The Revelation (26 page)

But my anxiety about Bridgette touching me and
bringing out the terrorist in Kat is all in vain, apparently: Kat’s
all charm and ease on the far side of the room, throwing her head
back and giggling. “Oh, come on, Mr. Faraday,” she says. “You can
give Frieda a little kiss on her cheek in greeting.
Of
course
that’s allowed.”

Bridgette turns around to look at Kat and the two
women break into peals of laughter.

What the hell? How’d these two become besties so
fucking fast? And why the hell is Kat acting like Bridgette’s in on
our game? Bridgette’s not a
player
in our fantasy—she’s
nothing but a fucking pawn.

Bridgette hugs me and kisses me on both cheeks, but
when she does, I recoil at her touch. I want absolutely nothing to
do with her. The only person I wanna touch right now is Kat;
specifically, I wanna rip Kat’s clothes off and fuck the shit out
of her—it’s what I’ve been fantasizing about doing night and day
all week long—not sitting in a chair in a corner, jerking off while
watching someone else touch and kiss and lick my girl. In fact, the
thought of Bridgette—or
anyone
—laying a fucking finger on my
Party Girl with a Hyphen makes my stomach turn over.

“Hey, asshole,” Bridgette says, swatting my
shoulder. “You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was
this
gorgeous.” She motions to Kat. “I was just telling Kat—
Heidi
Kumquat
”—she giggles and Kat joins her—“if she ever wants to
try modeling, she could make an absolute
killing
. Look at
that bone structure! Those legs! That skin! Oh my God, she’s to die
for. I can’t wait to take a juicy bite out of her.” She licks her
lips.

Kat told Bridgette she’s “Heidi Kumquat” for the
night? So does that mean Kat’s told Bridgette
everything
about our little game? Because when I called Bridgette and invited
her to our little party, I certainly didn’t. I merely asked
Bridgette if she’d come hang out with me and this gorgeous girl I’m
seeing, maybe make out with the girl while I watched and wacked off
if things were to go in that direction (something I knew would be
right up Bridgette’s alley)—but I certainly didn’t mention Kat
being my high-priced call girl. What have these two been talking
about for the last few hours before my arrival?

Kat’s looking at me with hard eyes, though her mouth
is smiling. Jesus. She looks like she’s plotting my murder.
Literally.

“No, seriously, hon,” Bridgette continues, sounding
remarkably sincere, “I’ll hook you up with a photographer-friend of
mine so you can get a kick-ass portfolio together. My agent will
crap her pants when she sees you—I’m sure she could get you booked
solid, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Aw, thanks,” Kat purrs, her smoldering gaze still
fixed on me. “You’re a doll, Bridgette.” Her eyes flash. “I mean
Frieda
.” She smirks. “I’ve got your number—I’ll definitely
give you a call. Thanks so much.”

What the fuck? Why did Kat and Bridgette exchange
numbers? What could possibly be the point in that?

“Why aren’t you sitting, Mr. Faraday?” Kat says,
motioning to a chair in the corner. “Please, make yourself
comfortable. Frieda and I are both excited to
entertain
you.”

I don’t move. My brain and body are at odds. I know
my role and what I’m supposed to do—what I should be
wanting
to do—but all my body yearns to do is kiss Kat. I haven’t seen her
in a week and I’m physically aching for her.

Bridgette claps her hands together. “Okay,
lieblinge
, let’s start the fun, hmm? You want a drink,
Faraday?” She glides toward the bar. “A shot of Patron, I
presume?”

Kat levels me with a smoldering stare as she speaks
to Bridgette. “Great idea. Would you be a doll and pour me a shot,
too? I could use a little liquid courage.”

“Aw, of course,
häschen
. Don’t be nervous.
I’ll be gentle.” She flashes Kat a brazenly sexual look. “I won’t
bite you
too
hard.” She grabs a bottle behind the bar and
begins pouring.

I still haven’t moved from my spot just inside the
door. I’m leaping out of my skin. Why do I feel like Kat’s doing
this to make me jealous, rather than to turn me on? And why the
fuck is it working?

“Why don’t you make those shots doubles?” Kat says
to Bridgette. She winks at me and begins gliding toward a couch
across the room from my assigned chair, unbuttoning her dress
slowly as she goes.

“You got it,” Bridgette coos.

Oh shit. I feel like I’m gonna explode. I’m
shaking.

I want her.

I look at Bridgette behind the bar. I have no desire
to touch any part of her—and certainly no desire to watch her kiss
and stroke and lick my girl, either. If anyone’s gonna do any of
that stuff to Kat right now, it’s sure as hell gonna be me.

Fuck this shit.

I march across the room to Kat, thwarting her
progress toward the couch, and before she can say or do another
goddamned thing, take her into my arms and maul her. My lips are on
hers, my hands in her hair, my hard-on pressed into her crotch.
Without hesitation, she presses herself into me, throws her arms
around my neck, and returns my kiss voraciously.

“Aw, come on—party foul,” Bridgette shouts from the
bar. “It took all my restraint not to make a move on your girl ’til
you got here, Josh. Kat said we had to wait and I’ve been—”

“We’ll be back,” I bark, grabbing Kat’s hand and
pulling her forcefully toward the bedroom. “Come on, babe. Fuck
this shit.”

The second Kat and I are alone in the bedroom with
the door closed behind us, I fucking attack her. “Oh my God,” I
murmur into her lips. Jesus God, I’m drowning in her—losing my
equilibrium. The smell of her. The taste of her lips. I’d forgotten
how addicting she is. My dick hurts. My heart is racing. I want her
so bad, I’m in pain. I’m dying to taste her pussy on my tongue,
feel her tight wetness surrounding my cock, hear her make the sound
like I’ve pricked her ass with a long needle. “Oh my God, Kat. I’ve
missed you, babe.”

“I’m not Kat—I’m a hooker from The Club,” she
breathes into my lips, but it’s clear she’s so turned on, she can
barely stand.

I begin unbuttoning her dress, but my fingers aren’t
functioning. “I’ll call you whatever you want, just as long as I’m
saying it while fucking you.”

“What about Bridgette?”

“Fuck Bridgette. I don’t want her. I want you.”

“No, I mean—”

But I devour her lips and she shuts the fuck up.

I’ve finally got her dress unbuttoned, thank God,
and I pull it down past her hips to the floor, sliding my palms
along her bare skin as I push the fabric down—and the sexy sight
that unexpectedly greets me makes my cock jolt: Kat’s wearing a
full get-up of centerfold-worthy, sheer lingerie—a push-up bra,
crotchless panties, and a garter belt that skims her flat belly
just below her belly ring—all of it the shade of the ocean in
Tahiti.

“Incredible,” I murmur, assessing the fantastical
vision in front of me. “Now
that’s
a high-priced call-girl,
baby.”

She squeals with excitement and snaps her garter
belt against her hip. “You like?”

“Fuck yeah, I do—I...” I clamp my lips together. I
was about to say, “Fuck yeah, I
love
it.” But using that
four-letter word in any context, even regarding something as
harmless as Kat’s lingerie, suddenly feels clunky in my mouth.
“It’s incredible,” I say.

I unlatch Kat’s stockings from her garter belt and
kneel before her, slowly peeling them down her legs, kissing each
inch of newly revealed flesh as I go, swirling my tongue around the
smooth skin of her thighs and then working my way up to her hips,
her belly, her piercing, each flicker of my tongue and kiss of my
lips eliciting moans of pleasure and knee-buckles from her.

After several minutes, I brush my fingertips over
the gap in her crotchless panties, and my fingers come back slick
with her wetness.

“You’re so wet for me,” I breathe.

“I’ve been wet for you all week,” she whispers.
“I’ve been dying for you.”

I lean in and suck on her clit and her knees buckle
sharply. She grips my hair to steady herself, and I take that as my
cue to penetrate her deeply with my tongue.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, running her fingers
through my hair. “You’re so
really
good at this.”

Her knees buckle again and then again, until she
loses complete balance—so I rise, take her by the hand, lead her to
the bed, and lay her down on her back. She’s trembling with desire,
physically twitching with yearning. Her blues eyes are on fire.

Slowly, I take off my jacket.

“Oh God,” she breathes. She reaches down to touch
herself for a brief moment but quickly pulls her hand away, her
body visibly shaking.

“Don’t stop,” I order. “Keep touching yourself.”

“But I’m gonna make myself come. I’m almost
there.”

“Do it.”

She complies, her eyes like hot coals as her fingers
work her clit.

I slowly remove my tie, watching her.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, her hand between her
legs.

I peel off my shirt and she gasps at the sight of
me.

“I forgot how hot you are,” she says. “Oh my
God
.”

I rip off my briefs, letting my cock spring free,
and crawl onto the bed next to her.

I press my skin against hers, jutting my hard-on
into her hip. “Make yourself come while I watch you.”

She closes her eyes, exhales, and begins moving her
hand more rapidly.

As she works herself, I kiss her shoulder and neck
slowly. Goose bumps rise up on her skin. I tilt her head to the
side and kiss the long nape of her neck.

She moans.

I continue laying kisses all over her neck,
shoulders, and torso while slowly removing her pesky bra, and the
minute her breasts bounce free, I take them greedily into my
mouth.

She shudders.

I stroke my fingers up and down her arm several
times and then let my fingers trail all the way down to hers, until
my fingers are lying directly on top of hers, joining hers in
pleasuring her pussy. She moans and continues working herself, my
fingers fused with hers, my lips and tongue swirling over her
nipples, neck, and ear.

“You been thinking about me this past week?” I
mumble into her skin, working her pussy along with her.

“Every minute of every day,” she chokes out.

Our fingers work her clit together as our tongues
slowly dance and swirl together.

I can’t take it anymore. I gently push her hand away
and begin working her clit and wetness together with my fingers,
using one of the fingering techniques I recently read about in one
of Jonas’ books, and Kat’s soft moans instantly transform into
full-throated groans. I gotta admit: I thought I knew it all before
reading that damn book (twice), but I’ll be damned if it didn’t
teach me a thing or two. I shift my fingers again, giving her
something I’ve never done before, and she begins convulsing with
pleasure.

She makes a tortured sound, and I slide my finger up
into her ass, right against her anus, just in time to feel her body
release with rhythmic waves against my fingertip.

Oh God, I’m so aroused, my cock physically hurts.
I’ve never enjoyed giving a woman pleasure quite this much. “You
know what I thought about all week long? Eating my whore’s magic
pussy.”

Her eyes light up.

I wouldn’t say I’m a man who normally obsesses about
going downtown, though I’ve always enjoyed it (with the right
woman, of course). And yet, for some reason, when it comes to Kat,
I’ve been literally
craving
the taste of her warm pussy day
and night.

I spread her legs open and her breath catches with
anticipation.

“Are you ready to earn your million bucks, baby?
Because this is gonna turn me on.”

She nods vigorously, her eyes blazing.

I pull the fabric of Kat’s crotchless undies aside
and swirl my tongue around and around, but the fabric keeps getting
in my way. With a loud grunt, I pull down her undies and garter
belt, throw them across the room, and then resume my assault on her
with even more enthusiasm, licking and kissing and sucking every
inch of her pussy until she’s smashing herself into my face,
clutching the sheets, gripping my hair, and screaming at the top of
her lungs.

“You taste so good,” I say, eating her voraciously.
“So fucking good.”

She releases with a loud shriek, and as she does,
the sensation of her flesh rippling against my mouth gets me off so
hard, I lose my fucking shit. Without thinking about it, I crawl
over her, place a knee on either side of her head, grip her hair (a
lot harder than I should), and wordlessly plunge my cock deep into
her mouth.

“Time to earn your fee, baby,” I growl.

Her response is immediate and through the roof.
Either she’s a better actress than Gabrielle LeMonde or she’s
really
getting off on getting face-fucked. Either way, she’s
moaning like a sheep at slaughter as her throat receives the full
length of me. I respond to her enthusiasm by thrusting even harder
and deeper into her warm, wet mouth, almost all the way.

She reaches up and yanks on me, pulling me into her,
signaling me to go even deeper, fuck her even harder, so I do. Oh
my God, she’s going insane with pleasure right now and I’m hurtling
toward an epic orgasm myself on a bullet train—which means,
motherfucker, I truly have to stop. Yes, I agreed to treat her like
my whore—and, as it turns out, I’m quite happy to do it. But I
didn’t jack off for an entire week on FaceTime, just to blow my
load into the woman’s goddamned mouth.

I grip the top of Kat’s hair firmly and pull out of
her mouth—and when she looks up at me, she’s in a stupor.