Eight

CORA

I want to fuck you.

Two unexpected things happen when Everett confesses: I deflate, but I also heat.

The deflation is languid like air leaking through a pinhole rupture in a balloon. While I appreciate his honesty, learning he doesn’t have feelings for me beyond lust is unexpectedly… disappointing .

At the same time, when a guy that attractive tells me he wants me, I can practically feel my libido shaking off the codeine and stretching out her hamstrings so she can climb him like a tree.

“You want to fuck me,” I parrot, keeping both of my reactions from bubbling to the surface.

“Plain and simple,” he confirms. “You probably think it’s a horrible idea, and you’re not wrong. Fucking each other would be a horrible idea.”

And then Everett sits in silence. Done. Apparently, this is his big opener.

I click my tongue. “Wow. This is easily the worst proposition since Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth Bennet, ‘Hey, listen, I’m in turmoil because I like you for some ungodly reason. Will you marry me?’”

“Darcy did better the second time, so let me try again: I want you. Physically. Carnally. Biblically . I know I’ve been a dick, but I’m not flippant about this. When I want something, I know it. I want you, princess. Tell me how to get you.”

Translation: Tell me how to get inside you. Tell me how to fuck you, but not win you.

“What changed? When did you realize you wanted to fuck me?”

He motions at me. “You know what happened. I’m not proud that an armed psychopath gave me the kick in the nuts I needed, but it’s a fact. I held you while you were bleeding. I nearly killed a man over it.”

My sharp inhale is involuntary. “What do you mean you nearly killed a man?”

“The gunman. I nearly killed him. I sprained half my fingers on his face.” He lifts his bandaged hand as evidence.

I lose my words until I finally manage to say, “Everett, he had a gun .”

“I know. I hit him with it after I fucked up my hand.”

My jaw lowers. “I’ve never taken you for the violent type.”

“I’m not,” he answers, examining the neat white bandages covering most of his hand. “But adrenaline is a magical thing.”

Don’t I know it.

“Plus,” he goes on, “Valeria taught me how to throw a punch. I wanted to see how well I learned.”

“Valeria? My Valeria?”

“Hate to break it to you, but she’s our Valeria now. And she’s going to be really proud of me.” A tiny smirk appears on the corner of his lips. “I can do more though. How badly do you want to ruin him? I’ll do anything you want short of killing him—not because I don’t want to. I just think I’d get caught.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me to destroy him and I will. I have a lot of money and determination. Do you want him to suffer? Say the word. I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t care about revenge. I’m still stuck on you wanting to…”

“To fuck you,” he fills in, nodding. “Go on. You can say it. Might want to get used to saying it because it’s going to happen.”

“Unlikely,” I counter, working hard not to look at his smug expression. “You said it when we met: I’m a camgirl, and you’re a politician. How would this even work?”

“Any two people can fuck each other. We could just have fun.” And then Everett’s smirk transforms into a smile, and bar none, it’s the most captivating smile I’ve ever seen.

“Fun?” I question, narrowing my eyes because—holy shit—looking at his smile is like looking into the sun. “Contrary to my bad judgment last night, I have standards. I’m not going to fuck a man who disrespected me and my career, and I’m not going to lower my standards for the honor of fucking you.”

“Alright.” Everett reclines in his chair. “So I’m clear: The reason you won’t fuck me is because you’re a camgirl. Am I understanding correctly?”

“The reason I won’t is because of you. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re comfortable with what I do.” I rest against my pillows once more. “If you want any part of me, you take all of me. You don’t just get to have a pussy. When you fuck me, you’re fucking an entire woman.”

His eyebrow cants. “Well, that sounds like an invitation for anal.”

“Grow up,” I reply, flipping him off. “And tell me you can handle my career.”

He thinks about it—about something . He breathes out. “Look,” he says, “what I’d like to be clear about is the difference between my opinions and reality. You being a camgirl doesn’t offend me. Sex work doesn’t offend me. I’m just realistic that most people…”

Sex work offends most people—i.e. most voters .

“So, it’s not a ‘you’ problem. It’s a constituent problem. You don’t care if other men watch me. Pay m e.”

“Well,” he begins, “to be clear, I’ve still never watched you.”

I knew it. “Sounds to me like you’ve jumped the…” I trail off. “…you know.”

He bobs his chin. “Do you want me to watch you stream? Tell me. I’m good at following directions. I’ll pay any price. Whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes .

He’s reclining in his chair with his ankle resting on the opposite knee and his arm balanced on the armrest, looking at ease. His gaze drifts, surveying me. It’s… a lot .

We can’t fuck each other. Even if he did everything I asked, we’d still be Cora and Everett: a camgirl and a budding politician. It’d be a disaster. In hundreds of years, when someone masters time travel, Everett and me fucking would probably be on the shortlist of events to stop.

I exhale, trying to alleviate the tightness in my shoulders, but the tension mirrors the tug in my gut. “Whatever it takes?” The sentence starts out soft, but I find my voice on the third word.

If he noticed my reaction, he doesn’t show it. He merely nods.

“It’s a high price,” I continue, swallowing now. The lump in my throat makes it audible—to me at least.

“I’ll pay it,” he answers without missing a beat.

The reaction is involuntary. The flutter in my stomach, the uptick in my heart rate—they’re beyond my control. My brain knows this guy just wants my body. My body doesn’t care. I shouldn’t fuck him. I know I shouldn’t.

But the thing is…I really want to fuck him. He’s gorgeous and confident, he kisses like the devil, and he stares like he can’t decide between hate-fucking me or making me choke on my insults.

I’d willingly take either.

Still, I’m Cora fucking Flores, I’m a catch, and I don’t tolerate undeserving men.

“If you want me, you have to earn it.”

“Name it,” he practically orders before ticking his fingers in a subtle come-hither gesture that’s almost hot enough for me to fold like a lawn chair and spread myself on the bed in front of him. But again: I’m Cora fucking Flores—etcetera, etcetera.

This can’t be easy for him. This shouldn’t be. Maybe, for both our sakes, it should be impossible.

“I have three conditions. Meet them, and I’ll consider fucking you.”

“Just consider?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. Tell me what to do.”

“The first: You have to beg for forgiveness. For the night we met, for the elevator, for summoning me to Georgetown, and for the inevitable PR shitstorm ahead of us.”

Everett’s eyebrow rises. “For everything.”

Everything . I nod.

“Fine,” he agrees, but his eyebrow stays stratospheric. “I’ll beg for forgiveness.”

“The second: You have to become a customer. I’m a camgirl and I expect you to not only understand what I do but support it.”

Everett snickers. “So, you want a Lander. You want a guy obsessed with the idea of other men looking at his girl.”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t want a Lander. If I did, I would adopt a puppy—and you know I’m allergic to dogs.” He smirks. “It’s about respect,” I continue. “I need you to respect me and my choices. That includes bearing witness while thousands of men watch me and write unspeakable things to me in a public chat. You’ll have to accept that they pay m e to do what they want.”

Finally, Everett’s eyebrows relax and the upturned corners of his mouth drift into a line. “Fine.” His tone is acidic. “Go on.”

“The third: You can never, ever lie in my presence.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “About anything?”

“I don’t believe there’s a situation where a lie is better than the truth.”

“There are plenty of situations,” Everett protests. “Like if—”

“Okay then,” I interrupt. “Go enjoy those situations. Go lie your cold, withered heart out—while not fucking me.”

“I’m in politics.” He raises a shoulder. “Sometimes I lie.”

“Take it or leave it.”

At last, Everett looks away. He’s reconsidering his request—like I knew he would.

“All that. Is it worth it?” I ask.

Satisfied that I’ve successfully scared him off, I take a drink from the plastic water cup the nurses gave me earlier.

Everett takes a long time to look at me again. When he does, his eyes catch the fluorescent overhead lights, and for a moment, they sparkle like cut gemstones of the highest clarity. “You’re asking me if you would be worth it. You’re asking me if you would be worth debasing myself and risking everything I’ve worked for. All that for the possibility of having you—not even a guarantee.”

I nod, waiting for his surrender.

“Touching your gorgeous, naked body with my bare hands,” he continues, eyes locked on mine as he speaks. “Tasting your plump lips, your soft breasts, and the piercings in your nipples. Worshipping your swollen, dripping wet pussy with my tongue. Finding the spot on your wrist where your pulse beats and pressing my lips to it. Aligning your hips with mine and sliding my cock into your writhing body while you whimper for more. Feeling your body come while I’m buried deep inside of you. Memorizing the sound of your climax when you let go for me. You’re asking if your requirements would be worth all that.”

I’m so caught up in the visual, I don’t see his response coming until it slams into me like a camgirl colliding with a politician to push him out of the path of a bullet.

“Of course you would be,” he confirms, dipping his chin. “I’ll meet all your demands. Easily. Because, princess—as you likely already know— we’re absolutely going to fuck .”

I drop my water cup onto the tile floor with a splat.