The Revelation (27 page)

“You’re good at sucking cock, baby,” I say, rubbing
the tip of my cock against the cleft in her chin. “It’s no wonder
sheiks, kings, and presidents want you so bad.”

Her eyes light up. “I like sucking your cock, baby,”
she says. “Let me do it again and make you come.” She lowers her
mouth and licks my tip, making me shudder.

“No, babe,” I say. “I want my paid whore’s magic
pussy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say, ‘Whatever you wish.’”

“Whatever you wish,” she purrs.

Wordlessly, I guide her on top of me—moaning with
pleasure as my cock enters her. The minute she’s on my saddle, I
grip her hips and guide her pelvis into enthusiastic movement.

“Josh,” she cries, her tits bouncing wildly as she
fucks me. “Oh my God,
yes
.”

She’s turning me on so much, I can’t even think.
“You feel so good,” I growl, grasping her rocking hips. “Oh my God,
Kat, you feel
so
fucking good.”

I slide my fingers up her ass—a move that’s pushed
her over the edge in the past—and this time, as before, it sends
her directly into an orgasm. Her entire body stiffens. Her eyes
roll back into her head. Her moans and whimpers morph into
shrieks.

Note to self: Kat likes ass-play.

When Kat’s climax subsides, I throw her onto the bed
and guide her onto her hands and knees—and then, without
hesitation, spank the shit out of her ’til she’s squealing and
moaning and twitching, and then I grip her hips and fuck her again
from this new position. I’ve positioned Kat this way for my
benefit—doggy-style happens to be one of my favorite ways to
fuck—plus, after the orgasm Kat just had, I’m figuring she’s all
done and it’s my turn now. But after only a handful of deep
thrusts, it’s clear my little whore is ramping up to go off
again.

Jesus, she’s supernatural.

I slow down my thrusts, trying my damnedest to hang
on, and she makes that sharp-intake-of-breath sound that seems to
signal an impending orgasm. I’m pretty sure that particular sound
means two things: one, my girl’s hanging on by the barest of
threads, and, two, it’s time for me to yank that motherfucking
thread and watch her unravel.

I reach underneath her and grope her breasts and
pinch her nipples and she jerks underneath my thrusting body like a
bucking bronco. Nice. I increase the speed and depth of my thrusts
and she begins whimpering. Good. I reach around and massage her
clit, using one of the techniques described in my handy-dandy new
book, and she wails with pleasure.

“I’m addicted to you, baby,” I say, sweat dripping
off my brow. “Fucking
addicted.
”

“Oh my fuck,” she responds. “Jesus Christ Superstar.
Motherfucker.”

Clearly, she likes what I’m doing (either that or
she took acid before we started fucking), but, still, she doesn’t
release.

I bite her shoulder. Rub her back. Kiss her neck.
Grab her hair roughly. All while thrusting and groping and licking
and fingering her.

“Oh my—oh jeeeeeeeeezus,” she moans.
“
Yes
.”

She sounds like she’s possessed. Why isn’t she
climaxing? Women are impossible to figure out, I swear to God.

Shit. I can’t hang on much longer. This is too
fucking good.

Oh. I suddenly know exactly what to do.

I drape myself over her back, my fingers still
working her clit, my cock thrusting deep inside her, sweat dripping
off my brow and onto her slick skin, and press my lips into her
ear. “You’re worth every fucking penny, baby,” I whisper. “Every
fucking penny.”

Boom
. She comes like I flipped on a
flashlight, screaming my name as she does. Ah, my little terrorist
and her imaginary pornos. They’re the key to her soul. Her entire
body is clenching and rippling violently around my cock. Holy fuck,
I love getting this woman off. It’s my new favorite game.

I grab her hips and ram myself into her as far as my
cock can go, making her scream with agony or pleasure—I don’t
really know which (or care)—and blow my load into her like a
fucking fire hose blasting a burning building.

When I finish, she collapses onto the bed in a
sweaty heap, gasping, and I lie on top of her, my body covering
hers, my chest heaving, sweat pouring out of me.

“Holy shitballs,” she chokes out.

“Damn.”

Once I’ve caught my breath, I sweep her hair away
from the back of her sweaty neck and kiss her hidden Scorpio
tattoo. “You’re my new favorite hobby, babe,” I say.

She giggles. “I like being your hobby.”

“You’re a beast.” I lick the back of her neck. And
then bite it. And then I run my hands all over her sweaty body,
making her moan with pleasure. Jesus Christ Almighty, I just fucked
the living hell out of this woman not two minutes ago and I’m
already electrified at the thought of doing it again. I can’t get
enough of her. I’ve never felt addicted like this before. I bite
her shoulder and she squeals.

I crawl off Kat’s back and lie alongside her,
pulling her close to me on the bed.

“You’re a beast,” I say softly, hugging her to me.
“So amazing.”

“So are you,” she replies softly into my chest, her
voice quavering.

I tip her chin up and kiss her gently. “You’re the
most fun I’ve ever had in bed, Katherine Ulla Morgan.”

Her face bursts with pleasure. “Really?”

“Not even a contest. You’re in a league all by
yourself. The tippy-top.”

She grins.

“Worth every fucking penny,” I say softly.

“But you didn’t get your fantasy. We were supposed
to be doing your fantasies first.” She runs her hand over my chest,
right over my “Grace” tattoo. “You wanna regroup and do the thing
with Bridgette? I’m totally willing... now.” Her eyes glint with
something wicked.

“Fuck Bridgette,” I say. “I’m sure she already left,
anyway.”

“You think?”

“If not, I’ll tell her to go.”

She smiles broadly. “But you seemed so turned on by
the idea in Vegas.”

“Eh, things change. Life is fluid. You gotta roll
with it. I guess it’s time to scratch that motherfucker off my
bucket list—at least when it comes to you.”

Her blue eyes narrow sharply.

Clearly, I’ve said something wrong. “What are you
thinking?” I ask. “You suddenly look like a chick.”

She assesses me with two chickified chips of blue
granite for a moment. “I’m just trying to figure out why the change
of heart—
at least when it comes to me.
”

I pause. She said that last part like she was gonna
bomb my embassy—but I’d said those words to her as a compliment.
What the fuck am I missing?

“Just what I said,” I say slowly. “When it comes to
you, all bets are off. You’re a game-changer.”

“Oh,” she says. Apparently, she likes that answer.
“After what you wrote about in your application—and how turned-on
you were in Vegas when we talked about you watching me—I’m
surprised. What’s changed?”

Kat’s right. I’ve done a one-eighty on the subject,
at least when it comes to her. I can’t honestly say I’d never wanna
watch two women again—but not if one of them is Kat. At least not
now. But the truth is I felt literally sick about the whole
arrangement the minute I walked into the hotel room tonight and saw
Kat and Bridgette sitting together. I felt like I was taking a shit
right where I eat. No
bueno.

“Yeah, I was crazy-turned-on when we talked about it
in Las Vegas,” I admit. “But that was
before
.” I trace her
lips with my fingertip.

“Before
what
?”

Damn, she’s persistent. “You know,” I say.

“I actually don’t.”

“Before this past week.”

She grins from ear to ear. “What happened this past
week?”

“I thought about you nonstop.”

“Oh.” She grins. “Well, I thought about you,
too.”

“And not once did I fantasize about you fucking
around with another woman. The only thing I thought about on an
endless loop was doing what I just did to you.”

She bites her lip, but she can’t hide her smile.

“The thought of sharing you with anyone makes me
wanna punch a wall or break a face.”

Her face lights up. “Well, gosh, that’s an
unexpected development. Who would have thought?”

I lean back, narrowing my eyes at her. “You really
are evil.”

“What?”

I shake my head at her.

“What?”

“I thought I was coming here tonight to play out my
fantasy, but we were doing yours all along, weren’t we? Right from
the start.”

She doesn’t reply, but her slow blink tells me I’m
right—and that I played my part perfectly.

“Evil genius,” I whisper.

She grins wickedly. “I was totally prepared to do it
for you, I really was—and I still will, if that’s what you want.
But, yeah, I do admit I like that you couldn’t stand watching me
with someone else—that you wanted me all to yourself.”

There’s a very long beat. I don’t know what the fuck
to say or do, so I kiss her. And then I kiss her again, my heart
racing. When we part lips, I touch her face again. She’s so fucking
beautiful. And so fucking evil. She’s perfect.

“So, hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I think
I’ve had enough of hotels for a while. I can count on one hand the
number of times I’ve slept in my own bed this past month. If it’s
cool with you, I’d prefer to ditch this ramshackle motel and take
you to my house. I wanna kiss every inch of the great Katherine
Ulla Morgan in my own bed tonight.”

She presses her body into mine. “Awesome. Yeah, I
didn’t wanna say anything, but this place really is a dump.”

I laugh.

“You’re sure you don’t feel like you’re missing out
if I don’t lesbo-out with Bridgette?” she asks. “Maybe we could do
it on my next trip if you’re still—”

“
Babe
.” I touch the cleft in her chin and she
abruptly stops talking. “
No
.” I exhale a long, shaky breath.
“The thought of seeing you with someone else makes me wanna break a
face.” Her face lights up. “And if I break a face, it’s quite
possible I could get punched in return. And if I get punched, I
might get a mark on my pretty face.” I shake my head, chastising
her. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

She shakes her head in mimicry of my movement. “No
way. Your face is much too pretty to get marked up.”

“Exactly. So that means from here on out, no one
touches my Party Girl With a Hyphen but
me
.”

Kat

“Wow, you really like black leather, huh?” I say,
looking around Josh’s sleek and spacious living room.

“Yeah. Makes life simple.”

“Your house is spectacular. If my mom were here,
she’d fall to the floor, weeping.”

He looks at me funny.

“She’s an interior decorator.”

“Oh.” He chuckles. “Yeah, I had a top designer
helping me.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward floor-to-ceiling
glass on the other side of the room. “Lemme show you the view. It’s
gonna make you say ‘Holy shitballs.’”

He pulls me outside into the night air and we’re met
with a view of what might as well be heaven on earth.

“Holy shitballs,” I say.

Josh grins. “Amazing, right?” He motions to the
infinite expanse of twinkling lights and rugged hills spanning
before us into the night. “This right here is why people pay an arm
and a leg for houses in the Hollywood Hills. Okay, so, over there,
between those two hills? The Hollywood sign is right through
there—you can’t really see it right now, but I’ll give you
binoculars in the daylight. And if you look that way, that’s
downtown L.A. over there.”

“Amazing. No wonder you love it here.”

“Oh, I don’t love L.A. I love Seattle. I just
tolerate
L.A.”

“Really?” I’m floored. I thought Josh loved living
in La La Land with all his flashy friends. “I thought you loved
living here,” I say.

Josh shrugs. “Nah, L.A. definitely gets old, other
than the weather—the weather never gets old.” He points in a new
direction. “See that house down there? That’s Chris Pratt’s
house... ”

But I can barely process what he’s saying. Josh
doesn’t love Los Angeles? Does that mean he might be open to moving
back home one day? But, whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell is my brain
doing? Josh has made it abundantly clear he’s not thinking about a
long-term commitment. For crying out loud, only an hour ago the
dude said he was scratching the two-woman scenario off his bucket
list “
at least
when it comes to me
”—which means it’s
still on his agenda with other women, whenever (if ever?) this
crazy whatever-it-is between us has run its course.

“Wow,” I stammer, even though I don’t know what the
hell Josh was just saying. I think it was something about Joaquin
Phoenix’s house?

“Let me give you the rest of the tour,” Josh
says.

He leads me back inside and straight past his
gleaming kitchen.

“Hang on,” I say. “Can I see your kitchen? It looks
pretty fancy-schmancy.”

“Oh, it is. My designer redid the entire thing top
to bottom when I moved in four years ago—we installed
professional-grade everything.” He flashes me a crooked grin. “But
since I don’t cook, it’s basically just for show.”

“You have a kitchen like
this
and you don’t
cook?”

“Yup. I’m super-smart that way.”

“You don’t cook
at all
?”

“Not even a little bit. I can count on one hand the
number of times I’ve turned on this stove in four years—and at
least two of those times, I was lighting a doobie.”

I laugh. “Josh, this is a frickin’ gourmet kitchen.
Wolfgang Puck would kill for a kitchen like this.”

“Yeah, I figured a gourmet kitchen would add value
on resale, and I was right.” He shifts his weight. “I mean, it...
will.
Add. Value. Whenever the time comes.”