Read The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2) for Free Online

them? And then, all of a sudden, through dumb luck in the most unexpected way, I’ve stumbled upon the hottest guy in the universe who happens to have a bizarre mustard fetish, an insatiable appetite for frickin’ mustard to the exclusion of all other condiments! It’s like I can’t lose, no matter what I say or do or think because I’m goddamned mustard, bitches. It’s blowing my mind and wreaking havoc on my body to be adored like this, to be seen and understood and accepted so completely. Not to mention fucked so brilliantly. Jonas fucked me so well in Belize, a howler monkey outside our tree house lit a cigarette.
    It’s like I’ve been bottled up my whole life and this beautiful man has uncorked me. Yes, that’s it—I’m frickin’ uncorked, baby . Pop! And now that I am, all I keep thinking about is giving my sweet Jonas, my Hottie McHottie of a boyfriend—my baby, my love, my manly man with sad eyes and luscious lips—pleasure and excitement and thrills and chills and orgasms and assurances and safety and adoration and understanding and acceptance and good old fashioned fuckery like nothing he’s experienced before—“untethering” him the way he’s so profoundly untethered me .
    Gah.
    But enough about that. For now. Obviously, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than satisfying my insatiable lady-boner for the supremely gorgeous Jonas Faraday.
    Focus, focus, focus.
    Whew.
    The third (and more germane) observation I make while my muscled, rippling, smokin’ hot, hunky-monkey of a boyfriend speaks to his brother—wooh! I just made myself hot for him again—is that Jonas noticeably doesn’t start his explanation to Josh by mentioning any details about The Club—neither its existence nor its purported premise. At first, I’m confused by that omission, but quickly it becomes clear that particular piece of exposition isn’t at all necessary... because... wait for it... Josh already knows all about The Club. And even more surprising than that, it’s also quite clear, based on a couple things Jonas says—for example, “Hey, Josh, did you keep any of your emails from them?”—that Josh himself was a member of The Club at some point before Jonas.
    The minute that shocking but fascinating cat lurches out of its bag, Kat shoots me a look that says “holy shitballs”—and I acknowledge her expression with a “holy crappola” look of my own. Very, very interesting. Apparently, neither Faraday apple fell too far from the Faraday horndog tree.
    But although I’m surprised to find out about Josh’s membership, I’m not fazed by it. Maybe it’s because I’ve processed so many applications, including relatively tame ones from globetrotters like Josh, most of them perfectly normal and sweet. Or maybe it’s because, since meeting Jonas, my own rampant sex drive has enslaved me and turned me into a horndog, too—so how could I presume to judge anyone else?
    Or maybe, just maybe, I’m so damned grateful Jonas applied to The Club (or else how would we have met?), thrilled by the masterful way he touches me and makes love to me like no one ever has, spellbound by his unquenchable quest to satisfy me, enraptured by his determination to do all things “excellently” that I’m now inclined to view heightened or avid sexual desire as a magnificent superpower rather than something to disparage or snub. Whatever the reason, whatever the journey, whatever the delusion, the bottom line is I’m feeling pretty nonjudgmental about Josh being a past member of The Club right about now.
    But that doesn’t mean I’m not hella curious about it. Because I am.
    I don’t mean I’m curious in some kind of winky-winky code, like “Hello, I’m a freak show who’s curious (wink, wink) about her boyfriend’s brother.” Ew. No. Not at all. What I mean is I’m intellectually curious to know the details about Josh’s (or anyone’s ) successful club experience. After three months of reviewing applications on the