Is Remodelista: The Organized Home Worth Reading For Decluttering Tips?

If you’re a delicate little flower who clutches pearls and believes sex should only happen in the missionary position with the lights off and your spouse’s permission, close this book immediately. Seriously. Put it down before you ruin your boring little life with uncontrollable wetness and questionable morals. Still here? Good girl. Welcome to Dripping Forbidden: 100 Ways to Make Yourself Wet — a ruthless, dripping-wet collection of one hundred filthy, plot-driven taboo stories that don’t just flirt with the line… they bend you over it, fuck you senseless, and leave you leaking.😉 💦

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

When I asked Avery to settle the bill for tearing down her walls, she jammed her car keys and a bank card into my hands instead. “There’s thirty million in this account. No password required.” While I was racking my brain trying to figure out how to give her change, I looked up and saw her clutching her pregnant belly, running straight for the balcony where I had just knocked down the guardrail. I dropped my sledgehammer, dove forward, and grabbed her by the ankle. “Don’t jump! If you jump, I become the prime suspect! I have an elderly mother and young kids to feed—you can’t ruin my life like this!” She kicked frantically, screaming in absolute despair. “My dad was practically sent to the ICU because of my ex! He even drugged me to try to force a miscarriage just so his mistress could move in! “He said someone like me deserves to be conned. I have nothing left now. I’m better off dead!” Ah, so she was just a poor soul systematically broken by a toxic scumbag. I slammed my sledgehammer onto the floor. “Why destroy yourself when you can destroy them instead? “Ever heard of the Scumbag Demolition Project? Not only will I get your house back, but I’ll also send him straight to federal prison to spend the rest of his life behind bars.”

The adventures of three young women as they navigate through life, love, and other stuff while in the city. Brooklyn dreams of being a successful author, but in the meantime, she's got to pay the bills. That means working as a barista while working on her writing in her off time. Addy has always longed to be a famous designer, but she needs to find a way to break onto the scene. Has her big break finally come? Shea loves to shop, but she wants more. She just needs to find it.

After having dinner on the holiday eve, I'm about to distribute the gift cards to the younger generation of the family when my daughter, Lisa Mercer, speaks up. "Mom, we're not going to celebrate the holidays at home. You should pack up and go back to your own home too." Shock flashes across my face. "It's nighttime, and yet you want me to leave right now?" Lisa replies calmly, "I'm doing this for your own good. If you stay in my house on your own, you won't be able to defend yourself if anything in this house goes missing." I no longer question Lisa. Instead, I pack my own belongings and go back to my childhood home. One week later, when Lisa and the rest of the family comes back from their vacation, they are stunned, to say the least. After all, the house that they've lived in for the past eight years now has a new owner.