Page 97 of Tips and Trysts

I get a feel for him, tracing the edge of his nipple before I take the whole thing between my lips. I suck, groaning when the tip hardens in my mouth—seconds before a hand fists my hair.

Everett wrenches me off his chest with an unforgiving grip, and I gasp from the ache in my scalp. A wry grin covers his face, and it seems to grow broader when I narrow my eyes in return.

“Fuck you, Everett,” I mutter, attempting to shake my hair out of his hold. I succeed, but his hand immediately goes to my neck.

“That’s a new one,” he muses, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. “Where I’m from, we say ‘good morning.’” His hips rise. “God, you feel tight.”

“I wasnottoo tired to go again last night,” I insist, meeting the motions of his thrusts.

He’s too busy fixating on the sight of his cock penetrating me to respond. “How are youso tight?” he blurts out. Then, without warning, he rolls us over and pins me against the mattress by my wrists. I only catch a glimpse of his pierced cock head before he shoves it back between my spread legs, but I can definitely feel it. “Not going to apologize for last night.”

“Then you can get out of my pussy,” I retort, even though I would murder him if he pulled out right now.

Everett bows and sucks my nipple between his lips. One, then the other, then back to the first before he rears back and fully slaps my tit. “Then I’ll pay to fuck it,” he grits before he presses his hand against my stomach, lingering briefly before sliding his thumb to my clit. “Is it fun being my whore? Or are you ashamed? Do you worry what everyone would think if they knew what a cumslut you become when I pay you?”

I groan, loving the attention he’s paying my clit. His thumb nudges my piercing, and I find myself gasping, “I love being your whore, congressman.”

The moment breaks when Everett’s phone begins vibrating on the nightstand.

He doesn’t even look at it. “Ignore it. Eyes on me.”

I do ignore it, which is easy thanks to the awe-inspiring thing he’s doing with his fingers: pressing the spot between my piercing and my clit, moderating the blood flow. When he eases the pressure, a tingle of sensation spreads from the spot, and it’s the single most divine thing—

“Fuck you,” Everett bursts out when his phone starts buzzing again. “Literally go burn. Can you not see I’m trying to make my girl ascend?”

“It’s a phone, Everett. I know they don’t have them in the Cerberus-guarded cave where you spend your weekends, but you have to answer it.”

He exhales through his nostrils before he grabs the phone and glares at the screen. “Whatever.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m on a group text with an old priest and a young priest. They sensed unprecedented godless energy coming from my home and wanted to see if I needed help.” He gives my tit another sharp slap. “Where was I?”

I hoist myself up and kiss him, but his phone vibrates again—a third call. Groaning, I flop back onto the pillow. “Just answer it, you stubborn bastard.”

“Look, you’ll never fully grasp this concept, but it’s damn near impossible to stop fucking Cora Flores without complaining.” Annoyed, he grabs his phone. “Good morning, Dad.”

My jaw drops.

Smirking, Everett pulls his cock out of me and collapses on the mattress. I sit up, jaw still lowered, and gape at him.

“I’m well,” he says into the phone, but he snaps his finger at me before pointing to his erect cock.

The whole thing is classic Everett Logan, and last month, this entitled act would have prompted me to reduce him to something that could be studied in forensics courses. But today,I put one hand on his cock and resume what he interrupted earlier: playing with his nipple.

“Fuck,” he mouths when I suck on the tip. Then it’s a more emphatic “FUCK,”when I run the flat of my tongue over his entire nipple, pressing my piercing against it.

Everett’s hand caresses my hair, stroking it affectionately, and I don’t know what’s more twisted: sitting behind the Governor of Virginia while wearing his pride and joy’s cum on my tits, or licking said pride and joy’s nipple while they’re on the phone.

“You called so many times, I assumed someone leaked a dick pic,” Everett replies.

I stop sucking his nipple and glare. I’venevergotten a dick pic from Everett. “Who were you sending dick pics to?” I mouth.

He mutes the phone. “Dalton and Lander,” he replies before unmuting once more.

My eyebrows rise of their own accord, but I don’t question his response. Everett sending his two lifelong best friends a picture of his dick is not only unsurprising but remarkably on-brand for those three.

I move to his nipple again, but he stops me before he reaches into his nightstand and takes out a dildo.

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