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 womenthere 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, Billy 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. Kate Brooks—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.
Drew 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.
Drew 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 Drew is between my legs.
Well—his face is, anyway.
“I love your pu**y.”
I moan, and he reinforces his words with actions. he’s big on actions.
Wet, worshipful actions.
“I could f**king live down here.”
he picks up his pace, and before you can say “Slap me with a riding crop,” I’m pulling on his hair and screaming his name.
Moments later, Drew 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 his and whisper—the alcohol making me brave—“Drew . . . Drew, I want to try something.”
That gets his attention. “What do you want to try?” his tongue glides over my nipple.
I smile and bite my lip. “Something new.”
he raises his head. his lids are adorably heavy. “I like new.”
I chuckle and push him 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.
Delores 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.
Drew rises up on his knees. he looks hungry, like a starving lion eyeing up a juicy steak that’s just out of reach.
he moves to take the cuffs from me, but I push him away.
“On your back, big boy.”
I know what he’s thinking. Can’t you almost hear him?
“Mmm . . . Kate wants to run the show? Interesting.” he backs up and brings his wrists to the posts of the headboard. I circle his wrists and lock the half moons in place.
Click.
Click.
he gives each one a tug, testing it out, as I rest on my heels beside him, my eyes smoothing over the rippling naked perfection that is Drew Evans.
Beautiful.
“You plan on doing something? Or are you just going to stare at me all night?”
I look up at him. And his 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 his thighs.
Rubbing and massaging his balls slowly. I slide my hand up his already hard cock, gripping it tight—the way I know he likes— before giving it a few firm pumps.
Drew’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 Billy involved two levels: shy and mundane. hesitant and rote. And that’s just where it stayed. It was only after Drew that I realized how much Billy and I were holding each other back.
In sex—in life.
In each other’s eyes, we would always be Katie and Billy. Immature. Dependent. Forever young—like that Tuck movie about the fountain of youth.
Then Drew Evans 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.
his bed.
I bend at the waist, ass in the air, and take his length in with my mouth. he jerks at the contact. The alcohol must have numbed my gag reflex, because I’m able to take him all the way down my throat.
And I do.
Four, five, six times. Then I bring my eyes to his. 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, Drew?”
he likes dirty talk too. Actually, there’s not much Drew doesn’t like.
his eyes roll back. “Fuck, yes.”
I go back to work, letting my tongue get into the action.
his 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 Drew’s body language. So when his hips start to lift and his hands clench in the air, I know he’s close. his appreciative grunts and groans almost make me abandon my plan.
But I don’t.
At the last second, just before he comes, I pull away. And sit up. Drew’s eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the explosion that’s not coming.
he opens his eyes and they’re bewildered.
