The Revelation Read online

  “Ah,” I say, scrutinizing his tattoo. “That’s a pretty wise and powerful thing to say.”

  “She didn’t make it up—I looked it up—it’s a quote from Einstein. But she loved it and said it all the time.”

  “So your fishy is swimming along happily in the river, rather than climbing the nearby tree?”

  “Wouldn’t want the poor guy spending his whole life believing he’s stupid.”

  “Of course not, especially since he’s wise and powerful.”

  Josh finishes buckling his belt. “So tell me something, PG. Another round of the honesty-game.”

  “Sure.”

  “Did a little piece of you get turned on when Henn saw us fucking?”

  “What?” I blurt, utterly appalled. “Of course not. I was absolutely mortified.”

  Josh silently buttons his shirt.

  “Why?” I ask. “Were you turned on?” I zip up my miniskirt and reach for my shirt.

  “No. Not at all.” He finishes buttoning his shirt. “I was just curious, based on something you wrote in your application.”

  “Josh, it was Henn,” I say. “I’m gonna have horrible nightmares about him stumbling upon us ’til the day I die.”

  We’re both fully dressed. Josh grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom, toward the main room of the suite. “Yeah, I know. Me, too. But...” he begins tentatively. “Does the idea of someone watching you turn you on? Someone who’s not Henn?”

  My pulse has begun pounding in my ears. “Like, who?”

  “I dunno. When you had your little lesbo-encounter in college wasn’t the other girl’s boyfriend watching?”

  My cheeks flush. I nod.

  “And did you like it?”

  I’ve never talked about this with anyone. I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

  “You liked him watching?”

  I nod. “The fact that her boyfriend was watching was the hottest thing about the whole thing.”

  Josh’s face lights up.

  “Well, that and, you know, the whole excitement of doing something taboo. But the actual making-out part—you know, what my friend physically did to me, what I did to her—that wasn’t the real turn-on. If we’d been in private, just the two of us, it never would have happened.”

  “Interesting.” Josh leads me to the table in the middle of the suite and sits me down. He leans over me, his hands on the arms of my chair. “And did the boyfriend join in with you two girls at some point?”

  I’ve never told anyone about that night. My heart is racing. I nod.

  “And did you like it when he did?” He leans forward slightly, leveling his blue eyes with mine.

  “Um. It was just okay, to be honest. The guy was really into his girlfriend. So once things got going, I pretty quickly started feeling like a third wheel, and I didn’t like that feeling.”

  He chuckles.

  “At all.”

  He grins. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I’ve come to realize I need to be the center of attention.”

  “No shit?” He flashes a cocky grin.

  I try to look offended at that comment, but it’s impossible. I join him in laughing.

  He glides to the bar. “How about a quick drink before we meet Henn?” He looks at his watch. “We’ve got about twenty minutes.”

  “Just some water. I’m pretty wiped out.”

  “Water it is. So was that your only threesome, Party Girl?” he asks, busying himself behind the bar.

  “Yeah. I never had the desire to do it again after that. I realized I was more turned on when her boyfriend was watching than when he actually joined in.”

  “Interesting,” he says, mixing a drink behind the bar. “So you said in your application you have lots of fantasies. Is that one of your fantasies—someone watching you with another person?”

  My cheeks are on fire. “Um, no, not really. I haven’t given it much thought since then. But I guess it could be kind of fun to experience the whole thing the way my friend did—being the center of attention instead of the third wheel. I was just window dressing during the whole thing, but I suppose it might be fun to be the window.”

  He brings me my water, his eyes blazing. “Here you go,” he says. He places my water on the table in front of me and sits down next to me. He places his hand on my thigh.

  “What about you?” I ask, my heart thumping in my chest. “Would you be interested in... watching?”

  “Just tell me where and when.”

  Oh shit. He misunderstood me. I was speaking hypothetically—asking him whether he has the general fantasy of watching a hypothetical woman he’s attracted to getting it on with another woman. I wasn’t specifically asking him if he wants to watch me with another woman.

  There’s a long beat as I try to figure out how best to clarify my question.

  Josh takes a long sip of his drink. “But only if you were totally comfortable with it,” he adds, his eyes burning.

  “Is that a martini?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you want one?”

  “Maybe just a sip of yours.”

  I’m expecting him to slide his drink toward me, but, instead, he takes a long gulp of his drink, grabs my face, leans into me, and kisses me deeply, letting the delicious fluid in his mouth gush into mine.

  “Holy shitballs,” I say when he pulls away from my lips. “That was so freakin’ hot.” I laugh.

  He licks his lips. “So do you think you’d be up for letting me watch you with a woman? I’d really enjoy it.”

  I pause. “I’m not bisexual.”

  He shrugs. “You don’t need to be. You wouldn’t have to do much to make me very happy. You could do as little or as much as you’d want. What you do isn’t really the point of it for me.”

  He slides his martini to me, reading my mind, and I take a long sip.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything that makes you even remotely uncomfortable. You’d be surprised how little it takes to make me a very happy boy.”

  My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I think it would depend,” I say. I put down the drink.

  “On what?”

  “On who the other woman was.”

  He smiles broadly.

  “In college, my friend and I were both totally weirded out afterwards and we never got back to normal,” I say. “The experience pretty much ruined our friendship.”

  He leans forward, his eyes locked onto mine, and cups my jawline in his palm. “What if you could pick the woman? And do as little or as much as you pleased with her?”

  I swallow hard. My heart is beating wildly. “It... would... be totally up to me?” I stammer.

  He leans back and drops his hand from my face, his eyes ablaze. “The question wouldn’t be whether the woman turns me on—the only question would be whether she turns you on. If so, that would do wonders for me.”

  My head is spinning. “Would you ultimately join in and have sex with both of us—or just with me?”

  “What would you prefer?”

  “Just with me.”

  “Then that’s what I’d do.”

  “You’d have to swear not to lose control and start fucking the other woman.”

  He scoffs. “Kat, I’m not an animal. I don’t ‘lose control’ and start fucking people like a dog humping a leg. I’m not some sort of sex offender.”

  I think my heart is medically palpitating. “Because if you started having any kind of sexual contact with the other woman, then I’d get crazy-jealous.”

  Josh shoots me a look that says “no shit” but he doesn’t say anything.

  “If we did it, it wouldn’t be all about making me jealous, right? It’d be about turning me on—and, therefore, you?”

  “Correct.”

  “Making me jealous wouldn’t be some sort of secret, ulterior motive?” I feel like my heart’s gonna hurtle right out of my chest. “You wouldn’t tell me one thing beforehand, just to get me to do it, and then blindside me later, right?”


  His face melts into total sincerity. He puts both hands on my cheeks this time and leans his forehead against mine. “Kat, I’d never blindside you, in any context. Sexual or otherwise.”

  My heart is racing so fast, I’m practically yelping for air. “Because I’d only do it if the other woman was gonna be the third wheel, not me.” I can’t believe I’m negotiating the terms of this. How did this conversation go from hypotheticals to actual negotiation so quickly?

  “I’d respect that,” he says. “One hundred percent. It’d be all about you. I wouldn’t lay a finger on the other woman if you didn’t want me to. Not even a pinky.”

  I’m having a hard time pushing air into my lungs. “That’s what I’d want,” I say. “Not a finger. Absolutely no contact between you and the other woman. It’d be all about me and you.”

  “Done.” His eyes are like lit torches.

  “And you’d sit and watch?”

  “I would.”

  “Would you jack off?”

  “If that’s something you’d be okay with.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes.”

  “But you wouldn’t come. I’d want you to be able to fuck me. Really hard.”

  He shudders. “When I got to the point I couldn’t stand it anymore, I’d pull you aside and tell the other woman to leave and I’d fuck the shit out of you.”

  I’m breathless. My skin is bursting with heat. I slide from my chair to sit on his lap and he wraps his arms around me. “Or, who knows,” I purr, “maybe you’d tell her to stay and watch—see what she’s missing out on?” I can’t believe I just said that. This man brings out a whole new level of naughty in me.

  Clearly, Josh can’t believe I just said that, either. “If that’s what you’d want, absolutely,” he says. “Totally up to you.”

  I can barely breathe. “And she wouldn’t be anyone either of us knows?” I say softly. “Nobody you know?”

  “It’d be whoever you pick, babe. Anyone at all, as long as she tests clean. I don’t give a fuck who she is. It’s all about you.”

  My clit is throbbing so hard, it hurts. “But what if I wind up picking someone you’re more attracted to than me? I’d be able to tell, and I wouldn’t like it,” I say.

  He places his fingertip in the cleft in my chin. “That’s literally impossible.”

  Holy fucking shit. I seriously can’t breathe right now. I’m trembling. I swallow hard. “We’d do it and never see her again? Because I wouldn’t want this kind of fantasy-thing to follow us into our real life.”

  He chuckles.

  “What?”

  “You just perfectly articulated why I joined The Club.”

  I make a face that says, “I see your point” and he smiles broadly.

  “You’re amazing, Kat,” he says. He puts his hand under my chin and kisses me. “I think you might be perfect.” He kisses me again. And then again. “You’re kinda freaking me out, actually.”

  My head is spinning. I can’t focus. I lean into him and bite his lower lip, totally aroused, and he makes a noise of surprise.

  I suck on his lower lip and then pull away. “How would we find her?” I whisper, licking my lips from our kiss.

  “It’d be easy to do if we set our minds to it, I’m sure.”

  “We’d have to be one hundred percent sure we’d never see her again. I wouldn’t want some horny blonde bitch stalking you afterwards.” I jerk back.

  “What?” He looks concerned.

  “Jen.”

  The aroused expression on Josh’s face instantly vanishes. “No, Kat. Fuck no. Anyone but Jen.”

  “No.” I roll my eyes. “Not Jen. Her email, Josh—I want you to reply to Jen’s email. I want you to tell her you’re not interested in her. Right now. Show me.”

  He shakes his head and exhales, letting his lips flap together in exasperation as he does. “Way to lick me and punch me in the balls again, PG. Jesus Fucking Christ. Madame Terrorist returns.”

  “Open your laptop, Josh,” I say, punching him in his shoulder. “We’re gonna send that bitch an email right now and put her out of her freakin’ misery—and therefore put me out of mine.”

  Chapter 8

  Josh

  “Hey, Jen,” I say, enunciating the words as I type them onto the screen of my laptop. Kat’s sitting on my lap, her arm around my shoulder, the side of her head against mine, staring at my screen as I type. “Thanks for your invitation to your birthday weekend,” I write. I stop and look at Kat. “That okay so far, boss?”

  “So far, so good,” she says. “Continue.”

  “Why don’t you just write it? Something tells me you’re gonna rewrite the whole damned thing anyway, no matter what I say.”

  She laughs. “Nope. This is all you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”

  “You mean why are you replying to Jen at all? Or why are you doing it with me looking over your shoulder?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, you’re replying to Jen because you’re not a total douche and she deserves a reply. She invited you to her twenty-ninth birthday party, after all. The polite thing to do is RSVP.”

  I purse my lips, annoyed.

  “And you’re doing it with me looking over your shoulder because this email reply is gonna give me near-orgasmic pleasure. And you like giving me pleasure, right, baby?”

  I grumble.

  “Aw, poor Josh has to put on his big-boy pants. Come on. Just hit her with some compassionate honesty. The more you do it, the easier it gets. Trust me.”

  “I just don’t like hurting people’s feelings.”

  She scoffs. “And letting her twist in the wind is gonna hurt her feelings less than an honest email? I’ve been in her shoes with guys, and believe me, a girl feels like a piece of shit when a guy doesn’t even give her the courtesy of a reply.”

  “There’s a man alive who didn’t give you the courtesy of a reply?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Turned out the guy was married.”

  “Ooph.”

  “And I had absolutely no idea.”

  “God, men are such pricks.”

  She laughs. “Come on. Quit stalling. You’re so damned good at distracting me.”

  “I already told her twice. Once in New York and then again on the phone after Reed’s party. She’s just deaf or dumb, I guess.”

  “No, you think you told her, but you must not have.” She shrugs. “First rule of PR, Josh: failure to communicate is on the speaker, not the listener.”

  I let out a loud puff of air. “I was pretty damned clear both times, Kat.”

  “Obviously not,” Kat says. “She’s really into you, Josh—which means she’s hearing what she wants to hear and telling you what she thinks you want to hear. You need to shut the door and turn the frickin’ lock.” She pauses pointedly. “Unless you don’t want to shut the door?”

  “Gimme a fucking break.”

  She motions to the screen. “Then, type.”

  I begin typing again. “I hope you have a great birthday,” I write, saying the words out loud as I do. “I won’t be able to join you. I’m...” I stop typing. “You’re gonna rewrite all of this, aren’t you?”

  “Just keep going.”

  “Well, shit. You write it, for fuck’s sake. What am I gonna say to the girl, ‘I’m not into you? I used you for sex? I was thinking of Kat when I fucked you’?”

  Kat’s face lights up like the Fourth of July. “Oh, I like that.” She motions to the screen. “Write that.”

  “I’m not gonna write that.”

  “Is it the truth?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even the part about you thinking of me while fucking her?”

  “Of course. I already told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  �
��No, you didn’t.”

  “I sure as hell did.”

  “No.”

  “Well, if I didn’t, lemme tell you now. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, fantasizing about you, jacking off while thinking about you—and you wouldn’t leave your date with Cameron Fucking Schulz for me and I was pissed and frustrated as hell.”

  “Oh, well, that’s something different than thinking about me while having sex with Jen.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Saying you worked yourself up into sexual frustration by jacking off and thinking about me and then fucked Jen to relieve your frustration is quite different from saying you fucked her and thought of me while doing it. See the difference?”

  I put my hand on my forehead like she’s giving me a splitting headache.

  “Do you see the difference?”

  “Yes. I see the difference.”

  “Likewise, whatever you said to Jen in New York and on the phone after Reed’s party wasn’t the same thing as, ‘I am not remotely interested in you in any way, shape or form, so leave me the hell alone.’ Whatever you said to her, she interpreted to mean, ‘I am not interested in a serious relationship with you, but I will quite happily continue to casually fuck you.’”

  I close my eyes, trying to escape the torture.

  “You’re hilarious.”

  I open my eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you’re this big, strong, gorgeous guy with all the swagger and confidence in the world—but secretly you’re kind of a puss.”

  “No, I’m not. Absolutely not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re scared of female emotion. You’re scared of making a girl cry. Waaaah.”

  I exhale loudly. “Can we please just write the email? Seriously. I’ve already spent way too much of my time on this.”

  “This isn’t about Jen. This is about you learning a life lesson, Playboy. Clearly, growing up without a mom, there was no one to teach you how to understand and communicate with women. You need some tutoring.”

  I feel instantly defensive—but quickly realize she’s got a point. “You might be right about that,” I say. “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

  “Of course, I’m right. I’ve got four brothers and a dad to teach me how to talk and think like a dude. But who do you have to teach you how to talk and think like a chick?”