The Infatuation (Josh and Kat #1 , The Club #5) (32 page)

Are you a current practitioner of BDSM and/or does
BDSM interest you? If so, describe in explicit detail.

“I am not a current practitioner of BDSM,” I write.
“As I’ve described above, the idea of being tied up as part of my
‘captive’ fantasy interests me—although, I should tell you, I’m not
turned on by the idea of being physically harmed in any way.”

Shit. I hope that last part’s not a deal-breaker
with Josh. Goddamn, I wish I knew what Josh wrote in his freaking
application.

Payment and Membership Terms. Please choose from the
following options: One Year Membership, $250,000 USD; Monthly
Membership, $30,000 USD. All payments are non-refundable. No
exceptions.

“I’d like a one-month membership, please,” I write.
“I don’t have $30,000 to pay you for your services,
unfortunately—but, hopefully, you’ll find it in your heart to waive
your membership fee (or maybe accept services in lieu of payment,
heehee?).”

Please provide a detailed explanation about what
compelled you to seek membership in The (Josh Faraday) Club.

“I wanna get in your pants.”

I chuckle to myself. That’d be funny if I left it at
that. But I’m not going for funny. I’m going for full-scale nuclear
decimation of this man.

“Remember how you accused me of dripping down my
thigh in that hallway after Reed’s party?” I write. “And remember
how I scoffed and said it was just pool water trickling down my
leg? Well, I lied. I
was
dripping down my thigh for you,
just like you said. Before witnessing your muscled, tattooed body
in that hallway, I was already quite fond of masturbation, I must
admit—but ever since I saw you in that hallway, Josh, I’ve taken
self-love to an art form. I want you so badly I’m in pain,
desperate to feel your hard-on sliding deep inside me.

“But I’m not gonna give in to my desire for you
without seeing your motherfucking application first. Why? Because
it’s not about the application anymore, Josh. It’s about something
bigger than that. I don’t want Happy Josh. I want Real Josh. And
I’m willing to show you the real Katherine Ulla Morgan to get
him.

Please provide a detailed statement regarding your
sexual preferences. To maximize your experience in The Club, please
be as explicit, detailed, and honest as possible. Please do not
self-censor, in any fashion.

“Well, I feel like I’ve already answered this one. I
want to read your application, word for word, without censorship of
any kind, and then I want you to do whatever freaky things you’ve
asked for in your application to me, exactly as described. I want
to be your Mickey Mouse roller coaster, Josh—and I want you to be
mine. Come on, Josh.
YOLO
. I’ve told you my secrets. Now
it’s time for you to tell me yours.”

Josh

“We really need to talk to your boss,” Jonas says to
the FBI agent sitting across the table from us.

“Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen. I’m who you
get.”

“I’m Jonas Faraday,” Jonas says smoothly. “And this
is my brother, Josh.”

I nod at the guy.

“We run Faraday & Sons in Seattle, L.A. and New
York,” Jonas continues. “We’d like to talk to the head of this
office.”

The kid shrugs. “I’m the only one available to talk
to you, sir. Sorry.”

“How long have you been an agent?” Kat asks.

The guy shifts his attention to Kat in all her
blonde glory and his entire demeanor detours from “stop wasting my
time, bastard” to “I’d love to help in any way I can.”

“Four months,” he replies, his mouth relaxing into a
semi-smile.

“Did you go to Quantico for training like they show
in the movies?” Kat asks.

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That’s cool. So what’s your assignment? All I
know about the FBI is what I saw in
Silence of the Lambs.
”
Oh my God, Kat’s in full terrorist mode. I can’t help but smirk in
admiration.

The agent’s smile broadens. “Well, new agents are
assigned to run background checks for the first year, mostly. And,
of course, I’m the lucky guy who gets to talk to all the nice
people such as yourselves who come in off the streets of Las Vegas
to report the crime of the century.”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” Kat says
breezily. She leans forward like she’s telling a dirty secret. “So
here’s the thing, Agent Sheffield. I’ve come here today off the
streets of Las Vegas to report the crime of the century.”

He laughs.

Kat’s face turns serious. “Actually, I’m not
kidding. I’m here to report the crime of the century.”

He props his hand under his chin, obviously
enthralled by the mere sight of her, as any man would be. “What’s
your name?”

“Katherine Morgan. But you can call me Kat.”

“Kat,” he repeats. “I tell you what. You guys file
your report with me and I promise I’ll take a long look at it
within the next two weeks—maybe even a week. And, if I see
something there, I’ll most certainly investigate further.”

“Thank you, Special Agent Sheffield,” Kat says,
biting her lip seductively. “I really appreciate that.” She bats
her eyelashes. “What’s your first name?”

“Eric.”

“
Special Agent Eric
,” she purrs. “The thing
is, this is an urgent matter—this is a career-making kind of case
for an agent such as yourself, I swear to God.”

Holy shit. I feel like standing up and slow-clapping
right now. She’s blatantly flirting to get Eric to read Sarah’s
report—anyone could see that, even him—and yet, she’s so damned
gorgeous and charming and unapologetic in her sensuality, he
obviously doesn’t care if he’s being used.

“Henn,” Sarah interjects. “Will you please play
Special Agent Sheffield that voicemail we have cued up?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Henn presses a button on his computer
and a gruff male voice speaking Ukrainian fills the room.

“Yuri Navolska,” Sarah says. “About a minute after
leaving that message, he sliced the external jugular vein in my
neck and stabbed me in the ribcage, causing me to fall back and
crack my skull on a sink ledge.”

I’ve suddenly got chills over my entire body,
imagining that violence being inflicted on poor Sarah. I glance at
Jonas and he’s clenching his jaw.

“If you need to see the scars on my head and torso,
I’ll show you,” Sarah continues.

“No, that’s okay. I believe you.”

“Please,” Kat pleads. “These guys tried to kill my
best friend. Just give us a couple hours of your time.”

Agent Eric sighs. “You’ve got more voicemails
besides this one?”

“Several,” Henn says. “About all kinds of nasty
stuff. Maksim Belenko’s a really bad dude—prostitution, weapons,
drugs, money laundering.”

“Okay,” Eric says. He nods definitively. “Let’s dig
in. We’ll go through the report together, page by page, and if it’s
everything you say it is, I’ll take this to my boss today.”

Kat leaps up from her chair and gives Eric a big hug
while Sarah and Henn take seats on either side of Agent Eric, their
determination and excitement apparent.

I watch Kat for a long beat.

She’s obviously incredible to look at, but, watching
her right now, it’s clear she’s much more than a gorgeous face (and
slamming body). She’s a fucking force of nature. Smart as hell.
Brilliant at reading people. Savvy. The most determined woman I’ve
ever met. Which reminds me, what the hell is the email she sent me
before we left for the FBI offices? God only knows what that little
terrorist is up to now.

“I sent you an email, Playboy,” Kat said coyly about
twenty minutes before we left our hotel. “Read it when you
can.”

“Sure thing, PG,” I said.

But just then, Jonas asked me to research something
about the jurisdiction of the DEA, and I got completely
sidetracked.

I guess now would be a good time to read it,
whatever it is—Sarah, Henn, Jonas, and Kat are busy talking about
Sarah’s report, and I certainly don’t have anything to contribute
to their conversation, eye candy that I am.

I quickly pull my laptop from its case and click
into my email inbox. I scroll for a moment until I find Kat’s email
from two hours ago. The subject line says, “
Please read
this.
” There’s no text in the body of the message, just a Word
document and three photo files attached. I click on Kat’s attached
Word document and instantly have a fucking heart attack, followed
immediately by a fucking boner.

“
The following is my application to The Josh
Faraday Club
,” the document says. “
All answers will be one
hundred percent honest. (And, bee tee dubs, some of this stuff is
kind of personal, so please keep it in confidence.)
”

“Oh my God,” I blurt. I look up. Sarah, Henn, Jonas
and Eric are absorbed in Sarah’s report—but Kat’s looking right at
me, looking like she’s holding her breath.

She knows I’m reading it.

I feel my face turn completely red.

Kat smiles a wicked smile, motions to my computer
like she’s saying, “Get back to work, asshole,” and then slowly,
ever so slowly, returns her attention to the group.

I look back down at my screen, my heart beating out
of my chest, and continue to read:

“. . .
my initials spell KUM... Kum Shot, Jizz,
Splooge, Pecker-Snot, Man-Yogurt, Dick-Spit, Jizz, Schlong-Juice,
Jerk-Sauce
,” she writes, and I put my hand over my mouth to
keep from bursting out laughing.

“. . .
I have blonde hair, blue eyes, and a
VAGINA,
” she writes.

This time, I laugh out loud. I can’t stop
myself.

I look up at Kat, chuckling. She’s already been
watching me intently, biting the tip of her finger nervously. I
shake my head at her, nonverbally calling her evil. She nods, a
smart-ass expression on her face.

“. . .
I’m attaching all three required photos
with this application. Enjoy!
”

I click into her first attached image. A silly
headshot. She’s making a fishy-face and crossing her eyes, and yet,
even making this ridiculous face, she’s gorgeous as hell.

Photo number two. Jesus Christ. The body that
mesmerized me the other night when it was stomping down that
hallway, dripping wet.

I glance up at her.

Her chest is rising and falling visibly, mirroring
mine.

I look back at my screen. Photo number three:
something she’d ‘typically wear out in public.’ I click on the
image and laugh out loud again. She’s pretending to pray to the
porcelain gods, wearing her sparkly dress from the other night.

Jesus Christ.

She truly is the female version of me. Anything for
a laugh.

What the fuck am I gonna do about this girl? It
suddenly dawns on me, full-force: I’m powerless to resist her. I’ve
been thinking all along I’ve got the upper hand with her, but I’ve
been kidding myself. At the end of the day, she’s gonna get
whatever she wants, eventually, from me and anyone else—no one
could possibly resist her—and I know it. It’s inevitable. She’s
fucking gravity. Death. Taxes. I feel like I’m hurtling in slow
motion toward a brick wall, but I can’t stop myself.

I look down at my screen again and continue reading,
my pulse pounding in my ears.

Aw, shit. My heart breaks for this Nate guy.

I keep reading.

And reading.

Motherfucker.

Garrett Bennett.

I grit my teeth. I feel the vein in my neck bulging.
I wanna kill this fucker. I wanna hunt him down and rip him limb
from limb. What kind of motherfucking asshole does that to a
girl—any girl?—but especially one as awesome as Kat? He called my
girl a slut? Said she’s not ‘marriage material’ just because she
likes sex a whole lot? He’s the one who taught her how to like it
so much, after all, didn’t he?—and he certainly reaped the benefits
of her newfound sexual prowess. And then he turned it around on her
and burned her at the stake for it? I feel literally homicidal
right now, I really do. Having a live wire in the bedroom is every
guy’s fantasy, and this guy made Kat feel like shit about it? If
that motherfucker were here right now, I think it’s safe to say I’d
be going to prison for what I’d do to him on federal property.

I keep reading, my blood boiling, my heart clanging
in my ears.

“
I want to read your application, word for word,
without censorship of any kind, and then I want you to do whatever
freaky things you’ve asked for in your application to me, exactly
as described. I want to be your Mickey Mouse roller coaster,
Josh—and I want you to be mine.
Come on, Josh. YOLO. I’ve
told you my secrets. Now it’s time for you to tell me
yours.”

Holy fucking shit.

“So what do you want me to do?” Agent Eric asks,
thumbing through the exhibit log.

“We want a meeting in D.C. within the next two days
with power players at the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service,” Jonas
says.

They continue talking, but I can’t follow their
conversation. The words on my computer screen are calling to me
like a siren—drawing me in like a drug.

I read the entire application again from start to
finish, my mind racing, my heart variously racing and breaking, my
blood boiling, and, most of all, my cock throbbing the whole time.
And when I’m done reading it for the third time, I close my eyes,
trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I’ve never wanted a woman
so much in all my life. She’s a force of a nature. How am I
supposed to resist a fucking tornado? A tsunami? An earthquake? I
can’t.

“You’re not bullshitting me? You can do it?” Agent
Eric asks Henn.

“We can do it,” Henn says.

“Then I’ll vouch for you with my boss,” Eric says.
“I’ll do everything in my power.”

I breathe deeply, trying to control my racing
thoughts and hard dick. What the fuck am I gonna do? I gotta give
her my application, don’t I? Shit. Yeah, I do. I wouldn’t have
believed it possible, but I’m gonna do it. There’s no other logical
conclusion to this story. The woman just bared her entire soul to
me, not just her sexual history. If I don’t at least give her my
stupid application in return, then I truly am the sociopath she
accused me of being. Not to mention a fucking pussy. And an
asshole.