by Lauren Rowe
“Oh shit.” He grins. “I suck.”
We both laugh.
He kisses me again.
“What about you, Miss Scorpio? What’s the rap on you?”
“I’m loyal, passionate, resourceful, and dynamic.”
He laughs and pinches my ass. “Dead-on accurate.” His hands migrate up my back. “Now what’s the shitty Scorpio stuff?”
I frown. “Well, supposedly, I’m obsessive, suspicious, manipulative, unyielding, and... jealous. But I think that’s all a load of crap.”
We both burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, that’s hilarious,” he says. “Maybe there’s something to this astrology stuff, after all.”
“It’s amazing how spot-on it can be.”
“So you’re pretty into it?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t manage my life based on astrology—I told you, I’m not one to think everything’s fated—I’m a firm believer in kicking ass—but I do think it’s crazy how accurate astrology can be regarding people’s personalities and compatibility.”
“When’s your birthday?” he asks.
“November sixteenth. When’s yours?”
“March ninth—and Jonas’, too, obviously.”
“Aw, that’s right. I forgot Jonas is a Pisces, too. Sarah’s also a Pisces.” I smile wistfully. “They’re Pisces-Pisces-sittin’-in-a-tree. That’s so sweet.”
“Two Pisces is good?”
“It’s amazing. Pisces-Pisces is one of the top love compatibilities on the Zodiac. When two Pisces join together, it’s a deep spiritual connection. They’re both water signs, so two Pisces meld together completely, intertwining and becoming inseparable. They bring out the spiritual side in each other.”
“What about Pisces-Scorpio?”
I can’t believe Josh just asked me about our astrological love compatibility. My heart is racing. “Pisces and Scorpio are highly compatible, too—also both water signs,” I say, my skin pricking with goose bumps even under the pounding hot water. “But a Scorpio-Pisces union is especially notable for its intensity and off-the-charts passion. When Pisces and Scorpio get together, it’s like ka-boom.”
His eyes flicker. “Hmm. I think maybe I’m becoming a believer in astrology.”
He presses himself into me and I feel the unmistakable sensation of a hard-on jutting into my hip. I look down. Oh, hello. Josh has apparently fully recovered from our tryst in the hallway and he’s ready to go again. Holy hell, Joshua William Faraday is a virile motherfucker.
Josh smirks and slides his fingers between my legs. “I think I’m officially addicted to making you come,” he says softly. “You’re my new favorite game.”
I never thought I’d see the day, but I actually think I’ve had my limit of body-twisting orgasms for one day. But, damn, this man’s definitely got a gigantic boner. Looks like there’s only one thing for a girl to do: without saying a word, I kneel and take Josh’s hard-on into my mouth.
I rarely give head, actually—a guy’s gotta be pretty damned special to me to exert that kind of effort—but when I do give it, then by God, I do it right. And this time is no exception.
Technically, I already gave Josh a blowjob while I rode the Sybian, but if I’m being honest, that really wasn’t my best work—I certainly didn’t deliver the Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience the way I’d normally do, that’s for sure. Of course, under the circumstances, my lackluster oral performance couldn’t be helped—I defy any woman to supply a mind-blowing blowjob while having an orgasm-induced seizure on a jet engine—but now, suddenly, I feel an urgent desire to show Josh exactly what my mouth can do.
Why? Because I want him. I want him bad. And in my experience, there’s no weapon more lethal in a woman’s arsenal than giving a man the best blowjob of his life. If she can do this, she can have anything or anyone she desires. Harsh, perhaps, to state the fact so starkly. But true nonetheless.
I begin licking and sucking on Josh’s shaft, and he immediately makes it clear he’s an ardent fan of my work. But I’m just getting started. Because a blowjob worthy of being called a Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience can’t be good. It can’t even be great. No, a blowjob worthy of this lofty title must be nothing short of mind-blowing.
Of course, every mind-blowing blowjob starts at its inception with a can-do attitude—a girl’s really gotta want to suck that dick—or else she truly shouldn’t even bother.
To get myself in the right frame of mind to deliver oral epicness, I engage in a little role-play, if you will, a little mental trick that turns me on and inspires me to reach for greatness every time: I simply imagine I’m a high-priced call girl who charges a million bucks per blowjob and my only mission is to make my client say, “You’re worth every fucking penny, baby.” Oh man, it gets me going every time. (And if I’m turned on, I’m motivated to turn him on, too.)
But while a good attitude is an essential ingredient to giving a man the most intense oral experience of his life, it can only take a girl so far if she doesn’t also have fantastic technique.
Through trial and tribulation, I’ve surmised that the most effective oral techniques ascend a “ladder of pleasure,” if you will, that goes a little something like this:
Rung One. If a girl aims to give a man at least a pleasurable blowjob (which should be a baseline goal, or else why is she putting a cock into her mouth, for crying out loud?), then she’s gotta lick and suck that guy’s dick like she’s got heatstroke and it’s a popsicle on a summer day.
Rung Two. If a girl wants to give a man a pleasurable and highly memorable blowjob (which, again, should be every girl’s goal—because sucking a man’s dick and then being forgotten is definitely not something to aspire to in life), then she’s gotta lick and suck that man’s dick plus his balls and she’s gotta do it all like she’s been bitten by a rattlesnake and his dick and balls contain the antidote to the venom.
Based on conversations with friends and articles I’ve read in Cosmo, I’d venture to guess that’s where most girls stop climbing the ladder of pleasure—at Rung Two.
But I’m not most girls. In fact, I’m exactly what Josh accused me of being: I’m a frickin’ terrorist. If I’m gonna give head, then by God, I’m gonna make the owner of that dick and balls fall head over heels in love with me.
Which brings me to Rung Three. At rung three, a girl’s gotta do all of the above, plus fondle every freakin’ inch of his jewels and back forty and taint, including massaging his asshole (and fingering it if he seems into it); plus she’s gotta grip his shaft like it’s a life preserver and she’s a woman-overboard in stormy seas. But she can’t stop there. Hell no. She’s also gotta suck on his tip like it’s liquid chocolate. Take his balls into her mouth while pumping his shaft and swirling her tongue on his tip and licking and sucking his little hole like she’s high on meth and she thinks that hole is spurting more juice.
I’ve just reached the third rung of the ladder on Josh.
He moans like a dying buffalo.
Clearly, he’s thoroughly enjoying his Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience.
And, holy hell, so am I. Oh my, yes. So am I. In fact, I’m getting off on doing this for Josh almost as much as if he were doing the same for me between my legs. This is new. I’ve never felt quite this turned on before while giving head. Oh my God. I think I’m gonna come.
Oh my hell. I think it’s time to identify a fourth rung on the ladder of pleasure: doing all of the above things in a hot, steamy shower with the sexiest man alive, Joshua William Faraday.
Josh releases into my mouth with a grizzly bear growl and I’m surprised to realize I’m coming too, right along with him. Wow, that’s a first. A truly delectable first.
When I’m done, and Josh’s hard-on has stopped jerking and rippling in my mouth, I stand up and get a long mouthful of hot water from the showerhead, loosen my jaw, and turn back to him.
His eyes are on fire. He kisses me greedily, shaking with an
aftershock. “Oh my God, Kat. That was... Thank you.” He kisses my nipple and begins to kneel, obviously intending to return the favor.
“Hang on,” I say, touching his shoulder. “I’m good.”
He looks up at me, surprised.
“We’ve got to get downstairs to meet Henn,” I say.
“But I wanna get you off, too,” he says, grinning. “It’s only fair.”
“Oh, I came. Like a freight train. While I was swallowing.”
His face ignites. “Are you serious?”
I smile and nod.
“Oh my God. You’re amazing.” He straightens up. “You’re a unicorn, Kat. You’re... oh my God.” He’s in a frenzy. “What planet are you from? You’re amazing.”
“Hey, I’ll certainly take a rain check, though,” I say. “When we have more time, maybe you can try to beat me at my own game.” I wink. “A little competition never hurt anyone.”
He smiles lasciviously. “Oh, Party Girl. You’re on. I look forward to it.”
Forty-Eight
Kat
Josh turns off the water and we step out of the shower together.
“So what’s the second half of the story of your fish tattoo?” I ask.
He hands me a towel and I begin drying myself.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I got distracted. Again.” He laughs and towels himself off. “You seem to have that effect on me.” He takes a deep breath. “The tattoo represents something my mom always used to say to Jonas and me.” He grabs his pants off the floor of the bathroom and begins dressing. “I don’t actually have a ton of coherent memories about my mom—we were pretty little when she died—but one thing I remember really clearly is she always called Jonas and me her ‘little fishies’—because, you know, we’re Pisces.” He flashes me a huge smile. “My dad said she loved astrology. Just like you.”
My heart leaps. “Oh, cool,” I say, but on the inside, I’m kind of freaking out to share this similarity with his mother.
“Yeah, so my mom always said, ‘Everybody’s a genius, but if you judge a fishy by its ability to climb a tree, it’ll live its whole life believing it’s stupid.’”
“Ah,” I say, scrutinizing his tattoo. “That’s a pretty wise and powerful thing to say.”
“She didn’t make it up—I looked it up—it’s a quote from Einstein. But she loved it and said it all the time.”
“So your fishy is swimming along happily in the river, rather than climbing the nearby tree?”
“Wouldn’t want the poor guy spending his whole life believing he’s stupid.”
“Of course not, especially since he’s wise and powerful.”
Josh finishes buckling his belt. “So tell me something, PG. Another round of the honesty-game.”
“Sure.”
“Did a little piece of you get turned on when Henn saw us fucking?”
“What?” I blurt, utterly appalled. “Of course not. I was absolutely mortified.”
Josh silently buttons his shirt.
“Why?” I ask. “Were you turned on?” I zip up my miniskirt and reach for my shirt.
“No. Not at all.” He finishes buttoning his shirt. “I was just curious, based on something you wrote in your application.”
“Josh, it was Henn,” I say. “I’m gonna have horrible nightmares about him stumbling upon us ’til the day I die.”
We’re both fully dressed. Josh grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom, toward the main room of the suite. “Yeah, I know. Me, too. But...” he begins tentatively. “Does the idea of someone watching you turn you on? Someone who’s not Henn?”
My pulse has begun pounding in my ears. “Like, who?”
“I dunno. When you had your little lesbo-encounter in college wasn’t the other girl’s boyfriend watching?”
My cheeks flush. I nod.
“And did you like it?”
I’ve never talked about this with anyone. I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“You liked him watching?”
I nod. “The fact that her boyfriend was watching was the hottest thing about the whole thing.”
Josh’s face lights up.
“Well, that and, you know, the whole excitement of doing something taboo. But the actual making-out part—you know, what my friend physically did to me, what I did to her—that wasn’t the real turn-on. If we’d been in private, just the two of us, it never would have happened.”
“Interesting.” Josh leads me to the table in the middle of the suite and sits me down. He leans over me, his hands on the arms of my chair. “And did the boyfriend join in with you two girls at some point?”
I’ve never told anyone about that night. My heart is racing. I nod.
“And did you like it when he did?” He leans forward slightly, leveling his blue eyes with mine.
“Um. It was just okay, to be honest. The guy was really into his girlfriend. So once things got going, I pretty quickly started feeling like a third wheel, and I didn’t like that feeling.”
He chuckles.
“At all.”
He grins. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I’ve come to realize I need to be the center of attention.”
“No shit?” He flashes a cocky grin.
I try to look offended at that comment, but it’s impossible. I join him in laughing.
He glides to the bar. “How about a quick drink before we meet Henn?” He looks at his watch. “We’ve got about twenty minutes.”
“Just some water. I’m pretty wiped out.”
“Water it is. So was that your only threesome, Party Girl?” he asks, busying himself behind the bar.
“Yeah. I never had the desire to do it again after that. I realized I was more turned on when her boyfriend was watching than when he actually joined in.”
“Interesting,” he says, mixing a drink behind the bar. “So you said in your application you have lots of fantasies. Is that one of your fantasies—someone watching you with another person?”
My cheeks are on fire. “Um, no, not really. I haven’t given it much thought since then. But I guess it could be kind of fun to experience the whole thing the way my friend did—being the center of attention instead of the third wheel. I was just window dressing during the whole thing, but I suppose it might be fun to be the window.”
He brings me my water, his eyes blazing. “Here you go,” he says. He places my water on the table in front of me and sits down next to me. He places his hand on my thigh.
“What about you?” I ask, my heart thumping in my chest. “Would you be interested in... watching?”
“Just tell me where and when.”
Oh shit. He misunderstood me. I was speaking hypothetically—asking him whether he has the general fantasy of watching a hypothetical woman he’s attracted to getting it on with another woman. I wasn’t specifically asking him if he wants to watch me with another woman.
There’s a long beat as I try to figure out how best to clarify my question.
Josh takes a long sip of his drink. “But only if you were totally comfortable with it,” he adds, his eyes burning.
“Is that a martini?” I ask.
“Yeah, you want one?”
“Maybe just a sip of yours.”
I’m expecting him to slide his drink toward me, but, instead, he takes a long gulp of his drink, grabs my face, leans into me, and kisses me deeply, letting the delicious fluid in his mouth gush into mine.
“Holy shitballs,” I say when he pulls away from my lips. “That was so freakin’ hot.” I laugh.
He licks his lips. “So do you think you’d be up for letting me watch you with a woman? I’d really enjoy it.”
I pause. “I’m not bisexual.”
He shrugs. “You don’t need to be. You wouldn’t have to do much to make me very happy. You could do as little or as much as you’d want. What you do isn’t really the point of it for me.”
He slides his martini to me, reading my mind, and I take a long sip.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything that makes you even remotely uncomfortable. You’d be surprised how little it takes to make me a very happy boy.”
My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I think it would depend,” I say. I put down the drink.
“On what?”
“On who the other woman was.”
He smiles broadly.
“In college, my friend and I were both totally weirded out afterwards and we never got back to normal,” I say. “The experience pretty much ruined our friendship.”
He leans forward, his eyes locked onto mine, and cups my jawline in his palm. “What if you could pick the woman? And do as little or as much as you pleased with her?”
I swallow hard. My heart is beating wildly. “It... would... be totally up to me?” I stammer.
He leans back and drops his hand from my face, his eyes ablaze. “The question wouldn’t be whether the woman turns me on—the only question would be whether she turns you on. If so, that would do wonders for me.”
My head is spinning. “Would you ultimately join in and have sex with both of us—or just with me?”
“What would you prefer?”
“Just with me.”
“Then that’s what I’d do.”
“You’d have to swear not to lose control and start fucking the other woman.”
He scoffs. “Kat, I’m not an animal. I don’t ‘lose control’ and start fucking people like a dog humping a leg. I’m not some sort of sex offender.”
I think my heart is medically palpitating. “Because if you started having any kind of sexual contact with the other woman, then I’d get crazy-jealous.”
Josh shoots me a look that says “no shit” but he doesn’t say anything.
“If we did it, it wouldn’t be all about making me jealous, right? It’d be about turning me on—and, therefore, you?”
“Correct.”
“Making me jealous wouldn’t be some sort of secret, ulterior motive?” I feel like my heart’s gonna hurtle right out of my chest. “You wouldn’t tell me one thing beforehand, just to get me to do it, and then blindside me later, right?”
