The Consummation: Josh and Kat Part III (The Club Book 7) Read online

  Because when a guy’s got a smokin’ hot baby-momma-girlfriend with a white-hot temper, a woman undoubtedly capable of committing double-murder if properly provoked (and that was before pregnancy hormones began coursing through her blood stream, making her even crazier)—and when the guy’s absolutely certain his smokin’ hot future-murderess of a baby-momma-girlfriend would, indeed, feel provoked to kill if she were to believe her firm “no touch” rule had been violated by a certain bisexual supermodel (through no fault of the boyfriend, mind you)—well, then the boyfriend can’t help but conclude it’s most prudent for everyone involved if he conjures a paranormal unicorn-turned-octopus rather than try too hard to come up with any other plausible explanation.

  But, hey, the magical-unicorn-turned-octopus theory isn’t really that far-fetched, is it? No, I really don’t think so. Because if there’s one woman in the entire world who could pull off grabbing and licking a man’s balls, and then tea-bagging his entire ball sack like a fucking champ, all while simultaneously getting plowed with her hands firmly pinned above her head and her mouth otherwise engaged in a passionate kiss, then that woman would have to be the one and only magical, mystical unicorn, Katherine Ulla Morgan.

  Chapter 20

  Josh

  “God, I thought she’d never leave,” I say, pulling Kat away from the door and onto my lap on a nearby couch.

  “You were pretty rude to her just now,” Kat says, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her forehead against mine.

  “Fuck Bridgette. I couldn’t wait to be alone with you.” I press my nose against Kat’s until she appears to have one big, blue eye. “Mike Wazowski,” I say.

  Kat giggles.

  “I can’t believe you paid her to fuck you,” I say. “You’re a savage beast, Kat.”

  “She said I had to pay her money as ‘collateral’ to ensure I’d actually go through with it.”

  “How much did you pay her?” I ask.

  Kat tells me the number with wide eyes like it’s some astronomical sum, and I can barely keep from laughing.

  “Babe, Bridgette earns that amount of money per minute as a model.”

  “Oh.”

  “Clearly, she didn’t come here for the money. In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure she would have paid you for the pleasure of fucking you. Anyone would. Just look at you. You’re a fucking unicorn.” I stroke her hair. “A kinky little unicorn.” I bite her naked shoulder and she squeals.

  “I didn’t even know I was that kinky, to be honest,” Kat says. “I thought I’d chicken out after second base, just like I did in college.”

  “Well, hot damn, you certainly didn’t chicken out tonight, baby. You rounded third like a pro and slid headfirst right into home.”

  Kat giggles. “I guess you bring out the sick fuck in me, Playboy.”

  “Oh no, don’t you dare pin your sick-fuckeduppedness on me. You out sick-fucked me by a long mile tonight, baby. I’m the one who said ‘no pussy’ and you begged me to let her keep eating you.”

  Kat grins gleefully. “Oh, yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did.”

  We share a smile.

  “I almost passed out at one point. I was seeing pink and yellow flashes of light.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Do you think it’s safe for the kumquat for you to come that hard? Maybe we should be taking it easy?”

  “No, the doctor said sex and orgasms are fine. I’m just not allowed to sit on a jet engine, that’s the only limitation.”

  “You asked the doctor if you could ride your Sybian?” I chuckle. “Oh, Jesus. I can only imagine the dinner conversation your poor doctor had that night with her husband when he asked about her day.”

  We both laugh.

  “You know she was Googling that shit the minute you left her office,” I add.

  “Probably.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, Kat.”

  “Oh, Kat,” she agrees.

  “Sorry you can’t ride your toy for a while.”

  “Just one of the many sacrifices we mothers make for our children,” she says piously.

  I grin. She’s so damned cute. If I didn’t already love this woman, I would have just fallen in love with her.

  “Actually, I don’t even need my Sybian anymore,” Kat says matter-of-factly. “Now that you and I finally live in the same city, you’ll be my one-and-only orgasm machine every single night.”

  “Amen,” I say. I stroke her golden hair. “Hey, you think when I was fucking you really deep at the end the kumquat was like, ‘Eek! An anaconda!’?”

  Kat giggles. “Or maybe the kumquat was like, ‘A little to the left. Lower. Aaaah.”

  I grimace. “Ew, Kat. No. That’s disgusting. Don’t say that.”

  Kat looks stricken. “No, I meant like a baby-back-scratcher—you know, like your dick was scratching an itch on the kumquat’s back.” She makes a face. “I didn’t mean anything sexual, for cryin’ out loud.”

  I put my hands over my ears. “Stop. Please. Either way, I don’t want to think about my dick touching our baby. You’re totally traumatizing me.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I just meant—”

  “Stop. Please. I might never be able to get a hard-on again if I’m thinking about my dick scratching our baby’s back.”

  Kat’s face bursts into a huge smile.

  “You’re charmed by the thought of me becoming impotent?” I ask.

  “You just said ‘our baby.’”

  I look at her blankly.

  “‘Our baby’s back,’” she says. “That’s what you said.”

  “Yeah. Because I don’t want my dick to become a baby-back-scratcher. Duh.”

  “Our baby,” she says reverently. “You called the kumquat our baby.” She grins.

  “I did, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m feeling right now—and, honestly, I’m feeling happy and nothing else. “Our baby,” I repeat.

  Kat visibly swoons.

  “Our wee little baaaaaybaaaaaaaaaaaay,” I say.

  Kat giggles.

  “You know what?” I say. “I just realized I’m not freaked out anymore.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Well, actually, I’m still a little freaked out, don’t get me wrong, but not nearly like I was when you first told me.”

  Kat smiles. “Onward and upward.”

  “Indubitably.”

  “Hey, bee tee dubs, it’s anatomically impossible for anyone’s dick to become a baby-back-scratcher, even a dick as huge as yours.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Kat nods. “I researched it. The cervix is in the way. Impossible, no matter how big the donkey-dick.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Look it up for yourself, Anaconda-boy. Literally impossible.”

  “When did you look that up?”

  “A couple days ago.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugs. “You’re huge—I was worried about the wee little baaaybaaay.”

  “Aw. Check out the momma-Kumquat looking out for the baby-kumquat. That was a very motherly thing for you to do. Well, I assume it was motherly. I haven’t seen an actual mother in the wild any more than I’ve seen an actual wife. But I think you’re having what the anthropologists call ‘maternal instincts.’”

  The look on Kat’s face is utterly adorable. It’s the same look I’d expect from her if I’d just asked her to go steady.

  “So, hey, hot momma,” I say, pulling her close. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished,” Kat says.

  “Room service or dine out?”

  “Room service.”

  “Burgers and fries or five-star?”

  “Burgers and fries,” Kat says. “And milkshakes. Oh, and will you see if they have split pea soup? I have a weird craving for split pea soup—oh, and cantaloupe—or any kind of melon, really, except honeydew—oh, and maybe some blueberry yogurt?”

  “Wow, I gue
ss that whole pregnancy-cravings thing is real, huh?”

  Kat pats her belly. “The kumquat wants what the kumquat wants. I guess the little guy (or gal) burned lots of calories dodging that big ol’ anaconda who’s been trying to scratch his back all night long.”

  “Well, then, by all means, let’s feed the kumquat—not to mention get it a therapist. Lemme up, babe. I’ll make the call.” I pat her thigh and she hops off my lap. I stride across the room and pick up the hotel phone. “Room service, please.”

  “Yes, sir. One moment, please.”

  While I’m waiting for the call to connect, Kat grabs her purse and pulls out a package of crackers.

  “You feeling sick?” I ask, still holding the phone to my ear.

  Kat nods. “It mostly hits me these days when I’m hungry. Or tired. And late at night, too—and early morning. Oh, and in the car.” She rolls her eyes. “It still hits me a lot, I guess.”

  I make a sad face.

  “Thank you for waiting,” a male voice says into my ear. “What would you like to order, Mr. Faraday?”

  I place our ridiculously bizarre order. “How long will it take?” I ask. “I’ve got a pregnant woman here who needs to eat right away.”

  “About forty-five minutes.”

  “They say about forty-five minutes, hot momma,” I say to Kat. “Are you gonna be okay for that long?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Kat says, holding up her Saltines. “I’ll just go lie down until the food arrives.”

  “Yeah, go rest, Party Girl. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

  She disappears into the bedroom.

  “Okay, let me make sure I’ve got your order right, Mr. Faraday...” the voice on the phone says.

  But I’m not listening. I can’t concentrate. Kat only left me to go into the next room and my heart’s suddenly yearning for her like she’s a thousand miles away.

  “Is that correct?” the guy asks.

  “Yes. Thanks,” I reply.

  After I hang up the phone, I stand for a moment, looking around like a lost puppy, not sure what to do with myself. I’m physically aching for her and she’s only in the next fucking room. What’s happening to me? Who am I? I lived across the country from Emma for three fucking years and that was just fine by me. And now I can’t stand to be more than fifty feet away from Kat?

  There’s a mirror hanging on the wall a few feet away, and I stare at my reflection for a moment, marveling that I still look like me on the outside, despite the fact that I’ve apparently turned into my pussy-whipped brother on the inside. That’s my Anthony Franco suit on my body. That’s my dark hair. And those are my blue eyes. Ah, but my eyes. They look slightly deranged, don’t they? They give me away. I’m definitely a man possessed—a man who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect woman. Or, perhaps, more accurately, a sick fuck who’s head-over-heels in love with the perfect sick fuck. I smirk. Damn, I’m a lucky bastard.

  I stride toward the bedroom, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. It’s time. I’m gonna tell Kat I love her right now. It’s not perfect timing, I know—she’s not feeling well, plus our food’s on the way—and it’d probably be best for me to wait for a time when I can tell her while making love to her, slowly and gently. But fuck it. I can’t wait another minute to tell that woman how I feel about her.

  I burst through the door of the bedroom, my heart bursting... and... Oh.

  My heart wilts.

  Kat’s fast asleep in the bed, a half-eaten package of Saltines lying in her opened palm.

  I smile wistfully to myself.

  Now there’s a woman I wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers.

  I shake my head—oh, life—and head back into the main room.

  “Yes, Mr. Faraday?” the front-desk guy asks when he picks up my call.

  “I just ordered a bunch of food from room service and I need to change my order,” I say into the phone.

  “Of course. One moment, please.” There’s a long pause while the call connects. “Yes, Mr. Faraday? How can I help you?”

  “On that room service I just ordered, cancel everything except the melon and yogurt, plus add a couple cold turkey sandwiches and maybe five or six other cold-food items to choose from—stuff that’ll keep for hours. My girlfriend’s the one who wanted all that stuff I ordered earlier and now she’s fallen asleep. The new plan is for there to be a bunch of food ready for her whenever she wakes up.”

  “Yes, sir. Not a problem.”

  “And do me a favor, don’t knock when you bring the food. Enter the main room of the suite and load everything into the refrigerator behind the bar. We’ll be in the bedroom with the door closed. And please be extra quiet. My girlfriend’s pregnant and needs her rest—she hasn’t been feeling all that well.” Why is my heart racing like this? My entire body is buzzing and I don’t understand why.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be very quiet. Any requests on the food items for the new order?”

  “Nope. Surprise me. Just give her lots of options. She eats like a truck driver these days. Go crazy.”

  The guy laughs. “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up the phone and lay my palm on my chest. My heart’s racing a mile a minute and I don’t understand why. All I did was order food for Kat—so why is my skin suddenly feeling electrified? I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Wow, I feel like I just ran a hundred-yard dash. Why is my heart thumping like this?

  I grab a cold water bottle from the refrigerator behind the bar, creep into the bedroom, and close the door behind me. Gently, I lift the package of Saltines out of Kat’s open palm and place the crackers on the nightstand along with the bottle of water—and then I stand over Kat’s sleeping body, transfixed by her beautiful face.

  I’ve never felt the way I do, standing here right now. Not once in my whole goddamned life. Something new is coursing through my veins—something that wasn’t there when I first knocked on the door to the suite tonight. What Kat did for me tonight—and how she so obviously got turned on doing it—was the final piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve. Kat didn’t just participate in tonight’s depraved little fuck-fest, and she didn’t need to be coaxed into doing it with me, either—she arranged it and then begged me to keep going when I tried to throw on the brakes midway through—proving once and for all she’s an even bigger sick fuck than I am.

  Which makes me love this woman more than I ever thought possible.

  And, now, out of nowhere, I suddenly feel a primal desire to take care of Kat’s every need, to make sure her every desire, big or small, is fulfilled—and not just sexually. In every conceivable way, top to bottom.

  I gaze in wonder at Kat’s sleeping face, my heart straining for her. God, even without animation, Kat’s features are spectacular. Her lips slay me. Her high cheekbones. Her bold eyebrows. That little cleft in her chin. If the kumquat-inside-the-Kumquat pops out looking anything at all like its freakishly beautiful mother, the kid’s gonna fucking rule the world.

  I pull off all my clothes, flip off the lamp next to Kat, and quietly slide underneath the sheet behind her.

  Her breathing is rhythmic and slow. Her hair is soft against my nose.

  I scoot right up against Kat’s naked backside and wrap my arm around her—and then I lay my palm flush against her flat belly and cradle our little baby-to-be, the kumquat I didn’t even know I wanted until this very moment.

  I lie still for a long time, breathing in her scent, pressing my hand against her flat stomach as it moves with her breathing—thinking about the words I’m gonna say to her when she wakes up. After a while, I hear the main door to the suite open, followed by a soft clatter—and then the sound of the main door opening and closing again. Silence. Nothing but the sound of Kat breathing and the beating of my heart against her back.

  “I love you, Kat,” I whisper softly. I shift my palm on Kat’s belly, spreading my fingers out, trying to cradle every inch of it. �
�And I love you, too,” I say softly.

  And that’s the last thing I do before surrendering to serene and blissful sleep.

  Chapter 21

  Kat

  I wake up with a start. Josh’s arm is around me.

  I’m in a warm bed.

  I glance around the moonlit room, momentarily confused about my whereabouts.

  Oh, yeah—now I remember. The hotel room where Josh and I let our sick fucks run amok with Bridgette.

  Delicious.

  But I’ve no sooner had that highly pleasant thought than bile rises in my throat and my mouth waters. Shit.

  In a flash, I disentangle myself from Josh’s muscular arm and bolt out of bed, straight into the bathroom—where I proceed to hurl every Saltines cracker and drop of fluid out of my body with loud, ghastly heaves. Oh, God. I’m so gross. Gah.

  I flush the toilet and whimper. I feel like I’m made of cardboard, not flesh and blood. I need to eat something right now or else I’m gonna die.

  I wash out my mouth, rinse my face, and hobble back into the bedroom, expecting to find Josh sitting up in bed and staring at me, aghast at the horrendous noises I just made in the bathroom. But, somehow, Josh is still fast asleep, completely oblivious to the T-Rex I just wrestled in the toilet.

  I stand over Josh’s beautiful sleeping body for a moment, looking at his peaceful face in the moonlight. Normally, when I think of Josh, the first word that pops into my mind is sexy. Typically followed by funny. And generous soon thereafter. But right now, standing over his striking features in the moonlight, the only word coming to my mind is beautiful.

  I sigh.

  I love him.

  With all my heart and soul.

  More than I ever thought possible.

  And I’m aching to exchange the words with him—to finally give full voice to my overwhelming feelings for him.

  My stomach clenches hungrily, drawing me out of my Josh-induced stupor, so I pad carefully out of the darkened room to the main room of the suite, desperate to find something to eat.