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

  “Mmm hmm. Sure thing, Playboy.”

  “Babe. I had a violinist and a cellist—a chef and waiter. Five-star meal. Candles. I was gonna do this whole romantic thing.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. I had no idea. Thank you. But you wouldn’t have said it unless I masterfully unlocked you—I guarantee it.”

  Josh chuckles. “Nope. I was already gonna say it.”

  “Hmmph,” I say, completely unconvinced.

  “Hmmph?”

  “Yes. Hmmph.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Nope.”

  “You wanna bet?”

  “We can’t bet because there’s no way to objectively prove it.”

  “Oh, yes, there is.”

  “Prove it, then.”

  “What do I get when I do?”

  “I dunno. If you prove it, then I’ll decide after the fact what you win. You’ll just have to take a leap of faith.” I roll my eyes, even in the dark. “But just because you had a violinist doesn’t prove you would have taken the next step and told me you love me. In fact, I think it’s highly unlikely you would have said it with a violinist standing there breathing down your neck.”

  Josh pauses. “Hmm. You might be right about that part. But I still would have said it—maybe after dinner, when we were alone in bed.”

  “I highly doubt that,” I say. “You needed an expert push from a woman who knows you better than you know yourself.”

  “No, I didn’t—I was gonna do it all by myself.”

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Ha!” he says. “Get ready to eat crow, Madame Terrorist.” Josh sits up, turns on the lamp next to him, and lies back down next to me on his side, smiling devilishly.

  “Well?” I ask. “Why are you smiling like that? All you’ve proved is that you know how to turn on a lamp. That proves absolutely nothing.”

  “Look at my arm,” he whispers softly.

  “Hmm?”

  “Look at my arm, babe.”

  I sit up and peer at Josh’s muscled arm in the dim light and instantly gasp.

  Holy shitballs. Josh has a brand new tattoo on the outside of his left bicep—a golden cat with big blue eyes, long lashes, and a mischievous feline-smile on her sleek face. Wow. She looks just like me if I were reincarnated as a cartoon cat.

  For a long moment, I study Josh’s tattoo in detail, marveling at it’s amazingness. The cartoon-cat version of me is wearing a pink collar adorned with a dangling “PG” charm at its center and she’s holding a martini glass filled with two olives in her slender paw. And, best of all, her bottom legs are entangled in a swirl of barbed wire that trails from her tail and wraps clear around Josh’s bicep.

  “Josh,” I gasp. “You got a girlfriend-barbed-wire-double-social-suicide-tattoo!”

  “Yep,” Josh says, his face bursting with excitement.

  I laugh gleefully.

  Josh puts his finger under my chin, his eyes smoldering. “I know I’ve gotten some questionable tattoos in my life, babe, but do you really think I’d have committed double social suicide if I wasn’t planning to tell you I love you?”

  I can’t speak. It’s taking all my energy not to pass out, cry, or climax. This is the most incredible gift Josh could have given me—way better than a big, fat diamond any day. (Well, okay, not way better than a big, fat diamond, let’s not get too carried away here—but pretty damned close.) Certainly, in the land of Joshua William Faraday, this barbed-wire-girlfriend tattoo is the closest thing to a promise of forever I could ever hope to receive. And that’s good enough for me.

  I nuzzle my nose into Josh’s. “You do realize you’re gonna have this thing florebblaaaaaah?” I say.

  “That’s the idea, baby. I’m gonna love you florebblaaaah.” He laughs. “I promise.”

  I laugh with him. “I was wondering why you didn’t take your shirt off during the Bridgette thing—I just thought you were being extra careful not to piss me off.”

  Josh laughs. “Well, yeah, that, too.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, running my fingers through Josh’s hair. “The tattoo is incredible. I love it.”

  “My supreme pleasure.” He kisses me.

  Damn, my clit is throbbing like crazy. I do believe this man’s about to get lucky again.

  “So, Madame Terrorist,” Josh says, pulling away from our kiss. “Do you concede?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Concede?”

  “Yeah. Do you admit my tattoo empirically proves I was gonna tell you I love you, whether or not you arranged the Bridgette thing?”

  I squint at him.

  “Well?” he asks, a smug smile dancing on his lips.

  My nostrils involuntarily flare.

  “You’re seriously gonna be Stubborn Kat about this?” he asks.

  I smash my lips together and narrow my eyes further.

  Josh shakes his head. “You’re such a little terrorist. You know full well this tattoo proves I would have—”

  I place my fingertip on Josh’s lips, shushing him. “Josh,” I whisper seductively.

  He abruptly stops talking.

  “In the big picture, it really doesn’t matter who’s right and who’s wrong, now does it?”

  “It doesn’t matter? Ha! I’ve finally got Stubborn Kat dead to rights for once in my life.”

  “Josh,” I coo quietly, shushing him again.

  He shoots me a wicked smirk. “What?”

  I lick my lips. “What’s the cardinal rule for bagging a babe?” I ask, reaching underneath the sheet and sliding my fingers down his abs to his penis. “What’s the most important thing I taught you and Henn about bagging a babe?”

  Josh’s cock instantly responds to my touch. A lascivious smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Oh,” he says.

  “What’s the rule, Playboy?” I whisper, skimming my lips against his, sliding my hand up and down his thickening shaft.

  Josh smiles into my lips. “Ask yourself, ‘Is what I’m about to say more or less likely to get me a blowjob?’” He presses his pelvis forward and his hard-on presses emphatically into my palm. “‘If the answer’s yes, then proceed—and if not, then shut the fuck up.’”

  I nod slowly. “So, based on that one simple rule, what do you think you should do right now?”

  Josh smiles. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Give that man a salami,” I say. I touch the tip of his erection and swirl my finger around and around. “And to answer your question,” I whisper. “Yes, I’m gonna be Stubborn Kat about this. Surprise, surprise.” I shoot him a naughty smile. “But I truly don’t think you’ll mind.”

  Josh nods, but, smartly, doesn’t say a word.

  “Congratulations, baby,” I whisper, biting my lip. “I do believe you just bagged yourself a babe.”

  Josh’s hard-on twitches in my hand.

  With a happy giggle, I lift the sheet and begin kissing my way from Josh’s muscled chest all the way down to his massive hard-on. After sucking on his tip like a lollipop for a brief moment, the anticipation is too much for me to bear—I gotta have him. I slide his full length into my mouth, all the frickin’ way—eliciting an excited sound from the other side of the sheet—and then I proceed to give the love of my life the most enthusiastic and heartfelt Katherine Ulla Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience the world has ever seen.

  Chapter 22

  Kat

  “Wow, it’s nice,” Josh says, pulling his Lamborghini to a stop in front of my parents’ house.

  I’ve always been proud of my childhood home—it’s the place everyone always wanted to hang out when I was growing up—but now that I’m looking at it through Josh’s eyes, I’m realizing the entire house probably would fit inside the garage of Josh’s childhood home.

  “This house is right out of a movie,” Josh says.

  “What movie would that be, babe?” I ask.

  “You know, every movie where a suburban high-schooler throws a raging kegger when his parents go out of t
own.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve seen that one,” I say. “Does everyone get trashed and start jumping into the pool, fully clothed?”

  “Yeah. And then hijinks ensues.”

  I giggle. “That’s right. I’m pretty sure Ryan was in that movie at least ten times in high school, always playing the guy throwing the party.”

  “I think I’m gonna love Ryan.”

  “Oh, you will—he’s your spirit animal.”

  Josh chuckles. “Ryan Morgan’s my spirit animal?”

  I laugh. “Yes.”

  “Is he gonna be here tonight?”

  “Yep. Everyone but Keane—he had to work. Oh, and by the way, don’t mention the whole male-stripper thing to my parents. They have no idea Keane’s become Seattle’s answer to Magic Mike.”

  “Would they care if they knew?”

  I shrug. “Keane seems to think my dad would be really disappointed in him. But I told him, ‘No, Peen, Dad would have to have actual expectations in the first place in order to be disappointed.’” I snort.

  “Well, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say.”

  I chuckle. “When you meet Keane, you’ll understand. He’s just... Keane.” I touch Josh’s arm. “So are you ready to go in and face the firing squad?”

  “Why you gotta say that?” Josh asks. “I’m nervous enough, babe.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry. Just teasing. They’re gonna love you.”

  “Just do me a favor. Don’t let it slip about the baby tonight, okay? Just like we agreed. First time out, I want your family to get to know me as Josh, not as The Guy Who Knocked Up Their Precious Baby Girl.”

  “Babe, we already agreed to keep mum—my lips are sealed.”

  “Kat, your lips are never sealed—you’re the biggest blabbermouth I know, bar none.”

  I’m genuinely aghast at Josh’s characterization of me. “No, I’m not—I’m a steel safe.”

  Josh hoots with laughter. “Kat, you blabbed to Sarah not five minutes after you said we should wait ’til after the wedding to say anything, and then you told Dax right after you said we were gonna wait to tell your family until after you’re showing.”

  “Well, yeah, but Sarah doesn’t count as blabbing—telling Sarah’s the same thing as telling myself. And Dax doesn’t count as telling my family—because he’s Dax.” I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m a steel safe, babe—a locked vault.”

  “Oh really? Well, guess who called me this afternoon out of the blue to congratulate me on our ‘little Cinnabon in the oven’?”

  I bite my lip, too afraid to give myself away by venturing a guess—but I’m pretty sure there’s only one person in the world who’d ever refer to a baby as a “little Cinnabon in the oven.”

  “Henn,” Josh says, confirming what I’m thinking. “He called to congratulate me and ask why the hell I didn’t tell him myself.”

  I make a face that says, “Oops.”

  “When did you tell Hannah?” Josh asks, scowling at me.

  I flash Josh my most charming smile. “Okay, now, see, telling Hannah wasn’t my fault. Hannah and I went to lunch today and she was asking me about Golden Kat PR, hinting about how much she wants to be a part of it, and I didn’t want to string her along into thinking I was gonna be starting my company any time soon as originally planned. So I told her, ‘Hey, I can only handle birthing one baby at a time—and this year, my one-and-only baby’s gonna be the accidental Faraday that’s currently growing inside my uterus.’”

  Josh shakes his head. I can’t read his expression well enough to gauge if he’s genuinely upset with me.

  “Was Henny pissed he heard the news from Hannah and not you?” I ask.

  “No, you know Henn. He’s always chill. I told him I didn’t tell him about the baby because you and I had solemnly agreed to keep it quiet until you’re showing.” He glares at me, but his eyes are sparkling. “Little did I know the ‘steel safe’ was out blabbing to everyone and their uncle about our little ‘Cinnabon in the oven.’”

  “Oh, speaking of which, have you told your uncle?”

  “Uh, no. Because we’d agreed to keep things quiet, you blabbermouth.”

  I laugh. “So what did Henn say?”

  “He said every time he sees our kid he’s gonna wonder if he personally witnessed it being conceived.”

  I groan. “God, that was so embarrassing.”

  Josh laughs. “He also said he predicts an entire minivan filled with screaming kids in my near future.”

  My entire body jolts at the thought. “Slow down, High Speed,” I say, my heart in my throat.

  “Oh, and he said I’m the luckiest bastard in the whole wide world.” He touches the cleft in my chin. “Which is the truth.”

  I blush like a schoolgirl on a first date.

  “And, hey, Miss Steel Safe, guess who called me right after Henn?” Josh asks, mock-glaring at me.

  I hold my breath, trying to remember if there’s anyone else I’ve blabbed to besides Sarah, Dax, and Hannah. Nope. Not a soul. Only the girls at my yoga class, but they don’t really count. Oh, and the UPS guy—but only because I’d ordered a bunch of maternity leggings and he mentioned his wife is pregnant—so what was I supposed to do—not tell him? Oh, and the barista at my favorite Starbucks, of course—but that was only because I’m no longer drinking caffeine and my usual barista noticed I’d ordered a decaf, so that one’s not my fault, either. Oh, and Sarah’s mom. But that was only because I went to see the new additions she’s making to Gloria’s House (thanks to the finder’s fee money she received after we took down The Club), and Gloria said I looked “awfully pretty”—so what was I supposed to do then—not tell her I’m pregnant? I scour my memory, trying to think if I’ve told anyone else—but, nope, I think that’s it.

  Oh, Josh is staring at me, apparently expecting me to guess who called him after Henn.

  I shrug. “I have no idea who called you,” I say. “I haven’t told anyone else.”

  “Reed,” Josh says. “Because, apparently, Henn called Reed right after Hannah told him the news.”

  “He did? Oh.”

  “Yeah, he did. Which is so unlike Henn, I was shocked—if you wanna see what a real steel safe looks like, look no further than Peter Hennessey—so I asked Reed what Henn had said to him, and do you know what Reed said?”

  I shake my head.

  “He told me that when you told Hannah our baby news, Hannah asked if you were keeping things on the down-low for a while—because she was fully prepared to keep our secret and respect our privacy—but you said, and I quote, ‘Not at all! I don’t care who knows about it! Blab away, Hannah Banana Montana Milliken! I’m bursting at the seams for the whole world to know!’”

  I bite my lip. “I said that? I don’t think I said that.”

  “Well, either you said it or Hannah’s lying. Which is it?”

  “Hannah’s lying. Definitely. She’s a big, fat liar. Actually, there’s something you should know about Hannah: she’s a pathological liar. Poor thing truly can’t discern the difference between truth and fiction. It’s such a shame. She’s a really sweet girl otherwise.”

  Josh is clearly suppressing a smile. “Huh. Pretty weird you set Henn up with a known pathological liar. That wasn’t very nice of you.”

  I shrug, trying to suppress my smirk.

  “And even weirder you wanted her to be your right-hand-woman at Golden Kat PR. That sounds like horrible judgment on your part, PG.”

  “Well, you know, I was hoping to rehabilitate her—kill her with kindness until she saw the error of her ways.”

  Josh chuckles.

  “So you’re not mad at me for being a blabbermouth?” I ask.

  “No, if you wanna blab, go ahead. All I ask is that you tell me first so my best friends aren’t calling me up, congratulating me on my forthcoming child, and I’m sitting there like a flop-dick with my thumb up my ass.”

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t keep it to myself. Now that I’m finally throug
h the first trimester and feeling so much better, I’m bursting to tell people.”

  Josh grabs my hand. “You’re so fucking adorable, Kat.”

  I grin. “So what did Reed say? Was he shocked?”

  “To put it mildly,” Josh says. “But when I told him I’m starting to get sort of excited about our little kumquat, he was really happy for me—for us.”

  “Lime.”

  “Huh?”

  “The baby’s the size of a lime now.” I pat my stomach. “No longer a kumquat.”

  Josh makes a face that melts me. He touches my stomach. “No matter how big the baby gets, it will always be the-kumquat-inside-the-Kumquat to me.”

  My heart leaps. “You told Reed you’re getting sort of excited about the kumquat?”

  Josh beams a beautiful smile at me. “Yeah.”

  “And are you?”

  “Babe, what the hell have I been doing this whole past week with you, shopping for cribs and diaper changing tables and fucking onesies and maternity leggings if I’m not starting to get at least a little bit excited about the-kumquat-inside-the-Kumquat?”

  I shrug. “It still feels nice to hear you say it.”

  Josh grabs my hand, his eyes sparkling. “Well that settles it, babe—you’ve definitely got a vagina.”

  “I sure hope so,” I say. “Because pushing a baby out my peen would really hurt.”

  “Oh my God. Gah.” He shudders with phantom pain and puts his forehead on his steering wheel. “Don’t say that. Just the thought.”

  I giggle. “Okay, Playboy. You ready to go into Morgan Manor now?” I look at my watch. “Oh, we’re still a bit early—it’s ten to seven. My mom said to come between seven and seven-thirty.”

  Josh takes a deep breath. “Good. That gives me a little more time to prepare mentally.”

  “Prepare mentally? To meet my family? Babe, they’re gonna love you. Don’t worry, they’re predisposed to love you because I love you and I told them so. I told them I love you, I love you, I love you—and I do.”

  “But you said the same thing about Garrett-Asswipe-Bennett and Colby hated that fucker.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, Colby hated Garrett-Asswipe-Bennett because he was an asswipe, and you’re not. Plus, I didn’t actually love Garrett—I just thought I did because I was young and stupid and blinded by hormones. And, anyway, regardless, I never told Garrett I loved him and I certainly never, ever told my family ‘I love him, I love him, I love him,’ the way I’ve told them about you.” I touch Josh’s thigh. “Because I’ve never love, love, loved anyone before you—and my family will easily be able to see that.”