Forty-Four

CORA

The harness sits snug on my hips and underneath the curves of my ass. There’s a piece in the front for the o-ring that secures the dildo, and there, in front of my strapped pussy, the dildo juts out. It’s dark gray, girthy enough to be impressive, and having taken this dildo many times, I know those ridges are absolutely delicious at the right angle.

Everett is relaxed. He looks up at me, big but lean cut and refined like a prince. I toss him the remote control to the vibrator pressed against my clit inside the harness, and he places it on his chest before tucking his hands behind his head, lounging.

“You’re not going to be so smug in a minute,” I tell him while I slather lube onto the cock.

“I’m just admiring how pretty you are. Are you going to punish me?”

“Never like this,” I assure him before I motion for him to raise his knee. “But I’m going to have you begging beneath me like a sloppy, slutty mess.”

Grinning, Everett pulls his leg against his chest and fixes his hands on the back of his thigh to hold it in place. “Do your worst, Flores.”

I kneel on the bed to examine Everett’s asshole. It’s pink and perfect. Ready. When I drag my lubed fingertip over it, it winks and flinches at first, but it takes a second stroke beautifully. I venture a fingertip in. He’s tight—as usual—but the plug helped. He can take me.

Carefully, I press the head of the dildo against Everett’s asshole and apply a touch of pressure. He exhales immediately.

“Good?”

“Keep going,” he urges, peering around his elevated leg to see me. “I want it.”

I tilt my hips forward, pressing the dildo more firmly against his hole. His body takes it—welcomes it—so I push even deeper.

He takes it like such a good boy.

The first inch is easy, but the second one might do him in. That’s how it is with me: a momentary pang of fear that it’s too much. But Everett Logan—ice in his veins—places his hands on my bare ass. He clutches me over the leather straps and presses on me—guiding me. “Don’t stop.”

I don’t. I keep going, bearing down to get the angle right. He inhales through his nostrils. He holds his breath. He hisses through his teeth.

I sink in. I sink into his body, penetrating his delicate hole, and at the same time, I can feel myself sinking into his very being. I’m living under his skin and I love it here. I want to stay forever. I want to watch this beautiful boy unravel a thousand times over, and I want to be the one to put him back together every time.

Measured, I ease in the entire dildo up to its balls. When I settle there, it’s official: I’m fucking him.

“You’re mine, Everett,” I tell him as I pull the dildo back and then thrust in again, testing him. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours, Cora,” he replies, using my name before he groans. “Fuck, I’m full.”

“Shh,” I urge, putting my hand on his pierced cock. “Your body looks amazing when it takes a cock, like it was meant to be fucked down.”

He gazes at me with determined green eyes. “Princess?”

“Yes, Ev?”

“Can I turn around for you?”

I find myself nodding, unable to speak, but Everett has his wits. He helps me slide the cock out of his ass and he turns around, kneeling on his bed while he gets in position. For a moment, I’m treated to the vast planes of his jaw-dropping back: a triangular panorama of muscles, sparse freckles, and smooth skin over a big body.

And then he bends over on all fours in front of me.

I enter him from behind. The cock disappears into his ass inch by inch, facing little resistance now that he’s stretched and ready for me.

And he’s the neediest thing I’ve ever seen.

When I pull back to thrust, he follows me like he’s desperately trying to keep the dildo deep. I place a hand on his ass, holding him. “Greedy.”

His face is in the pillow, and he responds with a muffled, “It feels good.”

“It looks good. Your hole swallows it perfectly.”

He releases a groan. “Please keep fucking me.”

I do—and my sated body comes to life in the surreality of the moment. I’m kneeling behind a guy who could have anyone— anything— he wants by any definition possible. He’s gorgeous. Sex on legs. Brilliant and charming and deliciously cocky. I’m surrounded by piles of cash, and he’s letting me work him slowly, indulgently.

“Shit,” Everett blurts out after I pull the cock out and press the entire thing right back into him.

“There it is,” I murmur, reaching and running my hand over his cock, feathering my fingertips over his piercing. “So good. Tight and perfect. You were made for this.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s so pretty,” I assure him. “I can’t wait for you to see it—to see how much your body wants it. How much— fuck —”

My words get strangled by a moan when Everett turns on the vibrator inside the harness.

Briefly, I’m lost to the sensation of a hum against my cunt. It’s a potent sensation, one from deep in the heart of my pleasure center, and it unfurls to the far reaches of my body within seconds. The immediacy is heady.

I roll my hips, outright pounding him now, using him like he’s used me when I’ve bent over for him: rough and reverent. And when he grits out, “Yes, stuff it inside me. Make me earn it,” I realize: What we’re doing is about respect.

Nobody has ever showed their respect for me like this—their complete and unconditional recognition of my worth. To give me this, to make himself vulnerable to me, is the greatest gift Everett could give me.

It’s a gift to him too, I hope, when I find his prostate. He releases the most satisfied moan—and he turns up the vibrator.

Our bodies are inextricable, like two cords knotted together. The pleasure is rising in me, crackling through my veins like lightning. I thrust, letting the intensity of my motions align with the flicker of the vibrator. “You’re incredible,” I assure him.

“You’re filthy,” he responds while groaning an ungodly sound, gripping the sheets with his full fists. He lowers his head to the mattress, burying his face in it, and through the muffled sound of him speaking into the sheets, he tells me, “I love you so much. You’re fucking perfect.”

Perfect .

“A perfect slut. Stuff my hole. Please. You’re the only one who can make it good for me.”

The praise is the dirtiest I’ve ever gotten, but I want it emblazoned on my heart. I believe it. I believe and love it—because he said it.

I fuck him hard, feeling the telltale signs of his impending climax in his tight back muscles, his halted breathing, and his unceasing moans.

When he comes, he shouts my motherfucking name.

His cum is warm, and I catch as much of it as I can before I tug on his hip with my other hand. When his face is elevated near mine, I spread his spend over his chin and his lips, making a mess of him before I shove my cum-soaked fingers into his mouth.

That’s when he puts the vibrator at full speed.

My second climax of the night is slow and indulgent, a low crescendo that drags for several seconds of pure, unadulterated bliss while I fuck my boyfriend’s asshole and smear his cum over his face.

It’s a low hum of energy, powering my body like a backup generator, imbuing me with a renewed sense of power.

Breathless, sated, I know: This night was perfect.

We collapse sideways onto the bed before I pull out of him and return with a towel. I spread his cheeks and clean his hole, and he lets me without a hint of trepidation. And when I clean his face, I use my mouth. I slide my tongue over his skin, licking up the cum coating his statuesque jaw and his kiss-stained mouth until I’ve swallowed every drop. After, I curl up in front of him.

“I love you so much,” he whispers before he kisses my shoulder—the spot right above my scar. “I’ve never been so certain of anything.”

“I love you too.”

He props himself on an elbow, and I crane to look at him. His eyes lock on my face. He dips his chin.

“Are you sure?” I confirm, wondering if I should remind him of the gravity of this juncture. A twenty-one-year-old Cora once made this choice. Alone in her apartment in Cambridge, she stared out the window at the snow-coated streets, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

Everett knows the stakes—and he nods, confirming for the umpteenth time that he wants to do this.

I, for one, am thrilled to let Everett make his own choices for once.

There’s a tripod next to the bed, the same one I use for camming. I get up, turn off the recording on my phone, and check it for good measure.

Everything is here—and we look astounding together.

I glance at Everett, and even though I know the answer, I ask anyway: “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” he answers without missing a beat.

There it is.

Nodding, I look Everett in the eyes, wink, and press send .