Page 68 of Born To Be Bad

“Sounds about right,” he jokes. “But this wasn’t me, this was Freya.”

“Maybe it has something to do with who’s in charge,” I wonder out loud. Freya was definitely in charge. “One of the things I love about being the sub is that I can totally relax into the session and just go along with it, you know? I don’t have to think about what to do next or worry about how it’s going. It’s just all about my pleasure.”

Alistair grimaces and squeezes my foot. Before I can ask him if he’s okay, he whispers to me. “I can’t wait to fuck you. This is torture.”

I do enjoy the idea of torturing him. I drop the volume of my voice so that it’s almost a whisper. “So Freya is sucking my clit and it’s driving me crazy. Then she starts using her tongue … plunging her tongue into me, and I almost lose it.”

Alistair grimaces again and rubs the sides of his face.

Freya’s lips and tongue had been so soft and slippery. “I could feel my orgasm ramping up, but I didn’t want to come yet. It was too good. And then she’s pulling at the gold chain, which was tugging my nipples. It was like my whole body was alight.”

“Note to self,” says Alistair. “Buy Ivy a gold body chain with matching nipple clamps.”

I chuckle, but nod. Yes, please. I’m not usually one for jewelry, but a body chain for the bedroom I can definitely do. “Then she poured that warm oil on me—like you do, and I fucking love it—and starts finger-fucking me, and that’s when things kind of spiral into a foggy mire of pleasure.”

I lost count of her fingers, probably even forget who was fucking me to be honest, because it was all just oil and bliss. All man-made concepts—of identity, time, and meaning, fell away.

“Then she introduces the dildo,” says Alistair.

“Oh fuck,” I reply, enjoying this. “Yes, of course. She flips me over and fucks me with that dildo.” It’s my turn to squirm in my seat. Freya had fucked me hard and fast, stopping only to spank and bite me. It didn’t feel painful at the time but the next morning I had the marks to prove it.

CHAPTER 39

Sex Yacht

ALISTAIR

“Jesus.” Ivy’s driving me insane. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while, waiting to hear the details of Ivy’s first sapphic encounter from her point of view, but I can hardly sit. I’m so hard it’s painful. I squeeze her sharp-heeled shoe and try to get comfortable. It doesn’t work.

I hardly notice the new guests arriving. Usually, they would be my priority, but Ivy always steals all my attention.

“I came so hard,” she recalls. “It was incredible. I needed some time to recover and she helped me. She stroked me … broadly, firmly, to bring me back down to earth.”

I close my eyes for a second to pull myself together. “Then you went down on her.”

Ivy’s eyes dance with light. “Then she watched me as I went down on her.”

I lean in to whisper in her ear. “I think it might be important to note … that it is taking every ounce of my willpower not to drag you onto this table and fuck you right now.”

“Well,” she says, ever the smartass. “If you do that, you won’t hear the end of the story.”

I gesture to a waitress for drinks. I’m going to need something stronger to drink. I choose single malt, and Ivy sticks with champagne and a large bottle of sparkling water. Snacks arrive, too. Caviar and gravadlax, sour cream. Spring rolls. Corn fritters with sweet chili sauce. Not that I can eat—all my body’s attention is on one organ in particular, and it’s not my stomach.

“That’s when Freya asks if I want you to join us, and I say yes, but not yet.”

“I remember that.”

“I wanted her to myself, first.”

I nod and tip some whisky into my mouth. It gives a pleasant burn. “Understandable.”

“Then I had to channel my inner Alistair.”

I chuckle. “What does that mean?”

I return his laugh. “I don’t know. But all of a sudden I had to be in charge and I didn’t know how. So … in my head, I pretended I was you.”

“This may be a psychological problem.”

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