by Lauren Rowe
“What the fuck?” Josh says softly, his body moving with mine.
Oh my God. He feels it, too?
“What is that?” he asks, his voice ragged.
“I don’t know,” I choke out.
He touches my face and kisses me, his passion spiking. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
I shake my head and press my palm into his chest, right onto his mother’s name. “I don’t know.”
As the song builds, so does the crazy electricity between us. It feels too big to contain, too pleasurable to bear.
Suddenly, I don’t want an inch of separation between us. I want all of him. Every inch. I hitch my legs up higher around his thrusting body, as high as I can manage, trying to coax him into the farthest recesses of my body and he responds by guiding my thighs to his shoulders. And that’s all it takes to send my body releasing with an orgasm so pleasurable, it makes my eyes water.
“Yeah, baby,” Josh says, his passion obviously on the verge of releasing. “Oh my God. You’re amazing, babe.”
In one smooth movement, Josh pulls out of me and rearranges us. Suddenly, he’s on his back and I’m on top of him, straddling him, riding him. His hands are all over me. His face is intense. I grab his finger off my breast and suck it voraciously.
He moans and thrusts underneath me with increased fervor.
I’m vaguely aware the music has moved on to the next song on James Bay’s album. He’s singing about “craving.” Oh God, these words were written for us, too. I’ve been craving this man since the minute I laid eyes on him.
Our movement becomes heated. Josh is thrusting into me, grabbing at me, groping me, kissing me, groaning, and I’m gyrating my hips wildly on top of him, rubbing myself against his hard shaft as I do. He touches my clit and massages me—and I absolutely explode with pleasure.
“Yeah,” he chokes out as my body undulates around his cock, over and over. “Get it, baby.”
Right on my heels, Josh jerks underneath me, his body releasing into mine. “Oh God,” he groans. “Holy fuck.”
As Josh comes, I gaze at him from my perch on top of his body.
I love watching his features contort from pure pleasure. I love seeing every muscle in his body tense and tighten and then relax. My eyes drift across all the swirling ink decorating his skin—to his abs and chest, glistening with sweat.
His body is quiet now. He’s all done. His blue eyes are fixed on mine. Oh, those eyes. I trace his eyebrow with my fingertip and he blinks slowly, obviously completely spent. I lean down and kiss his lips gently and then trail gentle kisses along the length of his jaw, to his ear, and then down to his neck. I inhale the scent of him and swoon. Oh my effing God, I cannot get enough of this man.
I kiss and lick his chest tattoo, each and every letter, and then I let my tongue migrate down his torso to his little fishy swimming in the river and then down to the deep ridges in his abs. I kiss every letter of his “overcome” tattoo along his waist and let my tongue explore the sharp “V” cuts above his pelvis as the song swirls around us, giving voice to what I’m feeling deep inside. After a while, my mouth finds his nipples, then his neck, his jawline, his lips. We kiss passionately for a long time until, finally, we pull away from each other and stare into each other’s eyes.
My head is reeling. I’ve never experienced sex like this. This was something new—the perfect alignment of heart, body, mind, and soul. It took my breath away.
Josh wraps a lock of my hair around his finger and sings along softly to the last chorus of “Craving” straight to the end of the song. Another song on the album starts, and at the first chorus, it becomes clear what this new song must be called—“If You Ever Want To Be In Love.”
Josh stops playing with my hair. “Excuse me for a minute, PG.” He abruptly guides me off him, hops off the bed, and practically sprints toward his bathroom, leaving me in the bed alone with my mouth hanging open, listening to the rest of the song by myself.
Chapter 27
Josh
I splash cold water on my face and look at myself in the mirror. What the fuck just happened between Kat and me? I wouldn’t even call what we just did sex. It felt more like a nuclear reaction. Sexual fusion. Is that a thing? Well, if not, it is now.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Water is dripping off my brow and down my nose.
Holy motherfucking shit.
How many times has Kat or I said, “Sex doesn’t have to be deep and meaningful”? And now, all of a sudden, I feel like going back in a time machine to each and every one of those conversations and shouting, “Yeah, but sometimes it is, Kat—sometimes it is!”
Jesus Christ. That was epic. The way her body felt around mine. Her eyes. Her lips. That electricity coursing between us. I could feel it. And the music. Oh my God. What the fuck was James Bay trying to do to me? Turn me into a blubbering pussy? I thought that James Bay album was cool when Jonas played it for me in New York, that’s all—I just really liked the guy’s voice. “Hey, that’s cool,” I said when Jonas played one of the songs for me. “Who is that?” I had no idea those songs would later provide the soundtrack of my complete and total undoing.
Holy fucking damn, that was some seriously mind-blowing sex.
Which, by the way, makes no sense at all. Ever since breaking up with Emma, all I’ve done is fantasize about all the kinky-ass shit I wanna do, all the ways I wanna let my inner sick-fuck run amok—and that’s what got me off so hard?—the most straight-forward, basic kind of sex a guy can have? But, oh my fucking God, it was incredible. Kat felt so fucking good, and the music was so perfect, and that electricity came out of nowhere and rocked my world... Holy fuck. I literally had to run away from her when that last song started playing or else I was gonna turn into fucking Jonas and start calling her the ‘goddess and the muse’ or some shit like that.
For Chrissakes, the way I was feeling in that moment, I was on the cusp of pouring my heart out to her, on the verge of telling her a thousand things I’d never normally say. For Chrissakes, I was about to babble about my upcoming move to Seattle! “When I move to Seattle,” I was about to say, “I wanna do this every night with you, babe.” Those are the exact words I was on the verge of saying to her! They were on the tip of my fucking tongue—even though I’m not moving for three motherfucking months! How could I even think of making an implied promise like that? Sure, I’m addicted to Kat right now—painfully addicted—Jesus God—I feel like a fucking labradoodle fetching a stick every time I’m in her presence—but who knows how long this white-hot passion’s gonna last? This thing with Kat and me is brand new, after all. At this stage in a relationship, three months from now might as well be thirty years. Things might work out—and, shit, I sure hope they do—God, I hope they do—but they might not. Like I always say: under-promise and over-deliver. That’s the path to happiness and peace of mind in all things.
But, goddammit, I wanted so badly to tell her about my upcoming move to Seattle, plus a bunch of other stuff, too. I wanted to tell her how excited I am to sit down to dinner with her noisy, chaotic family, to meet her mom and dad and brothers and just sit there, watching everyone interact. I wanted to explain that it’s a big fucking deal for someone like me to sit down for a birthday dinner with a real family—a big family—even though it’s a ho-hum kind of thing for everyone else. In fact, I wanted to tell her, the whole reason I lived in my fraternity house for my first two years in college (even though the place should have been condemned) was because I craved being around noise and chaos and laughter and people so badly after growing up my whole goddamned life in a fucking morgue with Joseph Stalin breathing down my neck.
Oh my God, I wanted to take Kat’s gorgeous face in my hands and stare into those icy-blue eyes that see right through me and tell her she blows me the fuck away, and not just in bed, but in every conceivable way—that I can’t find a goddamned fucking fault with her—that even her stubbornness and jealousy and evil make me want
her that much more, more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman, in fact. That I can’t stand it when we’re apart. That she’s hilarious. And sweet. And honest. A force of nature. That she makes my heart physically hurt when she does nothing more than smile at me.
I lean forward and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m trembling. Panting. Freaking out. I need to get a grip.
I wanted to tell her I’m falling so fast and hard for her, I feel like I need a Dramamine. And a parachute. And a fucking last will and testament.
Fuck.
I stare at my blue eyes reflected back at me in the mirror.
“Pull yourself together, man,” I say through gritted teeth. “Stop acting like a total puss.” I nod in reply to myself, take a deep breath, and slap my cheek hard—and then, once I feel like I’ve regained control of myself, I turn around and head back into my room.
Chapter 28
Josh
When I emerge from my bathroom, there’s yet another James Bay song playing—this one, thankfully, in no danger of sending me into a tailspin. Kat’s sprawled naked on her stomach across my bed, looking like a wet dream, her long, toned limbs stretched across my mattress, her blonde hair unfurled across my pillow, her tight ass just begging to get spanked or bitten or fucked. Or all of the above. Jesus. I wouldn’t mind being greeted with this vision every time I come out of my bathroom.
I crawl onto the bed and drape my body over hers, pressing my naked body into hers. “Hey, babe,” I say softly.
She turns her head and rests her cheek on the pillow.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Everything okay?”
“Mmm hmm. Everything’s great.” I push her hair to one side and stroke the Scorpio tattoo on the back of her neck. “How are you?”
“Good.”
She squirms underneath me and I lift up, letting her turn onto her back so that we’re lying nose to nose, our bodies pressed together.
“You look like you have one eye,” she says, pressing her nose into mine. “One very blue and beautiful eye.”
“I’m Mike Wazowski,” I say.
She laughs. “Why do you know that?”
“Are you kidding me? I love Monsters, Inc.”
She laughs. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“Mike Wazowski!” I say in the voice of Boo. “Kitty!”
“Admit it—you were stoned out of your mind when you watched that movie, weren’t you?”
“No, as a matter of fact. I was, like, sixteen or something—still a very nice boy.”
She laughs. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”
I pause. “I was a very nice boy at one point, Kat—I went to see cartoon-movies in the theatre and everything.”
“I’m sure you were.”
I pause. “Although, in the interest of the honesty-game, I watched Monsters, Inc. stoned out of my mind later on DVD.”
She bursts out laughing and I join her. God, I’m fucking addicted to her. I can’t resist reaching out and touching her golden hair. It’s the color of straw. Spun gold. Sunshine. I stroke her hair for a moment and she purrs like a cat.
“You blow me away, Kat—not just in bed. All the time. With everything you do and say.”
She inhales sharply. “You blow me away, too.” Her face turns bright red.
I suddenly feel like I’m on the verge of babbling every thought in my head again—all the stuff I was about to say a minute ago, before I escaped into the bathroom. Fuck me, I wanna tell her about Seattle.
“All right, babe,” I say, rolling off her. “Enough talking about cartoons—we’ve got kinky-fuckery to talk about.”
She laughs. “Nice transition.”
I sit up in bed. “So here’s the deal, Heidi Kumquat. When I wrote my application to The Club I was in a totally different state of mind than I am now.”
She nods. This is not news to her.
I exhale. “Would you be terribly disappointed if we moved right into doing everything on your fantasy list and skipped the stuff I wrote about in my application to The Club?”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Doing that shit now just feels like trying to relive my junior prom. Now all I wanna do is go to my senior prom—with you.”
She grins. “Aw. You’re asking me to prom?”
“So you’re not disappointed?” I ask. “You seemed pretty excited to be on the receiving end of all that shit in my application.”
She shrugs. “Hey, if you’re not feeling it, then we don’t do it. And, anyway, I got to be a high-end call girl. That’s what I was really jonezing for.” She makes a checkmark motion in the air. “Plus, I unexpectedly got a bonus mini-porno out of it, too—watching you get all riled up at the thought of anyone but you touching me was utterly delicious.” She shoots me a wicked smile.
“I knew it.”
She laughs a full-throated laugh.
“Diabolical,” I say, smiling. “Okay, cool. It’s settled. We’re doing your fantasies, baby.”
She squeals with pleasure.
“So this is how it’s gonna work. You’ll just go about your life, okay?—and sometimes shit will just start happening to you. And when it does, you’ll just play along. Don’t worry, you’ll totally know what to do because—” I slap my hands together hard, making her flinch. “Sorry. I just had a brilliant idea. I’ll be right back.” I leap out of bed and race to my hallway closet, my pulse pounding in my ears. Holy fuck, this is gonna be epic. I quickly find what I’m looking for and sprint back to my bed. “Open your hand, babe.” She does, and I place a poker chip in her palm. “Every time a fantasy is starting, you’ll get a poker chip just like this one. That way you’ll never be confused about whether a role-play is starting. You know, you won’t go, ‘Are you really a fireman? Is my house really burning down—or are you here to eat my pussy?”
She laughs. “I don’t have a fireman fantasy—Colby’s a fireman. Too weird.”
I roll my eyes. “It was just an example, babe. I know all your fantasies, remember? I took copious notes. I’m just saying the poker chip will be our secret signal so I’ll never need to say, ‘Hey, Kat, I’m doing a fantasy now.’ That way you can just relax and enjoy the ride and play along.”
“But what if there really is a fire—using your example—and it happens after you’ve already given me the poker chip? You’d be like, ‘Fire, Kat! Fire!’ And I’d be like, ‘Oh, yeah, baby. I’m on fi-yah.’” She giggles.
“Good point,” I say, laughing with her. “We should have a safe word in case we need to stop the role-play for any reason.”
“Okay. How about ‘overcome’? Wasn’t that what you used with the women in The Club?”
I wave my hands in dismissal. I don’t even want to think about those women right now. “That was then, babe—this is now. Our fantasy-sex-club is all about fun—not exorcising my fucking demons.”
“Awesome,” she says, her eyes blazing. “How about ‘sick fuck,’ then?”
“Babe. Did you not hear a word I just said? I’m over it. Plus, I kinda dig it when you call me a sick fuck. I wanna keep that phrase as fair game. You never know what you might scream when I’m fucking the shit out of you in a dental chair.”
“Ooh.” She raises an eyebrow. “We’re gonna do the dentist thing?”
“Oh my God, you’re a terrible listener. What’d I just say? Yes. We’re gonna do everything.”
She squeals. “Oh my God. This is gonna be redonk.”
“So what’s the safe word? It can be anything. Onomatopoeia.”
She giggles. “Who’s the idiot who came up with that word? Who needs so many syllables to say ‘Bam!’?”
I laugh.
“Brouhaha?” she asks.
“What the fuck? No. Weirdo.”
She shrugs.
We sit and think.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” she offers.
I jut my lip, considering it. “Since that’s the only thing I know how to make, in theory, it could come
up.”
“I truly cannot fathom how either of us would say ‘peanut butter and jelly sandwich’ while fucking, but okay, if you say so. How about ‘rainbows and unicorns’? That’ll never come out of my mouth, I guarantee you.”
“Might come out of mine—you’re a total unicorn, babe. I could totally imagine myself blurting that in a moment of weakness. Even if I don’t say ‘rainbows’ along with it, it could still get confusing.”
She laughs. “This shouldn’t be that hard.”
I sit and think for a moment. “Flesh-eating bacteria,” I say.
“Hell no. You’re demented to even suggest it. Come on. Dinosaur. Doorknob. Dandelion. Dungarees. Deedle-deedle-dee. Pick one.”
I laugh. “No, hang on. I’m kinda digging ‘flesh-eating bacteria.’ I can’t imagine any sexual scenario in which those words would ever come up.”
“As opposed to ‘dungarees’ or ‘dandelion’?” She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Josh. Spaghetti. Skateboard. Ballerina. Scooby Doo. Multi-vitamin. From Justin to Kelly. ‘My Little Pony.’ Hot tamale.”
“Oh my God.” I hoot with glee. “From Justin to Kelly. Winner-winner-chicken-dinner.”
Kat rolls her eyes. “What? No. I was totally kidding. Harry Potter. Chili-cheese fries. ‘Go big or go home.’ Hunky dory.”
“Nope. We’ve got our winner. From Justin to Kelly it is.”
She twists her mouth. “You’re a silly man.”
I laugh.
“You totally saw that movie, didn’t you?”
“Hell yeah. It was part of initiation in my fraternity. I saw it during hell-week.”
She laughs. “You got hazed with From Justin to Kelly?”
I nod. “It was brutal.”
She’s laughing her ass off. “Oh my God.”
“So, hey, babe, there’s something I wanna run past you before we get started.”
“Okay.”
“In order to pull off some of your crazy-ass stuff, I might need to enlist a little help occasionally from third parties—not for anything sexual, obviously—never anything sexual—just in setting the stage for a scenario.”
