(A little mouthy midnight ramble from your favorite throat queen) Hey darlings, it’s Emilee. Just me, sprawled across silk sheets at 2 a.m., hair a dark messy halo on the pillow, lips still glossy from earlier, tasting faintly of salt…

I sip my wine, eyes locked on the caller ID as “John” flashes across the screen. Married men are my specialty. There’s something delicious about knowing I’m the forbidden fruit, the secret that can shatter their perfect lives. “Hello, lover,”…