Page 7 of Slippery When Wet

“Yes.”

I shake my head, reaching over and pouring myself another drink. My throat suddenly feels as if I’ve gulped down sand as my heart thumps in my chest. I’m nervous, but not in an uncomfortable way. “No.”

“Would you ever try it?”

I pause and look at her, trying to figure out where this line of questioning is heading. I twist in my seat. “No. I doubt it.”

Okay, yes, I’ve masturbated—multiple times, to the thought. And, okay, truth is. Some—no, all—of my best orgasms have been as a result of those fantasies. Still, that’s doesn’t mean I’m willing to openly admit it to her or anyone else. And it definitely doesn’t mean I want to live them out. Or do I? I mean, what if I like it? What if I want it again? Would that mean I’m a lesbian? “I don’t knock what anyone else does,” I push out, shifting my eyes from hers. “But I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t say you were. I’m only asking if you’d ever wondered what it would be like to be with another woman. And would you ever consider it?”

I look at her. “I’m strictly dickly. I mean, right now I’m sick of men. And, yes, I’ve temporarily banished them from my bed and my life, but only for the moment. I’m still very much in love with the feel of a hard dick plunging inside of me.”

My cell rings. I pull it out of my front pocket and glance at the screen. It’s Maurice. Speaking of the devil! I press IGNORE, then turn my phone off.

Karalyn

takes a slow, deliberate sip from her drink, kicking off her shoes. I glance down at her neatly polished toes. “Well, maybe you should think about giving it a try before knocking it.”

“Oh, I’m not knocking anything,” I assure her, shifting in my seat. I glance at her full, sensual lips. Swallow. “You already know I subscribe to the philosophy of live and let live.”

She shifts her body toward me, tucking her leg beneath her. She flashes me one of her dimpled smiles, and I almost forget about the throbbing in my cunt. Almost. Her coffee brown eyes take me in, and she flashes me another toothy grin.

“You know. I’ve always felt this special connection between us. And the one thing I’ve always liked about you is your open-mindedness. You have a free-spirit that I have always been attracted to.”

Blink. Blink.

All of sudden, I’m feeling myself starting to overheat, instead of being put off by what she’s said. Perhaps it’s due to the Ciroc, or it could simply be from the fire burning in the fireplace. Or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me—intense and probing, that has caused the temperature in the room to rise. Whatever it is, it has me starting to sweat, literally and figuratively. Karalyn’s brown, doe-shaped eyes have now become slanted slits that seem to be leisurely undressing me, peeling back layers of clothing and inhibitions.

“And if it were up to me, I’d have my tongue buried in your pussy right now.”

“I-I…” I stutter, trying to regain some level of composure. But she has struck a match to a secret yearning, one I have never considered exploring…with her…until this very moment. And now I feel a slow burning flame of desire starting to spread. My cunt smoldering with curiosity and lust.

“All I’m saying is, you might find being with another woman to be an enjoyable experience. I know if I had the chance, I’d make sure it’d be one you’d never forget. And one thing I can promise you, you definitely wouldn’t have to ever worry about me not eating your pussy. I’d love to be your personal pussy eater.”

Instantly, my cunt moistens. And I imagine the slip-slide of her fingers in my cum-slick pussy. Her gaze heightens my arousal and curiosity, causing my clit to pulse between my thighs, hungry for a mouth, the flick of a tongue.

I gulp back my drink.

“Do you enjoy having your pussy eaten?” she asks, dangling temptation in front of me, purposefully trying to pry open Pandora’s box.

I reach for her drink, laughing it off. “Oh no, girl. No more of this for you tonight. Obviously someone has had a little too much of the devil juice.” I set her glass on the table in front of me.

She reaches over and takes her glass back. “I’m not drunk.”

“Well, clearly you’re not in your right frame of mind, either.” I let out another nervous chuckle. “Obviously you must have a little more than Ciroc in that drink that has you saying stuff you’ll regret in the morning.”

She shoots me a look. “I don’t live with regrets. I’m very much aware of what I’m saying. Life is too short, Ava. You’re a beautiful, sexy, vibrant woman. And if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a lesbian.”

I am not sure if I should be surprised by this news or not. I have known Karalyn for six years and, although I could never flat-out put my finger on it, I always sensed there was something more to her cool, calm demeanor. She’d always kept her personal life private. And I never felt the need to pry. I still don’t. It was always speculated by the nosey bitches at the job that Karalyn might be a lesbian or, at the very least, bi since no one had ever seen her with a man. They’d say she had an invisible husband since no one had ever met him. But I never gave it much thought. I simply assumed she was a tomboy who threw on a dress and heels and some lipstick when needed, but was most comfortable in sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt.

“Ohmygod,” I say, gasping and feigning shock. “And here I thought you were just flirting with me.”

She laughs. “I am. Shamelessly, I might add. But I’m also very serious. I’m attracted to you, Ava. And I’ve wanted to make love to you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

My mouth drops open. “I’m really flattered. But I—”

“Listen, before you shoot me down with rejection, let me say this. I’m not telling you all this to try and put you on the spot. This has been something I’ve wanted to say to you for a while, but didn’t have the courage or the nerve to until now. Hope I haven’t offended you or made you feel uncomfortable by sharing this.”

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