Page 24 of Infatuation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #1)

Sixteen

Kat

Holy hell.

If dancing is any indication whatsoever of a man’s sexual prowess, then Josh Faraday is a sex god. Oh my God, the way he swivels and rocks those hips makes me yearn for him to grind them just like that on top of me while wearing nothing but a cocky smile. Holy shitballs. This man can move .

The song playing is “Want To Want Me” by Jason Derulo and Josh knows every word.

He’s singing the song to me, serenading me—and with so much charm and swagger, I can’t help but laugh with glee.

I can’t remember having this much fun dancing with a guy—with my girlfriends, sure.

But with a guy? A hot guy? No. Usually, when I’m dancing with a really hot guy, I’m so concerned about coming off as sexy and desirable to him, I forget to just let loose and have fun.

But Josh makes it impossible to feel anything but totally uninhibited.

Oh my God, I’m laughing too much to even try to be sexy.

I throw my hands above my head and wiggle my hips and giggle uncontrollably, mirroring Josh’s confident movement, and he laughs his ass off at every little thing I do.

And the crazy thing is, having fun like this is making me so wet, I’m worried I’m gonna drip down my bare thigh in this shorty-short dress.

As the song reaches its conclusion, Josh looks up toward the balcony and locks eyes with Reed.

He gives Reed a thumbs up and Reed returns the gesture.

When Josh’s eyes dart back to me, he levels me with a smile that makes me feel like he’s planning to put me in an oven with some onions and potatoes.

The song abruptly changes to a hip-hop song I don’t know.

But, clearly, Josh does—because as the rapper begins spitting out lyrics, Josh mouths every single word along with him.

Oh my God, Josh is freaking hilarious right now.

He’s thugging out to the song, going all in, shaking his ass and owning it.

Oh man, I’ve never seen a concoction of maleness quite like this before.

He’s raw and smooth and funny and hot and goofy all at the same time.

He’s redefining sexy for me, right here and now. He’s just... wow.

I listen intently to the lyrics of the song, trying to plumb the depths of my dance-club memories, but nope, I don’t recognize it.

I pull out my phone, activate my Shazam app—and just when the song title displays on my phone—“Kiss Me” by Lil Wayne—Josh begins singing along to the chorus.

“Kiss me,” Josh raps, grinding his hips like he’s auditioning for Magic Mike . “Kiss me.”

I laugh. What a sneaky little bastard. And a hilarious one.

He inches closer and closer to me, still rapping and grinding his hips ferociously, until, suddenly, and with great dramatic flair, he grabs me, pulls me into him, and grinds his body into mine with enthusiastic thrusts to the beat of the music.

“Kiss me,” he says to me, his lips on my ear, his intoxicating cologne wafting into my nostrils.

His strong hands encircle my waist and grip my back as he presses his undulating body into mine.

His lips migrate to my cheek, where they trail the length of my jawbone. His tongue laps at my neck.

Oh muh guh. Playtime’s over. Shit just got real.

His hard-on presses into me, thrusting, grinding, making my knees weak—and, holy shitballs, there’s no mistaking the size of that hard bulge, even through the man’s pants. Good lord. Josh doesn’t need to chain me to a donkey—he’s got it covered on his own.

He parts my legs with his thigh and grinds his hard dick right into my clit, over and over, still rapping and groping me as he does.

I throw my head back.

Yes.

My clit ignites inside my panties. I’m beginning to warp and ache. My skin is beginning to prickle.

“Kiss me,” he says into my ear, gyrating his body against mine. Oh my God. He’s taking my breath away.

His mouth skims my ear and lands on my cheek and then my neck.

I run my fingers into his hair, pressing my breasts into the hardness of his chest and my crotch into the bulge of his pelvis.

Oh God. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against mine, teasing me.

His lips are an inch away from mine, skimming, teasing, hovering as close as humanly possible without actually making contact, his erection continuing to grind into me as his mouth taunts me.

The song is thumping in my ears.

The lights on the dance floor are entrancing me.

My body is moving in time with his.

He smells so frickin’ good, I wanna ingest him.

I feel dizzy.

Weak.

Frenzied.

I lift my leg and encircle his hip with it, aching to take him inside me. He shifts position and presses himself even more feverishly against me, sending his hard-on right up against the exact spot that makes me burst into flames.

Yeeeeeeeeoooowwwwwwww. Yes. Right there. I press into him harder, moaning, and he rubs that hard bulge ferociously against me, still rapping the words to the song.

His hand navigates under the hem of my dress and brushes against my bare ass cheek, causing goose bumps to erupt all over my body.

Without the slightest hesitation, he fingers my ass crack, presumably trying to figure out if I’m wearing a G-string, and when he finds the string, he slides his fingers all the way down it, down, down, down, and then forward, straight to the crotch, where his fingers begin exuberantly stroking the soft, extremely wet fabric of my panties.

My knees buckle and he holds me up, his fingers continuing to stroke. He kisses my ear and then my neck, yet again, rapping into my ear. “Kiss me,” he purrs.

His lips migrate to mine and hover, yet again, just over my lips, inviting me to bridge the gap and slip my tongue into his mouth—inviting me to lay my weapon down.

But I don’t.

“Terrorist,” he breathes.

Without warning, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my G-string and plunge right into my wetness.

Holy fuckburgers.

I cry out in surprise and extreme pleasure, pressing myself into his fingers and gyrating to the pulsing music .

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers in my ear. “Stop torturing me.”

I don’t reply, but he can plainly feel how badly I want him, too. I’m absolutely dripping for him.

I moan loudly right into his ear and lick his cheek, and his body responds against mine with obvious excitement.

I run my hands through his hair, grinding myself into his fingers like I’m riding on top of a big, hard cock.

I inhale sharply. I can’t breathe. My body is warping.

“Oh God, here it comes,” I say into his ear.

“A big one. Oh God. Josh, yeah. Don’t stop. Just like that.”

A huge orgasm slams into me and I stiffen in his arms, my loud moans swallowed by the blaring music as my body clenches around his fingers, over and over.

“Oh shit,” he says. “Yeah, baby. Do it.”

When the clenching and warping and rippling stops, I can barely stand. I nuzzle my face into his neck and he holds me close, supporting my entire body weight in his arms. He presses his body into mine as he holds me, and our bodies sway together to the loud, thumping music.

A new song begins. “In Da Club” by 50 Cent.

He suddenly pulls back from me and puts his hands on my face. His chest is rising and falling sharply. His gaze is intense.

By the look on his face, I’d guess he’s trying to decide if fucking me counts as losing the bet. Or, at least, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did we decide kissing or fucking ends our stalemate? I can’t remember now.

Sweaty bodies are bouncing and swaying all around us on the dance floor, but we’re standing stock still, looking at each other, trembling with pent-up desire. I tilt my face up to his and close my eyes, inviting him to swoop in and kiss me already. But he doesn’t take the bait.

“ Fuck ,” he says.

I open my eyes.

He’s glaring at me like he’s enraged at me.

He releases my face, grabs my hand, and begins dragging me across the packed dance floor.

It takes effort to snake through the sea of bouncing people, but finally we’re off the dance floor, working our way through the crowded club.

The restrooms are in sight—but there are long lines of people waiting to get into both sets.

Is that where he was intending to take me?

Or was he headed to the exit? Or maybe to the bar?

Any of these destinations is equally possible, given our current location in the club.

He stops walking.

“Fuck,” he says, gripping my hand. He looks up at the ceiling for a brief moment, apparently gathering himself. “Goddammit.”

50 Cent raps his famous line about being into sex rather than lovemaking and I can’t help but sing along at the appropriate moment.

Josh chuckles. “You’re hell on wheels, Kat. Jesus Christ.”

Out of nowhere, Reed appears next to us, swatting Josh on his shoulder. “Hey, man.”

“Oh, hey, bro.” Josh glances at me, a wistful smile on his lips. “Thanks for the song.”

“Did it work?” Reed looks at me. “Did you kiss him?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“ No ? Uh oh. Are you losing your touch, Faraday? I thought it was a foolproof plan.”

“Hell no, I’m not losing my touch. I’m wise and powerful; you know that. This woman’s not normal. She’s made of fucking steel or something—the most stubborn woman alive.”

“Oh, she’s stubborn , huh?” Reed says. “So she’s the female version of you?”

Josh laughs. “Hey, maybe that explains why I find her so goddamned attractive.” He squeezes my hand.

Reed laughs. “So, hey, man, there’s someone I want you to meet.

” He looks over his shoulder, zeroes in on some guy across the room, and motions to him.

“I just signed this amazing guy to the label—a rapper-singer-songwriter-multi-instrumentalist. Oh my God, he’s so fucking incredible, man, I’m crapping myself that we got him.

A year from now, mark my words, he’s gonna be the biggest thing in music . ”

A blonde guy with tattoos walks up with a beautiful, dark-haired girl on his arm.

“Guys, this is Will Riley—’2Real’—one of the most talented songwriters and performers you’re ever gonna meet, no exaggeration—and his girlfriend, Carmen.”

“Aw, thanks, Reed,” Will says. “Hey, guys. ”

Carmen smiles sweetly and waves at us in greeting—and she instantly reminds me of Sarah.

“This is my buddy, Josh Faraday, and his apparently stubborn friend, Kat.”

“Hey, Josh,” Will says. “Hey, Stubborn Kat. That sounds like a character from a comic strip—like some sort of bad Garfield rip-off.”

Josh laughs. “Oh no! Stubborn Kat won’t get off the couch and it’s already noon.”

“Damn it, Stubborn Kat! She won’t chase the ball of yarn,” I add. “No matter how many times you throw it for her.”

“Chase a mouse?” Reed says. “Hell no. Stubborn Kat just painted her claws.”

“Damn that, Stubborn Kat,” Josh adds.

“Stubborn Kat won’t do anything you want her to do—as usual . Aw, gosh, Stubborn Kat!” Will says.

We all laugh hysterically.

“So, hey, guys,” Reed says, “I’m throwing a little party in the penthouse suite right now.

The guys in Red Card Riot just got into town for their show at the Garden Arena tomorrow night, and they’re ready to blow off some steam tonight.

Plus, we’re celebrating Will coming on board. You two wanna join the party?”

Josh looks at me for confirmation and I nod furiously.

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Hey, isn’t Henn in town with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, call that little fucker and tell him to join us.”

“I doubt he’ll come. He’s working on an important job tonight.”

“Well, shit, man.” Reed looks at his watch. “It’s almost two. Call him and see if he’s done for the night. It’s not a raging party ’til Peter Hennessey breaks out his dance moves.”

Both guys laugh hysterically.

“Oh man,” Josh says, shaking his head. “One of the simple pleasures in life. I’ll call that little fucker right now.”