Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
After several minutes of fuckery that can only be described as “a mini-porno-version of The Exorcist,” Josh lays me down on my back on a table in the suite and fucks me with breathtaking fervor, whispering into my ear as he does about how much he loves me and how hot I am with my little baby bump and how good and wet and tight I always feel for him—and, within minutes, I’m convulsing with an orgasm that curls my effing toes and blurs my vision (and also makes my green head spin round and round on my shoulders).
When we’re both done, Josh hulks over me on the table for a long moment, catching his breath. “Holy fuck,” he says, his breathing ragged. “That wasn’t according to plan.”
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. “Are we gonna be late now?” I gasp.
Josh straightens up, his eyebrows raised. “Late for what?”
“For the opera?”
Josh chuckles. “Oh, Kat.” He pulls me off the table and wraps me in his strong arms.
“What? That’s where Richard took Julia in the red dress—to the opera in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, I know—I’ve seen the movie,” Josh says, rolling his eyes. “But this is my fantasy, remember?—and I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera.”
I giggle. “Oh, thank God. I was gonna be a good sport about it, of course, but I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera, too.”
Josh kisses my forehead. “Don’t you worry, PG. You’re with me, remember? The Playboy—and where I’m taking you today is gonna curl your toes and soak your panties a thousand times more than any stinkin’ opera ever could.” He winks. “I guarantee it.”
Thirty-Six
Kat
Our limo pulls up to a small airport displaying a sign at the entrance that says, “Boeing Field.”
“Are we flying to San Francisco?” I ask.
Josh grabs my hand. “No questions. Your only job today is to react—not to try to figure things out.”
“Richard took Julia to San Francisco,” I say.
“We’re not going to the opera, and we’re not going to San Francisco,” Josh says. “No more questions.”
I survey the long line of small jets lined up on the tarmac. “But we’re flying somewhere?”
Josh puts his finger to his lips.
The limo winds its way through a gate and stops at a hangar about fifty yards from a small jet with its door opened wide and retractable staircase down.
“Are we going somewhere on that plane there?” I ask, pointing.
“God, you’re a terrible listener,” Josh says.
“Sorry. But are we going somewhere on a private plane? I’ve never been on a private plane. Oh my God.”
“Ssh.”
The limo driver opens our door and Josh gets out first.
“Don’t forget our bags in the trunk, please,” Josh instructs the driver. He bends down and peeks at me in the backseat. “You ready to make my hottest fantasy come true, Party Girl?”
I shoot Josh a look that says I don’t believe for a second we’re here to fulfill his fantasy. So far today, Josh has dressed me like Julia Roberts, slapped a beachside condo around my neck, and told me he’ll love me forever and ever. It really doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize he’s fulfilling my top fantasies today, no matter what he says. “If you say so, PB,” I say, looking at him sideways.
“Oh, I do.” Josh pulls me out of the car and threads my arm into his. “You look incredible in that dress,” he whispers. He begins escorting me toward the nearby jet.
“Thank you. I absolutely love it. And the necklace—oh my God, Josh, it’s beyond my wildest dreams.” I touch the dazzling rocks encircling my neck, still not able to comprehend they’re mine.
“That’s good. Because you’re beyond my wildest dreams, babe.”
I abruptly stop walking. “Okay, that’s it,” I say. “What the heck is going on?”
Josh furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I had to lesbo-out with a bisexual supermodel and hypnotize you with a devious song to trick you into saying ‘I love you’ not too long ago, and now, suddenly, you’re watching Pretty Woman and acting like Michael Bublé on steroids?”
Josh laughs and touches my belly. “Kat, just roll with it, baby. Don’t overthink it. Your job is to react. Nothing more.”
“At first I thought maybe you’d arranged all this because you’re so happy to be having a daughter named after your mom, but then I realized you had to have arranged all this before we found out the kumquat’s gender.”
“Don’t think, babe. React.”
“But, Josh, you watched Pretty Woman, for cryin’ out loud. Have you gone completely mad?”
Josh brushes the hair out of my face and gazes into my eyes. “Yes, I have. Completely and utterly insane.” He smiles. “And I’ve never been happier.”
I bite my lip.
“Now come on, baby—we’ve got a private plane to catch.”