Page 66 of Born To Be Bad

She smirks, eyes alight with mischief. “Let’s talk about Freya.”

I nod. Yep, definitely all cock. “Excellent idea. The conversation is long overdue.”

“Where will we start?” she asks.

“Well,” I say, adjusting myself. “I’d like to know how it was for you. With a woman for the first time.”

“And I’d like to know what it was like for you when you joined in.”

“Spoiler alert: it was incredible,” I reply. I remember the softness of their skin, the way they brought out each others’ girlish femininity and their soft exchange of compliments.

“I want the nitty gritties,” she says.

“As do I.”

Ivy takes a breath and sighs it out. “I was terrified.”

“To be fair, Freya was rather terrifying.”

CHAPTER 38

Zero Stubble

IVY

It felt surreal sitting on a yacht with Alistair. Not only were we far from home, but at a play party on a freakin’ boat. A massive shiny superyacht. We were largely anonymous, and this gave me a heady sensation of freedom and recklessness. I downed my champagne and signaled for another, despite being tipsy from the cocktails at the restaurant. Alistair gives me a hungry look—the one that makes my pussy melt—and I wish I had him inside me right now.

No, I tell myself. Not yet.

We are going to draw out every delicious moment of this evening. I use my new glitter-bomb stiletto to gently stroke his calf, and he makes that soft growling sound in his throat. The way he devours me with his eyes is so fucking hot, sometimes I can’t stand it.

“So,” I say in a low voice, “Freya.”

“The wolf,” replies Alistair.

Yes, the wolf. The wolf who gobbled up Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf who blew down houses. The hungry predator who ravaged me in front of my lover.

“You began undressing me,” I say. “My stockings were ripped from earlier in the evening, when we went for dinner.”

“That place,” Alistair remembers. “The awful one that served pruned twigs for salad and dumpster-divings for mains.”

I giggle. “Yes. The zero-waste restaurant.”

“Calling it a ‘restaurant’ is a bit of a stretch, but okay. Moving on.”

My face contorts with laughter. “It really wasn’t that bad. We were just joking that it was.”

“That’s exactly what a hippie would say.”

“So … my stockings were ripped. It was like a wolverine had a distinct dislike of my style of lingerie.”

“To be fair, wolverines aren’t known for their taste in intimate apparel.”

“True,” I reply. “You took off my blouse and bra, then you unzipped my skirt. You peeled off my destroyed stockings, then my panties. I was naked.”

“Your skin … against that dark satin sheet. An oil painting. I remember it so well.”

I’m still stroking his leg with my heel spike. “I was super turned on, but also really nervous. It was my first play party.”

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