Page 106 of Consummation

My stomach clenches with envy. Fuck me. I want to say, “Come on, wife!” to Kat, exactly the way Jonas just said that to Sarah. And, fuck me, I want to say “Mrs. Faraday and I have a date with a Venezuelan mattress!” too, even if, yes, that’s a supremely cheesy thing to say. Shit.At least fifty times this past week in Brazil, I almost blurted, “Will you marry me, Kat?” But I refrained every time—of course, I did—because the sane part of my brain knows I’ve already asked Kat to marry me without a ring or ironclad plan in place and that she replied, “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.” So, obviously, another spontaneous (flop-dick) proposal ain’t gonna cut it a second time around.

Kat skims her lips against mine, yanking me out of my thoughts, and I slip my tongue eagerly into her mouth. In reply, she presses herself into my hard-on.

“How are you feeling, beautiful?” I ask, kissing her softly.

“Good,” she says. “I didn’t barfoncetoday.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “Sexy. You know I can’t resist a woman who doesn’t barf.”

“One might even say it’s your Achilles’ heel, although I seem to recall you’re also quite willing to fuck a woman who barfs on your shoes.”

“Not ‘a woman’ who barfs on my shoes,” I say. “Onlyyou.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Okay. Enough chitty-chat,” I declare suddenly. I stand and swoop Kat into my arms, and Kat practically growls with excitement. “It’s time to put those pregnancy hormones of yours to maximum use, Party Girl.”

Thirty

Kat

“I’ve got a present for you,” I coo as Josh lays me down on the bed.

“Oh yeah?” Josh pulls off his shirt, revealing his gloriously muscled and tattooed torso.

“Oh my God,” I say, ogling him.

Josh pulls down his pants and briefs, letting his straining donkey-dick spring free.

“Sweet Baby Jesus,” I blurt. “I feel like my clit’s a lawnmower and you just yanked its starter-cord.”

Josh smiles wickedly. “Oh, the things I’m gonna do to you, hot momma.” He advances on me like a panther.

“Wait. Close your eyes.”

Josh exhales like I’ve asked him to stop and change the oil in my car. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” he says.

“Close ’em, Playboy. I’ve got a surprise for you. It’ll take five seconds and then you can do whatever you please to me.”

Josh settles onto his knees next to me, his naked body taut, his erection massive. “You’ve got twenty seconds and then I can’t be held responsible for what this dick might do to you.”

I pull my sundress off, revealing my leopard-print-electric-blue bra and undies underneath, and carefully cover my hipbone with my palm.

“Okay,” I say. “Open.”

Josh opens his eyes. “Great surprise. You’re gorgeous. Now lie back.” He pushes me back gently.

“No, you fool,” I say. “I haven’t shown you the surprise yet.”

Josh exhales again.

“You ready?” I ask.

Josh motions to his straining dick in reply.

I bite my lip and remove my hand, revealing the temporary “tattoo” Sarah drew on my hip with a Sharpie pen while we watchedAbout Timein the other room. “For you, Playboy,” I say, unveiling the famous Playboy-rabbit-head-logo drawn onto my hip. “I can’t get a tattoo while pregnant—apparently, there’s a risk of infection or whatever—but I finally figured out what I’m gonna do for my second tattoo after the baby’s born.”

Josh’s hard-on visibly twitches. “Aw, you’re gonna get aboyfriendtattoo?”

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