Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (3 page)

“You don’t mean that.” His voice dips dangerously low. “I know you miss me, baby.” My pussy responds, coming alive. I swallow. “I wanna see you.”

“That’s too bad.” I press my thighs shut. “I’m no longer available to you, Maurice. So do us both a favor and don’t call my job again.”

“I was really hoping we could still be friends.”

“Maurice, I want you to listen to something, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

Click.

Fucking asshole!

He calls right back and I have to threaten to get a restraining order against him if he doesn’t leave me the hell alone. I hang up. Less than a minute later, my phone is ringing again. It’s another outside call. I’m annoyed that my phone’s caller ID isn’t working. I know it’s him so I snatch the phone up on the third ring and give it to him real good. “Listen. I told you we have nothing to say to each other. Call this number again and I will have your monkey ass charged with harassment. Now stop calling my motherfu—”

“Whoa, whoa,” the voice on the other end says. “Who pissed in your bowl of Cheerios today?”

I am immediately embarrassed. “Ohmygod, who is this?”

“Girl, it’s Kara. And remind me to never get on your bad side.” She chuckles. “Long time no chat. Happy New Year to you.”

Kara—or Karalyn, used to work down on the tenth floor in Logistics before landing a government position down in Bethesda, Maryland over a year ago. Although we weren’t BFF’s, we’re
friendly. She’s someone I would go out to lunch with, or meet up after work for an occasional drink. And I liked her enough to want to stay in touch, which is a rarity for me given the fact that I don’t usually do well befriending other women. But there’s something different about Karalyn—I mean, Kara. She always kept to herself. And like me, kept her personal life private. The only thing any of us knew about her personal life—and that was by chance—was that she was married and had no children. Other than that, she kept it strictly professional. And I liked that about her.

“Ohmygod! I’m so sorry, girl. I thought you were…mmph. Never mind. Happy New Year to you, too. It’s good to hear from you. It’s been ages since we’ve talked.”

“Yes, it has.” She tells me she’s spent the last six months working over in Afghanistan training. That she returned to the Sates about two weeks ago and had been thinking about me. “Hence the reason for why I’m calling you. I was wondering. What are you doing this weekend?”

Hmmm, let’s see? Aside from playing in my pussy and OD-ing on red Velvet cake and vanilla bean ice cream the entire weekend, it’s not like my life is one big social calendar. I haven’t been out on a date in months, nor have I had a vacation since the one I took with Maurice last summer to the Margarita Islands, which I practically had to beg him to go to. I glance at my computer screen. “Um, nothing really. Why? What’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d say yes to coming up to my cabin in the Poconos this weekend. I haven’t been there in months and really need to get up there to check on things. I thought maybe we could have a girls’ weekend, just the two of us.”

What the fuck? Is this chick serious? What the hell I look like going up to some winter cabin with another woman—
alone?
She’s cool and all, but not like that!

“Look, before you say no,” she adds, sensing my reservation. “Think about it. I have some bottles of Moscato already on ice, and the liquor cabinet up there is fully stocked with any other liquid pleasures you might want. We haven’t talked in a while. We can sit around the fireplace, snacking and drinking and watching old reruns of
Desperate Housewives
.” I chuckle, surprised that she remembered how much I love that show. “And it’ll give us a chance to get caught up. Besides, judging by the way you answered the phone a few minutes ago, it sounds like you could use a little getaway.”

Well, she’s right about that. Still
…

“I promise you, it’ll be a very relaxing, refreshing weekend; for the both of us. And who knows, maybe you’ll want to keep coming back.”

I smile at the thought of having somewhere else to go instead of staking out the malls for clearance sales, or being cooped up in my house, staring at the walls, eating myself into another dress size. “Okay, I’m sold. When and where?”

“Oh, great,” she says, sounding a bit too overly excited.
But why?
“Girl, you have no idea how you’ve made my day. I look forward to seeing you.” She gives me the address and directions. I tell her I will work a half-day on Friday, then head up. We talk a few minutes more, then disconnect.

At six o’clock, I shut off my computer, slip into my coat and prepare to leave for the day. “Miss Wilson,” Erica—one of the administrative secretaries, stops me, carrying a huge floral arrangement in a crystal vase. “These just came for you.”

I raise my eyebrow in surprise. “For me?” Erica hands me the vase. There’s a white envelope in the center of it. I open it. G
IVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE
? I’
LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES. I MISS YOU
. M
AURICE
.

I tear the card up, then hand the vase back to her. “No thanks. You can toss these.” I walk off, ignoring the young assistant’s curious look. “See you in the morning.”

•  •  •

The rest of the week flies by uneventful. I become immersed in briefings and reports at work, then spend an hour and a half each night at the gym right after work so that by the time I get home—around eight, I am too exhausted to do anything else besides shower and then hit the sheets. So Friday rolls around faster than I had hoped. For some reason, I feel nervous. And I’ve been tempted a few times to call Karalyn to cancel. But then I think about the alternatives, and decide against it.
Hell, it’s the New Year and I promised I would spend it doing and experiencing new things. So I might as well get started now.

At twelve
P.M
. sharp, I am pulling out of the employees’ parking garage. With my overnight bag already packed and in the trunk, I stop at the Exxon down the street from the job. Gas up, then head up Interstate 280 toward Interstate 80, heading westbound.

“So, do tell,” Karalyn says, moving around the
L
-shaped granite counter. We’ve eaten lobster and shrimp dishes she’s whipped up. And have spent the last several hours getting caught up with each other’s lives while listening to her vast collection of music. Surprisingly, Karalyn has been extremely chatty. She’s told me that she and her husband, Kenneth, have been divorced for the last six months, partly due to his infidelities and, mostly, to her not being happy in the marriage. She said it felt like she was suffocating. Now the conversation has shifted over to me. I sip my wine, eyeing her over the rim of my glass as she reaches for her glass of wine, then takes a sip. It’s close to eight o’clock in the evening and we’ve already finished off two bottles of Moscato, now working on our third. And, yes, my guard and hair have both been let down. I’m feeling good. “What happened between you and ole boy, anyway? What’s his name?”

I sigh, shifting my weight onto the stool I’m sitting on. “Maurice.”

She snaps her fingers. “Yeah, that’s right. Mister Fine. Mmmph. Anyway, what happened or
didn’t
happen to cause this breakup?”

I toss back my drink. “What else you have besides wine? I need something a little more stronger than this.”

She chuckles, pointing over toward a room off of the kitchen. “There are a few bottles of Ciroc and, I think, I have some Bombay, Tequila, and Remy in the cabinet as well as out in the pantry. And you still haven’t answered the question.”

I get up from my seat and head for the bottles of liquor, feeling tipsy. “I’d rather not talk about him.”

“I thought the two of you were madly in love.”

“Please. So did I. But that one-way love affair has since been derailed.” I walk back out with a bottle of peach Ciroc.

She guzzles back the rest of her wine, then sets her glass on the counter. “So what happened? What changed?” She reaches over and grabs a handful of grapes from off a ceramic platter and pops two in her mouth.

I roll my eyes, cracking open the bottle. “Girl, long story.” I walk over to the fridge and pull out a tray of ice cubes, then locate a can of pineapple juice she has in another cabinet. Now in the back of my mind I know I probably shouldn’t have any more to drink. And I definitely should probably stick with the one and not switch over to something else. But, tonight, I feel like pushing the envelope to the edge. I feel like letting my hair down and simply being in the moment.
And I’m sure I’m going to pay for it in the morning.

Karalyn stares at me, tapping her nails against the granite. “Well, are you going to keep me waiting? Spill it. I wanna know what happened between you and Maurice?” I pull out a clean glass from out of the cabinet. She tells me to grab her one as well. She’s decided she’s had enough of the wine for one night.

“Say when?” I say as I pour vodka into a glass over three cubes of ice. She waits until it’s half-f, then says, “when.” I add a splash of pineapple juice, then hand her the glass.

“Aaah, yesss. Now this’ll kick it up a notch,” she says, taking a sip.

I grin. “Glad you like.”

“I definitely do.
A lot
.” She eyes me over the rim of her glass. “How about we take this into the living room so we can get a
little more comfortable?” She stands, stretches, then takes another sip of her drink. “You sure know how to make a simple drink taste delicious.”

“Hey, what can I say?” I tease. “I’m good at whatever I do. Trust.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. And I can’t wait to find out
what else
you’re good at.” The statement drips with innuendo. My face suddenly feels flush with embarrassment.

She laughs, walking off into the living room. “Relax, girl. I’m only teasing.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure if I am relieved or disappointed that she’s, uh,
only
teasing. I’ve never looked at Karalyn or any other woman—other than my faceless imaginary lover—in a sexual way. So the fact that I have to restrain myself from practically leering at her perky D-cup breasts, her ass in skintight jeans, or her sumptuous lips is way beyond me. I blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on being in need of a good fuck.

Karalyn turns to me. “Sooo, you
coming
or not?” The word
come
sounds soft and sexy the way she says it. It lingers in the air between us. It’s hidden meaning teasing me.

I grab the bottle of vodka and walk toward her. “I’m coming, geesh.”

She laughs. “Then hurry up ’cause I wanna hear all about your breakup with Mister Fine. Don’t even think I forgot.”

I roll my eyes up in my head, following behind her. “Girl, I already told you. Long story.” I set the bottle on the table, then take a seat down on the opposite end of the sofa from her. “I need a refill.”

“We have a whole bottle of vodka and the entire night.” She takes my glass from me, her delicate fingers gently grazing mine. Heat shoots through me. I shift in my seat. She fills the glasses with Ciroc, then tops it off with peach juice, then hands me mine.
I take a sip eyeing her as she fixes hers, then sits a few inches away from me.

I raise my glass to her. “Not bad.” Now it’s her turn to tell me how she’s good at everything she does. She emphasizes
everything
.

“Now, give me the short version of how Mister Fine broke your heart so we can spend the rest of the night drinking and doing
whatever else
comes to mind. Or we can simply sit and do nothing at all, except finish this bottle off.”

I smile. “Sounds good to me. Long story short, I loved Maurice more than he loved me. Hell, I loved
him
more than I loved
me
. But the icing on the cake for me was when that motherfucker said I was too fat.”

“Fat? Is he serious? There’s nothing
fat
about you, girl. Oh, he’s a fucking idiot! Mmmph. He actually called you
fat?
”

“Well, not exactly in those words. But that’s what it sounded like when he decided to tell me while I was sucking his dick that he wanted—no, needed—his space. That he was no longer attracted to me. Translation, I want a skinny bitch.”

“That bastard!”

“Yeah. Tell me about it. It’s a good thing he didn’t fuck-up my self-esteem too bad, but imagine how I felt hearing that shit with a mouthful of his cum. I felt like I had been punched in the forehead for grazing the head of his dick with my teeth.” I shake my head. “I should have known something was wrong when he stopped going down on me, then eventually no longer wanted to have sex as much.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “He did what? Stopped giving you head? That’s a no-no.
And
you were still sucking his dick?”

I give her a dismissive wave. “Chile, among other things.” I take a sip of my drink. “I was that man’s whore in the sheets. Anything he wanted sexually, I gave it. I’d let him slip his dick
out of my pussy, pull it out and suck it clean, then let him run it all up in my ass with no questions asked. Why? Because he was my man and I was willing to do whatever I needed to in order to keep him satisfied. But whenever I asked him to eat my pussy, it was always some half-assed tongue lap. Then when he stopped doing it altogether and I asked him about it, he said it was never really his thing, but only did it because he wanted his dick sucked.”

Karalyn sips her drink, listening intently.

I shake my head, thinking back to the last time Maurice and I made love—no, fucked. His wide, delicious dick a pleasurable fit, stretching and filling me. A sweet ache building up deep in the wells of my cunt, swelling my pussy lips. I gasped as he dipped his hand between my thighs, arching my back and spreading my legs to give him more access to the back-shot view of his cock sliding in and out of me. It’s presence brushing up against my G-spot. My free hand fluttered to my breasts. Pinching my nipples, rolling them between my fingers. I slammed back on his dick, bouncing and clapping my ass around the base of him, nearing myself to an orgasm. But then he gripped my hips, digging his nails into my flesh, and started banging deep and hard into me while letting out a long, low groan.