Prologue

Women walk a fine line.

Prude. Slut.

Bitch. Doormat.

Defining who you are to the outside world is a constant balancing act. It's exhausting. But for some women there is an occasional out. An excuse that lets them say what's really on their minds, allows them to forgive even if they know they shouldn't, and pushes them to indulge all those nasty little fantasies— without the scarlet consequences.

Alcohol.

It can give the courage to talk dirty and the permission to go home with the bartender.

It's the alibi. The cover story.

It wasn't really you—you were possessed by Captain Morgan and the Grey Goose.

Unfortunately, I have a very high tolerance for alcohol. Sucks to be me.

In all our years together, Kai was never able to drink me under the table. Not once. Maybe it's because I started drinking at a young age. Maybe I was just born that way.

Regardless, it takes a lot to get me buzzed and even more to get me drunk.

That's why, back in the day, I preferred pot. Much more efficient.

Yep, you heard me right. Jennie Kim—pothead extraordinaire. Me and the Grateful Dead? We could've been bestest friends. Weed courage is what made me brave enough to get my tattoo.

But, sadly, those days are over. As I started business school, I realized the consequences of getting caught with a controlled substance were just too high.

So now I stick to legally sanctioned drugs only. Mostly wine.

Lisa and I drink it nightly, just to unwind. And once a week we have kind of a date night—a special night. We cook together. Lisa is a big fan of the fajitas. We drink and talk and drink some more.

Tonight we drank a bit more than usual. So, even though I'm not wasted in the literal sense, my limbs feel loose. Relaxed. Just like my inhibitions.

Have I got your attention? Excellent.

Open a window, ladies and gents—it's about to get hot in here.

We're in bed.

I'm on my back. And Lisa is between my legs. Well—her face is, anyway.

"I love your pussy."

I moan, and she reinforces her words with actions. She's big on actions. Wet, worshipful actions.

"I could fucking live down here."

She picks up her pace, and before you can say "Slap me with a riding crop," I'm pulling on her hair and screaming her name.

Moments later, Lisa smirks proudly and crawls up my body. My limbs are lazy from the wine—and the orgasm, of course. All around, there's a pleasant haze, a mist of numbness, making everything seem dreamlike.

And then we're kissing. And heat spreads throughout my body like an electrical current, bringing me back.

Making me feel how real this is.

I rip my mouth from her and whisper—the alcohol making me brave

—"Lisa . . . Lisa, I want to try something."

That gets her attention. "What do you want to try?" Her tongue glides over my nipple.

I smile and bite my lip. "Something new."

She raises her head. Her lids are adorably heavy. "I like new."

I chuckle and push her off me, then stand up and make my way toward the dresser—bumping into the nightstand as I go.

"Excuse me."

I open the top drawer and pull out two pairs of handcuffs. Jisoo got them for her post-wedding bachelorette party, but she already had a pair.

Don't ask.

I swing one around my finger. My sexy strut back to the bed is almost ruined as I stumble on my four-inch heels, and I giggle.

Lisa rises up on her knees. She looks hungry, like a starving lion eyeing up a juicy steak that's just out of reach.

She moves to take the cuffs from me, but I push her away. "On your back, big bear."

I know what she's thinking. Can't you almost hear her? "Mmm . . . Jennie wants to run the show? Interesting."

She backs up and brings her wrists to the posts of the headboard. I circle her wrists and lock the half moons in place.

Click. Click.

She gives each one a tug, testing it out, as I rest on my heels beside her, my eyes smoothing over the rippling naked perfection that is Lisa Manoban.

Beautiful.

"You plan on doing something? Or are you just going to stare at me all night?"

I look up at her. And her eyes are eager, daring me to bring it on. Oh, I can bring it. Don't ever doubt that.

I lift my chin proudly and bring my hands between her thighs. Rubbing and massaging her balls slowly. I slide my hand up her already hard cock, gripping it tight—the way I know she likes—before giving it a few firm pumps.

Lisa's chest starts to rise faster. Interesting indeed.

And before you ask, no, I wasn't always this way. This adventurous. Bold.

My entire sexual relationship with Kai involved two levels: shy and mundane. Hesitant and rote. And that's just where it stayed. It was only after

Lisa that I realized how much Kai and I were holding each other back.

In sex—in life.

In each other's eyes, we would always be Jen and Kai. Immature. Dependent. Forever young—like that Tuck movie about the fountain of youth.

Then Lisa Manoban came into my life, and the outspoken, demanding, and yes, horny woman who had been growing inside me for a decade was set free. At least in bed.

Her bed.

I bend at the waist, ass in the air, and take her length in with my mouth. She jerks at the contact. The alcohol must have numbed my gag reflex, because I'm able to take her all the way down my throat.

And I do.

Four, five, six times. Then I bring my eyes to her. During a blow job? Guys love eye contact. Don't ask me why—I have no idea.

"You like it when I suck your cock, Lisa?"

She likes dirty talk too. Actually, there's not much Lisa doesn't like. Her eyes roll back. "Fuck, yes."

I go back to work, letting my tongue get into the action.

Her voice is breathy, panting. "God, baby—you give the best head. You could teach a frigging class."

Ha—that's funny! Dick Lick 101.

After almost two years together, I'm an expert at reading Lisa's body language. So when her hips start to lift and her hands clench in the air, I know she's close. Her appreciative grunts and groans almost make me abandon my plan.

But I don't.

At the last second, just before she comes, I pull away. And sit up. Lisa's eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the explosion that's not coming.

She opens her eyes and they're bewildered. I smile, feeling empowered.

And naughty.

I yawn dramatically. "You know, that wine really took a lot out of me. I'm kind of tired."

"Wh . . . what?" she pants.

"I think I need a breather. You don't mind, do you?" Lisa growls, "Jennie . . ."

I swing my leg over her, sliding her massively impressive hard-on between my legs. Sitting on it, but not letting it slip inside.

"I'm kind of thirsty too. I'm going to get a glass of water. You want some?"

"This isn't fucking funny, Jennie."

Oooh, she's mad. Scary.

I slide my finger down the middle of her chest. "Who's laughing?"

She pulls at the cuffs—harder this time. When the locks hold, I giggle. Who knew poking a lion with a stick could be so much fun?

"Relax, Lisa. Stay put like a good kid and I'll come back . . ." I shrug. "Eventually."

I kiss her nose quickly, hop off the bed, and scurry from the room as she calls my name.

Don't look at me like that; I'm just teasing her a little. You know she deserves it. No harm in that, right?

I skip down the hall to the kitchen, proud of myself. When I step onto the cold tile floor, goose bumps rise up my legs and down my arms. I really am thirsty, so I get a glass from the cabinet and fill it with cold water.

Standing at the sink I take a nice long gulp, closing my eyes as the cool liquid soothes my dry throat. A drop trails down my chin, over my collarbone, and down my breast.

Without warning, a chest presses up against my back, shocking me. I squeak and the glass drops and shatters in the sink.

I don't know how she got free, but the handcuffs are dangling from her wrists. Rough hands pull me back, trapping me.

I shiver as seductive warm breath scrapes my ear. "That wasn't nice, Jennie. I can be not nice too."

Her voice is low—not angry, but firm. It's incredibly arousing.

One hand grips my hair at the nape and pulls, making me arch my back and press my pelvis against the rim of the sink. She jerks my head to the side, and then she's kissing me—plunging her tongue into my mouth as I race to keep up.

The kiss is possessive. Dominating.

A moment later she pushes easily inside me and starts a pounding rhythm, her lower abdomen slapping against my ass with each push.

It's exhilarating.

I hear myself moan. The counter bites into my stomach, but I don't care.

All I can feel is Lisa.

Controlling me. Driving me. Owning me.

Her free hand grips mine and brings it around front to my clit. Pressing my fingers down, compelling me to pleasure myself.

Guys have a thing for masturbation. I've come to realize it's a huge turn-on

—like throwing a match into a barrel of gasoline.

She releases my hand, but my fingers continue to move like she wants them to. Like I'm a puppet on a string, and Lisa is the master puppeteer. And then she leans back, taking the heat of her chest away.

The pace of her thrusting slows. And I feel her hand slide down my spine.

Between us. To my ass.

Her hand kneads and rubs, then her fingers glide around the mounds of flesh. Back and forth over the hypersensitive hole between them.

And I tense up.

This is new territory for us. Well—for me. I have no doubt that Lisa has, at one time or another, been inside every available orifice of the female form.

But for me it's unknown. And a little nerve-racking.

Her fingers make several harmless passes until I relax. Until the tension drains from my shoulders, and I'm once again distracted by the intense pleasure the rhythm of her hips invokes.

And then she slides one finger inside.

There's no pain. No discomfort. Double penetration is a lot like skydiving. To truly appreciate it, you have to experience it. Words don't really do it justice.

But I'll try: delicious.

In a forbidden, naughty kind of way.

Slowly Lisa moves her finger in and out, catching up with the pace of her cock.

And I'm moaning, low and deep and uninhibited. My own fingers rub faster—harder—in front. Then I gasp as she stretches me wider, making room for the second finger she just slipped in.

Her movements are unhurried. Torturous and teasing. And I want to open my mouth and beg for more.

More friction, more heat. Faster. More. Please.

Lisa compels me forward gently. Bending me over, so my hair brushes the bottom of the sink. And then she's gone—out of my body.

And I ache with the loss of it.

Until I feel the head of her cock, wet with my fluids, stroking back and forth over the opening her fingers just occupied.

"Lisa . . ."

It's a keening moan, half pleasure, half pain. All pleading.

"Say yes, Jennie. Fucking Christ . . . please say yes." Her voice is raspy. Raw.

With need. For me.

And suddenly I feel powerful.

Strange, considering our current position, but still—I'm the one in control.

She may as well be begging at my feet.

Waiting and hoping for my command.

I don't think. I don't weigh the options or contemplate the consequences. I only feel, submerged in rapturous sensation.

I let go. And I trust. "Yes . . ."

Ever so slowly, Lisa presses forward into me. There's a moment of pain—a stretching burn—and I inhale sharply. She pauses. Until I release my breath.

Then, gently, she continues forward, until her most intimate flesh is fully ensconced in my own. Then she stays completely still. Letting my body adjust to the intrusion.

I feel her hand slide across my hip and down my thigh, coming around to my front. Her hand goes under mine, her fingers rubbing in a circular motion. In that sensuous, magnificent way, before dipping inside me. Over and over and over again.

I always thought of anal sex as the ultimate show of domination, forceful, maybe humiliating.

But this doesn't feel that way.

It's primal . . . unexplored . . . but beautiful too. Sacred.

Like I've just given her my virginity. And in a way, I guess I have. I move first, pushing back against her.

Giving Lisa permission—wanting to know, to experience these new sensations. Needing to cross the finish line. With her.

It's more than erotic. Beyond intimate.

Lisa's lips press against the skin on my back. Kissing and cursing and whispering my name. And then she's the one moving. Taking back control. Gliding in and out—tender but steady.

It's divine.

My hand clasps over her at my clit. My legs tremble and I know I'm getting close. So close. Like climbing a mountain and realizing the peak is just mere steps away.

Our breaths come in deep, open-mouth pants with each drive of Lisa's hips.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . ."

Men's orgasms are ninety percent physical. It's easy for them to get off, regardless of where their thoughts are. Women have it harder. Our orgasms usually hinge on our mental state. Which means if you guys want to get us there? We can't be thinking about that load of laundry in the next room, or the pile of papers waiting on our desks.

Which explains why it's not Lisa's hand, or dick, that does me in.

It's her voice.

With her forehead against my shoulder blade, she chants, "Oh God, oh God, oh God . . ."

It's so unlike her.

She sounds open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

This infuriating woman, who always wants to be in charge, calling the shots. Who doesn't make a move without examining it from every angle, turning it around in her amazing mind—the pros, the perks, the ramifications.

She's falling apart behind me.

And as she whispers a litany of profanities and prayers—I fall over the edge. Into ecstasy.

My head snaps back and my eyes close. And stars burst behind my eyelids as I tense and scream, and wave after dizzying wave of pleasure wracks my body.

Lisa's movements become uneven and jerky, more forceful and uncontrolled.

And a moment later she pulls my hips back against her, holding me there, as one long, last guttural moan spills from her lips.

Afterward, we catch our breaths. Still connected and quaking with aftershocks. Her hands smooth up my arms as she slips out of me.

She turns me around to face her. Her hands caress my cheeks, and then she's kissing me.

And it's so sweet. Kind and loving. Such a stark contrast to our desperate movements moments before.

I don't know why, but my eyes fill with tears.

Instantly, Lisa's gaze turns worried. "Are you okay? Did I . . . did I hurt you?"

I smile through the tears, because they're happy ones. Because in some weird, unexplainable way, I've never felt closer to her than I do right now.

"No. I'm wonderful. Feel free to be not nice to me anytime."

Then she smiles too. Relieved and satisfied. "Noted."

Lisa picks me up and carries me to the shower. We stand under the warm spray and wash each other worshipfully. Then Lisa wraps us in thick, heated towels and bears me to bed.

She pulls the blanket up over both of us and holds me tight against her. And it makes me feel precious.

She makes me feel that way. Always. Cherished.

Adored.

Was I sore the next day? A little. But it wasn't so bad.

Too much information?

Sorry. Just trying to be helpful.

In any case, the aches and pains of the following morning were more than worth it, as far as I was concerned.

But what's the point of all this, you ask? Why am I sharing it with you? Because good sex? Really, really good sex?

Doesn't need alcohol. And it's not about compatibility, or practice, or even being in love.

It's about trust.

Letting your guard down. Putting yourself in another person's hands and letting them lead you to places you've never been before.

And I trusted Lisa. With my mind, my heart, my body. I trusted Lisa with everything.

At least I did then.