tight and ready for me. Her lips press against my pubic hair, and she hums, redefining the standards for a good blow job.

“That’s my girl,” I groan. “Sucking like a slut who can’t go a day without a cock in her throat. Mine’s the best one—the one you like the most. You like this big, pierced shit to gag on, don’t you?” I slap her cheek with the tips of my fingers. “Eyes on me.”

She does as I order but flips me off in the process, eyebrow high like a pissed off goddess. I love it.

I only get a few more seconds of head before she pulls off my cock, smirking when I raise my hips to follow her retreating mouth.

“Flip over.”

“What?”

Her expression is the epitome of try me . “Flip over or I’ll make you.”

I’ve never moved faster. Once I’m on my stomach, Cora’s hands go to my ass cheeks.

“Princess…” I warn.

“You think I won’t play nice?” she coos before she parts my ass cheeks, lets out a soft groan, and presses her tongue to my asshole.

…My god, that’s the good shit. “Holy fuck,” I grit out. “ That’s what that feels like? No wonder you’re such a slut for it.”

Cora has played with my asshole a lot, to say the least. I’ve played with hers too—eagerly. But right now, when her tongue is lapping at my hole while her fingertip breaches me, I realize how much I have to learn. Because this thing she’s doing? This thing with her finger and her tongue? I’ve forgotten my own name.

My lower body is alight with pleasure, and I’m gripping the sheets, begging for it, pleading her for more while she lackadaisically strokes my cock under me. I’m losing it—fast. Seconds later, when the round tip of a lubed-up plug presses into my asshole, I’m a new man.

The plug is like nothing I’ve ever felt. The pressure is pure heat, like a simultaneous stretch and pull, and I feel like I could climax on a hair trigger. I won’t, obviously, but I’m ready. And when Cora tells me to flip over again, my need to come is borderline biological. She’s so goddamn pretty and powerful with her long hair spread over her shoulders, tangled in the bars in her nipples. My body just wants to come inside her.

Smiling, she mounts me, shoves three of my fingers into her mouth, and starts fucking me. She takes all of me, every inch, and the coarse hairs at the base of my cock go damp with her arousal when she raises herself fractionally and lowers once more, adjusting.

“Princess,” I say around a moan while running my free hand over her smooth thigh. “God, you fit that cock right in there, didn’t you?”

She nods and rises again, higher this time. Her hips take on a life of their own, working me up—working both of us up—but I want more motion.

Cora’s favorite part about a pierced dick is the added sensation when it enters her. I know this about her. I know everything about her, about how she thinks, about how she fucks—and I’m quick to give her what she needs. I wrench my fingers from her mouth and latch my hands on her hips, gripping her outright. Once I have the angle right, I hold her steady while I rail her from below.

“ Shit , Ev, you really know what to do with that thing.” Cora throws her head back and—as if magnetized—my hand abandons her hip and goes to her neck at once, collaring her.

“Such a whore,” I grit. “You fuck so good because you’ve had so much practice—because you show this pussy off like a shameless little slut, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she manages to say against the pressure of my palm on her windpipe. “Fuck me, Ev, please. Please. Give me more of your cock.”

“Slap me,” I demand.

Cora doesn’t hesitate. She rears her hand back and swings it against my cheek as hard as she can.

“FUCK,” I blurt out. “ Holy fuck .” It’s fire on my skin, and god—this girl knows what’s good. I laugh before letting out a groan and shaking off the pain, but I never stop my thrusts. “I love you.”

I lift her off me and turn her around. She takes me in reverse now, shins on the bed. The arch of her back is otherworldly, and I grab a handful of her hair and yank her head back so she’s laying with her upper back curved and pressed to my chest, tits pointed at my ceiling.

I release her hair and hold my hand in front of her face. “Spit.”

She does— of course she does .

“Good girl. Up,” I instruct before I slap one of her ass cheeks with my other hand—the one not coated in her spit.

“Ev—” She’s pleading now, aching for release. Frustrated, she bounces her tight little body on me. “Baby, please—”

“Ride me,” is the response she gets. “Show me the tricks that earned you those diamonds. Prove how much you’ve learned from slutting around.”

Cora may never fully shake the need to prove she’s the best at everything she does. I’ve got the same problem. But when we use our obsessive, competitive edges like this, it’s a damn blessing. She rides me like it’s a contest, pussy moving in a blur, taking every fat inch of my cock and earning her climax.

I lower my hand.

Even though she knows it’s coming, she still moans when my fingertips press against her asshole. And while I work my finger into her, Cora nudges the plug with her fingertips. The motion sends a surge of pleasure through me—a low burn around my asshole unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Oh shit.” I throw my head back. “ More .”

“So eager,” she replies, voice uneven from desperation but confident as usual. She runs an affectionate hand over my thigh. “More?” She tugs on the plug, inciting the most guttural groan I’ve ever made.

“More,” I beg—and now I’m the one pleading. “ Please .”

She gives me more—and it’s all I can do to stay inside her instead of lifting her off my cock, putting her in my car, and driving her to city hall to marry the shit out of her.

But I know I have to get her there—that once we start the next part, my window to make her levitate is going to close.

So I fuck her.

My thrusts are brutal, unceasing, and relentless—and Cora cries out.

“I’m coming,” she manages to say. “Ev, I’m coming.”

I hold her through the climax, wanting so desperately to spill my load in her, but I have to wait. When she’s damn near limp from my dick, I slide her off me.

Cora is boneless and spent for all of five seconds. Then she rolls over, sweaty and messy-haired, and looks at the plug in my asshole.

I know she’s about to eat me alive.

Her delicate fingers work the plug out of me, twisting it—wielding it. When she finally gets it out, I’m wiggling with need.

Eyes locked on me, Cora throws the plug onto the floor and rises off the bed, standing over me. “Tell me you love me,” she murmurs, skimming the backs of her fingertips over my sweat damp forehead.

“I’d die for you, Cora.” I stare right into her eyes as I speak. “You know that.”

Affectionately, she traces my lips with her fingertip before walking to the end of the bed. I watch her, knowing what happens next, and feeling so ready.

The night I met Cora, I screwed up. I insulted her. I hurt her. A week later, those pictures I took were meant to be an offering. Atonement.

Those pictures were a curse. I fixated on them for months. I memorized every mark on her skin—and every ridge and bump on the strap-on silicone cock she wore that night.

Now, Cora picks up the leather and silicone setup from the end of the bed, and we’ve really come full circle.

Nine months ago, I photographed Cora wearing this very strap-on in an attempt to prove how sorry I was. Tonight, she’s going to wear this strap-on to show how much she loves me.