“It just freaks me out how utterlycluelessI was. I was ready to give my heart to a guy who thought I was a slut.”
“That reflects poorly on him—not on you. You trusted him. He took advantage of you. He was a shit. A cruel, heartless, self-loathing, small-minded, small-dicked little shit.”
“It’s okay. In the end, it was probably a good life lesson.”
“What was the lesson?”
I consider my words. “I think Garrett Bennett is my ‘YOLO’ tattoo. I was one hundred percent sure of something, and I turned out to be dead wrong.” I shrug, trying to come across like it’s no big deal. “Good thing to remember.”
He looks pained. “That douche deserves to get the shit kicked out of him,” he says between gritted teeth.
There’s a loud knock at the door and Josh is instantly distracted. A wide grin spreads across his face. “Oh, damn. Looks like talking about our fucking feelings will have to wait, thank God.” He suddenly slaps his face—really hard—leaving a bright red mark.
“What the hell?” I gasp.
Josh chuckles and slips around the bar toward the front door, a wide smile on his striking face. “I do believe your chariot has arrived, Party Girl.”
Thirty-Seven
Kat
Josh hands the delivery guy a huge wad of cash and gleefully turns back around, a large, hefty-looking cardboard box in his arms, an evil gleam in his eye.
At the look of trepidation on my face, he laughs. “Don’t worry, PG. You’re gonna love it.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
He places the box on the edge of the bed, opens the flaps, and peeks inside. “Come to papa,” he says, his dick visibly hardening in his briefs.
He pulls out a tarp-looking thing and spreads it on top of the bed.
“Oh, jeez,” I say. “Am I about to star in an episode ofDexter?”
Josh chuckles.
“Why the heck do we need a freakingtarp?”
“Because things can sometimes get a bit messy.” He winks.
“Huh?” I say.
But Josh doesn’t elaborate.
“Did you write about this machine in your application to The Club?” I ask.
He scoffs. “No. Don’t think about that stupid application right now. Just live in the moment, Kat. Just enjoy theride.” He snickers. “Literally and figuratively.”
“What the fuck is this thing?”
Josh reaches into the box and pulls out a little black machine—a little half-domed box-machine, about a foot long and wide and high, attached to a black power cord and a small control box. Basically, the thing looks like a curved saddle with a power cord.
“It’s an orgasm machine,” Josh says simply. “It was designed to give a woman the most powerful orgasm she’s ever experienced—over and over and over again—for as long as she can stand it.” He places the Sybian in the middle of the bed on top of the tarp. “This baby’s about to rock your world, Kitty Kat.” He smiles greedily. “And, therefore, mine.”
I survey the contraption for a moment, utterly fascinated. “So I sit on top of it?”
“Yeah, ride it, cowgirl.”
