by Lauren Rowe
He breaks off a bite-sized piece of the sandwich and feeds it to me.
“Whoa,” I say, chewing the sandwich with gusto. “You told the truth—I just came.”
Josh laughs.
“Why is this sandwich so good? Did you lace it with something illegal?”
“Nope. Just organic strawberry jam.”
He feeds me another bite.
“This sandwich is so frickin’ good,” I say, “it’s giving me Munchausen syndrome.”
Josh chuckles. “No, babe. Not Munchausen syndrome. That’s when you poison someone slowly just so you can keep being their caretaker.”
“Oh.” I giggle.
He chuckles. “You’re so cute.”
“So what did I mean, then?”
“Stockholm syndrome, I think.”
“Is that where someone held captive falls in love with their captor?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Okay, then, yeah. That’s what I have for sure.”
We both stare at each other for an awkward beat.
Oh shit. I think I just told Josh I’m in love with him.
He feeds me another bite of sandwich but doesn’t say anything for a long beat.
“Water?” he finally asks, his voice tight.
“What?” My cheeks feel flushed. I just told him I love him in a clever sort of backhanded-code, didn’t I?
Josh holds up the water bottle. “Thirsty?”
“Oh. Yeah. Thank you.”
He holds the bottle to my lips and I take a long guzzle, my heart racing. Damn. I wish I’d told him more clearly than that, in a way that would have left no doubt. I shouldn’t have been so subtle. I should have said, “This sandwich is so good, it made me fall deeply in love with you, Joshua William Faraday.” But I didn’t. I left it vague. “Yeah, that’s what I have,” I said—and nothing more. Idiot. And now the moment has passed.
“Chips?” Josh asks.
“What kind?”
“Doritos.” He holds up a little red bag. “Original flavor.”
“Thank you.”
He pops a chip into my mouth and then into his own. “Fuck you, Jonas—I eat what I want—although I must admit I feel kinda bad I’m chowing down on Doritos while gourmet meals are sitting in my fridge.”
“How about we eat Jonas’ food tomorrow night?” I say. “We can stay in and rent a movie.”
“Awesome. Yeah, a quiet night at home with my Party Girl with a Hyphen sounds damned good. More water, babe?”
I shake my head. “I’m good. I’m done.”
“You ready to keep going with the porno?”
I nod.
“Cool. I’ve got my entire speech ready for act three.” He stows the remaining food in the cooler. “Give me my cue, babe,” he says softly. “I’m gonna slay it.”
I clear my throat. “Untie me, Joshua,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore. I need my freedom.”
Josh touches my cheek tenderly. “Katherine, when I absconded with you, all I cared about was making you mine, through any means necessary. All I cared about was what I wanted. But now, even though I want you more than ever, I care too much about you to keep you as my prisoner anymore. Now the thing I want more than my own happiness is yours.” He touches the cleft in my chin.
Holy Exploding Heart, Batman. Not To Mention Ovaries. I know Josh was merely following the loose script I babbled to him in Las Vegas, but he delivered his lines with such breathtaking sincerity, my heart seems to have lost its ability to discern fantasy from reality.
“Hang on,” he says. He gets up and walks behind the bed, outside of my field of vision. I strain against my bindings. What’s he doing? He’s supposed to untie me now and ravage me as a free woman.
A song begins playing over the sound system and my heart stops. Holy shitballs. He’s cued up “If You Ever Want To Be In Love” by James Bay—the song that made Josh literally bolt out of his bedroom when it came on last night. Oh my effing God.
Josh returns to the bed. His clothes are off and his hard-on is massive. He sits on the edge of the bed, gazing at me with smoldering eyes, and slowly begins untying me.
Holy shitballs.
The minute I’m free, he pulls my nightie and underwear off my body and guides me onto his lap and straight onto his erection. I take him into me and wrap my thighs around his waist, throw my arms around his neck, and ride him feverishly, spurred on by the song—and especially what it means that he’s decided to play it for me in this magical moment.
“Don’t leave me,” Josh whispers, cradling me in his arms, fucking me, caressing me, kissing my face.
I’m lost in him. I gyrate my hips on top of him and smash my breasts against his muscled chest, desperately trying to press my beating heart against his.
“Josh,” I breathe. I can barely push air into my lungs. I’m gasping for air, suddenly overcome by a surge of energy coursing between us.
I want him. I need him. I love him.
“Don’t go,” he says. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I breathe. “Oh, Josh. I’m all yours.”
Chapter 31
Kat
For the past kajillion hours, Josh and I have been sitting on his black leather couch, smoking weed and listening to the Black Keys (the current song is “Tighten Up”) and semi-watching our favorite scenes from our favorite movies (on mute)—Twenty-One Jump Street, Zoolander, Happy Gilmore, Anchorman, Harold and Kumar, This is the End, and selected episodes of Parks & Recreation, too. And while we’ve availed ourselves of the aforementioned samplings of musical and comedic genius, Josh and I have also been voraciously gobbling down every single morsel of the gourmet, healthy meals supplied by Josh’s ever-so-thoughtful and fitness-conscious brother.
Oh, and perhaps I should mention we’ve done all of the above-mentioned activities in our birthday suits.
Oh, and perhaps I should also mention “eating” Jonas’ gourmet, healthy meals has actually entailed licking, nibbling, and slurping food off each other’s stomachs and thighs, and out of each other’s belly buttons, and, yes, okay, if you really must know, off of (or out of) each other’s most sensitive places.
I take a long drag on the joint Josh offers me and blow the smoke into his face in a steady, controlled stream. Man, I’m stoned. Stoned out of my mind. Fred-Flintstoned. Emma Stoned. Sharon Stoned. Rolling Stoned. Sly Stalloned. Oh, wait, no. That last one doesn’t really work. I think I meant Sly and the Family Stoned? Wasn’t that the funk band Josh introduced me to yesterday in the sex dungeon? Well, in any event, let’s just say tonight I’ve definitely become a naturalized citizen of the peaceful and munchie-eating land of Estonia. I burst out laughing.
“What?” Josh asks, his eyes glazed over.
“I dunno. It was funny, though.”
“God, you’re beautiful,” Josh coos, obviously feeling rather Oliver Stoned himself. “I could look at your gorgeous face forever.” He leans forward, grabs my face, and kisses me deeply.
“You said forever,” I say into his lips, smiling.
“What?”
“I didn’t know your mouth was capable of uttering that word.”
“You must have misheard me. I don’t even know that strange word. What I actually said was, ‘Florebblaaaah.’”
I roll my eyes.
Josh flashes me a goofy grin. “Aw, come on, baby. My douchebaggery is my charm.”
“Mmm hmm.”
He sighs audibly. “Oh, Kat, Kat, gorgeous Kat. Are you gonna wait for me or not, Gorgeous, Stubborn Kat?”
“Hmm? Sure, I’ll wait.” I grab the remote control and pause the movie, freezing Michael Cera grabbing Rihanna’s ass in This Is the End. “Go ahead.” I motion toward the bathroom.
“No, no. I don’t mean wait for me to go to the bathroom. I wanna know if you’re gonna wait for me?”
I stare at him for a long beat. “You mean florebblaaahhhhhh?”
He doesn’t reply.
/> “Dude, what are you talking about?”
He bristles. “Never mind.” He grabs a bottle of Patron from the floor next to him and takes a swig.
My stomach twists. How does this man make me feel so freaking good and so flippin’ insecure all at the same time? Last night in the sex dungeon, after he’d untied me, Josh made love to me so passionately, so urgently, I felt that crazy electricity coursing between us again—that same supernatural electricity as the prior night in Josh’s bed—and I thought my heart was gonna burst with joy. But, afterwards, did we talk about what we were both so obviously feeling toward each other? Nooooope. Of course not. Because, it seems, talking about our ‘fucking feelings’ is off limits with Joshua William Faraday.
“You mean will I wait for you to pull your head out of your ass?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Josh says without hesitation. “Exactly.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait. You’re definitely worth the wait.”
He smiles broadly. “Thank you.” He hands me the bottle of tequila.
“But I won’t wait three fucking years, I’m telling you that right now, motherfucker.” I take a swig from the bottle.
“Well, how long will you wait, then?” he asks.
“I dunno. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On what happens between now and then,” I say.
He nods. “That’s a very deep statement, Kitty Katherine.” He runs his hand through his hair and I’m assaulted with the words “Welcome to” flashing me from underneath his bicep. “Hand over the tequila, babe.”
I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig.
“I’ve never done this with a woman before,” he says.
“Done what?”
Josh motions to the tequila and the half-eaten food and the TV. “Partied with a girl like she’s a dude.”
“You call eating vegan creamed spinach out of my cooch ‘partying like a dude’?”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucking funny, Kum Shot. You’re as funny as any of my friends. Funnier.”
“Yeah, I’m hilare. And don’t call me Kum Shot.”
“I could do anything with you and have fun. We could go to the fucking dry cleaners and it would be fun.”
“Dude, who wouldn’t have fun at the dry cleaners? Those motorized racks are rad. Or here’s an idea,” I say. “We could go to the fish market and sing the ‘Fish Heads’ song. Now that would be fun.”
“I don’t know the ‘Fish Heads’ song.”
“No? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, shit, boy, Google it now. Search ‘Fish Head song YouTube.’” I lean back into the leather couch and spread my naked legs wide, surrendering completely to the chemicals coursing through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome, motherfucker.”
“I like it when you say motherfucker,” he says.
“Motherfucker.”
“Sexy.”
“Come on, Joshua. Google. ‘Fish Heads.’ Song. YouTube.”
Josh grabs his phone off the table and the moment the unmistakable vocals begin, he laughs his ass off—which, of course, makes me laugh, too.
“How did I not know about this?” Josh asks when the song ends. “Best song ever. Oh my God. When I visit you in Seattle next weekend, I’m gonna take you to Pike’s Place Market just so we can sing this song at the top of our lungs.”
“At the stall at the very end? Where the guys throw the fish?”
“Of course.”
“Aw, that sounds like a fun date. You really know how to razzle-dazzle a girl, Playboy.”
“I told you that from day one, didn’t I? I said, ‘Get ready for the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.’ But did you believe me? Noooooo.”
“Oh, I believed you. I just pretended not to believe you.”
“What was the point of doing that, may I ask? You knew how our story was gonna end. Why torture me?”
I shrug. “I had no idea how our story was gonna end—I still don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Do you?”
He pauses. “No, actually. I thought I did. But now I realize I only knew the ending of the first chapter—not the ending of the story.”
“What’s the ending of the first chapter?” I ask.
“We fuck like rabbits.”
“Oh, that’s a good ending.” I exhale. “Well, if I tortured you in Vegas, then I’m not sorry. You were too frickin’ cocky for your own damn good. You had to be taken down a peg.”
“Ha! Liar. You were dying to get into my pants from minute one. You were like, ‘Gimme your application, Playboy!’ And I was like, ‘I’m gonna fuck you first and then give it to you, Party Girl!’ And you were like, ‘Yippee! Yes! Please fuck me!’”
“Is that what I sound like? A chipmunk?”
“Yeah, and I sound like Mr. T. ‘I pity the fool!’”
“Well, you’re delusional. You were the one dying to get into my pants. When I kissed Henn, you practically had a stroke.”
“Ooph. Totally. But the worst was thinking about you with Cameron Fucking Schulz.” He grunts. “Even stoned, thinking about him fucking you makes me wanna break that guy’s Captain-America-fucking-face. No one touches my Party Girl with a Hyphen but me. Fuckin’ A.” He swigs from his bottle again.
I bite my lip. “Wow. Sounds pretty serious, dude.”
He bites his lip in mimicry of my gesture. “It just might be.”
“It might be?” I ask coyly.
“Yeah. It might be.”
“Can’t I at least get a probably out of you?”
Josh makes a face that says, “Sorry, come back later.”
I scrunch up my face. “You suck balls, Josh. You suck big ol’ donkey balls. God, you piss me off.” I grunt loudly.
“Whoa! Where’d Stubborn Kat come from all of a sudden? Don’t stress me out, Stubborn Kat. This is a stress-free zone. I’m chillaxing.”
I glare at him.
He flashes a toothy grin. “I’m a drifter, baby. It’s part of my charm.” He flexes his arm and kisses his bicep. “You know you can’t get enough of me.”
“Yeah. Pretty sure I can. Pretty sure I just did.”
He laughs. “Aw, why you so mad all of a sudden, Stubborn Kat? What’d I do to piss you off this time?”
I grunt with exasperation. “Why the fuck do you even have a calendar-app on your goddamned phone, Josh? That’s what I wanna know. You can’t keep straight what you’ve got planned for the next week? Hmm?”
“What?” He laughs. “You’re making zero sense. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I huff. “It doesn’t matter. Blah, blah, blaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”
“What are you ranting about, you nutjob?”
“Never mind. Forget it.”
“Okay. Forgetting is something I’m good at.” He looks around at the half-eaten trays of food around us. “You hungry again, babe?”
“Hmm. I might be able to eat a little something-something.”
“Green beans? Some sort of squash-thing? What’s your pleasure, Party Girl?’
“Squash a la dick, please,” I say.
“Excellent selection.” He smears himself with a trail of veggies from his tattooed chest down to his tattooed waistline and then down his dick and balls—and then he lies back, his arms behind his head, his muscles bulging, his douche-y underarm tattoos on full, douche-y-McDouche-y-pants-display, and flashes me a lascivious grin. “Bon appetit, beau bébé.”
Without hesitation, I lean in and lick up every morsel of food off his pecs and abs and his “Overcome” tattoo and finally work my way downtown—and I’m not even the slightest bit grossed out as I do any of it. In fact, I find the entire experience highly enjoyable. When every crevice, ridge, crease, bulge, wrinkle, and fold of him is clean as a whistle, I continue licking and sucking on his hard-on for quite some time, doing my damnedest to give him the Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience, but although Josh seems to
be enjoying himself tremendously, he doesn’t seem even close to climaxing.
“Dude. That is some serious stamina,” I finally say, sitting up and loosening my jaw. “Are you made of steel?”
“Sorry, babe. I’m too stoned to come. It feels amazing, though. But, yeah, you could stick a Dyson on there and I’m not gonna blow. Sorry.” He laughs and pulls me into him for a kiss. “Jesus, Kat. You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna punch a professional athlete.”
I laugh. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me wanna roll you in Nutella and lick you from head to toe.”
“Will you please remind me to buy a huge jar of Nutella tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. As long as you remind me to remind you to buy a huge jar of Nutella tomorrow.”
We laugh hysterically.
“Shit,” Josh says. “I can barely remember my own name right now. I’m so fucking high.”
“Your name is Joshua William Faraday and you’re the sexiest man alive.”
“Thank you, Katherine Ulla Morgan. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you’re smart and sweet and funny, too. Best girl ever, ever, ever. Florebblaaaaaaaaaaaah.”
“Wow. Can you write my eulogy, please?”
“No, because I don’t want you to die. People always seem to die around me and I hate it.”
I make a sad face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m over it. Just please don’t die, Kat.”
“I’m totally down for that plan—I promise to live florebblaaaaaaah.”
“Cool. Let’s live florebblaaaah, just you and me. We’ll eat healthy, gourmet food sent to us by my dear brother and we’ll fulfill each other’s sick-fuck-fantasies and we’ll be happy, happy, happy florebblaaaaaah.”
“Okay. Cool. Where will we live and be happy, happy, happy florebblaaaaaah?”
“Seattle, of course. Where else?”
I sigh wistfully. “That would be amazing. I wish we both lived in Seattle so bad.”
“‘Twould be amazing,” Josh says. “Hey, did I mention you’re sweet? Because you are.”
“Yep. That’s what you said.”
