The Revelation

by Lauren Rowe

  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 la
ying 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.

  “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.