Page 36 of Revelation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #2)

JOSH

W hen I enter the suite, I stop just inside the door, paralyzed by the incomprehensible sight of Kat and Bridgette in the same room together. Talk about two worlds colliding. My brain can’t process what I’m seeing—though, apparently, my body sure can. Hello, instant hard-on.

The women are sitting in side-by-side armchairs, sipping what looks like cranberry-vodkas, giggling happily like they’re longtime friends.

Kat looks like a million bucks (appropriately) in the Prada dress and heels I bought her in Las Vegas, her long, toned legs crossed demurely, while Bridgette’s wearing a simple black tank top, jeans, and flip-flops, her blonde hair tied into a knot on top of her gorgeous head, her legs spread like she’s a dude talking football in a sports bar.

Talk about two women monopolizing the entire planet’s supply of physical perfection all at once.

Holy motherfucking shit. Seeing these two women together would almost certainly make a weaker man stroke-out.

“Kat,” I blurt, my heart leaping out of my chest. I begin crossing the room to greet her, to take her into my arms and kiss the holy motherfucking shit out of her—has it only been a week since I last saw her, because it feels like a year?

—but Kat puts up her hand sharply and shoots me a smoldering look that stops me dead in my tracks.

“So nice to finally meet you, Mr. Faraday,” she says smoothly.

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, huh? I come to a complete halt.

“You’re even handsomer than in your photos,” she purrs. She sits up straight, arches her back, and folds her hands primly in her lap.

“So are you,” I say. My heart is pounding in my ears .

One side of Kat’s mouth hitches up into a devious smirk, and, suddenly, I feel like a fly in a spider’s web. I thought we were here to fulfill my sick-fuck fantasy—so why do I suddenly feel like I’m merely a pawn in fulfilling hers?

“Let me introduce you to my friend, Frieda Fucks-A-Lot,” Kat says. She motions to Bridgette who takes that as her cue to pop up and waltz toward me.

Frieda Fucks-A-Lot ?

“Hey there, Mr. Faraday,” Bridgette coos in her clipped English, outstretching her arms to me as she approaches.

I take a step back, but Bridgette continues advancing on me.

She lays her hand on my shoulder and leans forward as if to kiss my cheek and I jerk back like Bridgette’s hair is on fire.

I promised Kat I wouldn’t lay a finger on the “window dressing” of our threesome, whoever that turned out to be, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna risk making my temperamental “window” beeline out of yet another hotel suite and stomp down yet another hallway in a jealous huff.

But my anxiety about Bridgette touching me and bringing out the terrorist in Kat is all in vain, apparently: Kat’s all charm and ease on the far side of the room, throwing her head back and giggling.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Faraday,” she says. “You can give Frieda a little kiss on her cheek in greeting. Of course that’s allowed. ”

Bridgette turns around to look at Kat and the two women break into peals of laughter.

What the hell? How’d these two become besties so fucking fast? And why the hell is Kat acting like Bridgette’s in on our game? Bridgette’s not a player in our fantasy—she’s nothing but a fucking pawn.

Bridgette hugs me and kisses me on both cheeks, but when she does, I recoil at her touch.

I want absolutely nothing to do with her.

The only person I wanna touch right now is Kat; specifically, I wanna rip Kat’s clothes off and fuck the shit out of her—it’s what I’ve been fantasizing about doing night and day all week long—not sitting in a chair in a corner, jerking off while watching someone else touch and kiss and lick my girl.

In fact, the thought of Bridgette—or anyone —laying a fucking finger on my Party Girl with a Hyphen makes my stomach turn over.

“Hey, asshole,” Bridgette says, swatting my shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was this gorgeous.

” She motions to Kat. “I was just telling Kat— Heidi Kumquat ”—she giggles and Kat joins her—“if she ever wants to try modeling, she could make an absolute killing . Look at that bone structure! Those legs! That skin! Oh my God, she’s to die for.

I can’t wait to take a juicy bite out of her. ” She licks her lips.

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, h?schen . 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?”