What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  “And if it’s Susie,” he said, “she’ll wish she were you because I made her stand on her head for half an hour this afternoon whistling ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.’”

  Marcy laughed, and the last remnants of his sorrow drifted away.

  “I didn’t take you for a man with a sense of humor.”

  He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “And I didn’t take you for a woman who didn’t like to be touched.”

  “I wasn’t always like this.” Her voice was so soft he could barely make out her words, but he noted how tightly she clenched the rope with her fists when his finger traced over her collarbone, the quickening of her breaths. A disconnect between wanting to be in control and needing to let go.

  “How did you get into fighting?” He moved closer, a distraction and a message. Here. Now. She didn’t have to struggle. He was in control.

  Marcy drew in a ragged breath. “It’s not that interesting.”

  “Everything about you interests me, Marcy.” He slid his hands down her back, brushing over the bare skin between her sports bra and fight shorts and then sliding around to the front. He had done this exercise countless times and on many fighters, but here … now it seemed less an exercise and more an indulgence. Or even … an invitation.

  His thumbs glided over her rib cage and abdomen, then along the waistband of her fight shorts, sending the wrong signals to the right part of his body.

  So soft. So hot. So hard.

  Stop.

  With a mental jerk, he brought his mind back to his task, focusing on the mundane details of his life to quench his growing arousal: the reports he had to prepare for Reid, the renovations he had to complete to put his parents’ house up for sale, the stray pup he’d found on the beach and given to his dad to help bring him out of his depression, the protein shake he’d had for lunch when really all he’d wanted was a couple of hamburgers in soft, white buns…

  Fuck.

  He crouched behind her and ran his fingers lightly down the backs of her toned legs and then up along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Marcy gasped and tightened her grip on the ropes.

  “I’m still waiting to hear about how you became a fighter.”

  “I … ah … needed a job.” Her voice was hoarse, delightfully throaty. “Reid’s family owns a sporting goods store, and his brother hired me. A few weeks after I started, a man came in and tried to steal some watches. I didn’t really think. I just reacted. It’s one of my biggest problems, being impulsive. I chased him and knocked him to the ground. Got in a couple of punches before Reid caught up with us. He thought I might make a good fighter, so he brought me to the gym. Here I am.”

  Chuckling, Jax pushed himself to his feet. He could well imagine Marcy chasing down a thief. He’d seen her fire—her spark—the first day they’d met. “Sounds pretty exciting to me.” He stroked his thumb up and down her neck, gently at first and then with increasing pressure until a soft “oh” escaped her lips.

  “You like that.” Curious, he turned her around to study her face. Under his steady gaze, she blushed and looked away, but not before he caught the slight dilation of her pupils. Was her arousal a result of the exercise or the tiny jolt of pain, or both?

  Or neither?

  “So, how did you become a coach?” Her gaze drifted away from him and over to Reid, doing bicep curls in front of the mirror.

  He swallowed an unexpected sliver of annoyance. “I was running away. Still am.” He caressed her cheek then cupped her jaw in his hand, tilting her head, forcing her to look at him as he leaned in…

  “Jax?”

  Chest heaving, jaw tight, he wrenched himself away, holding on to his control with the slimmest of threads. Too much. Too overwhelming. He had to cut it short or he would do something he would regret.

  “We’re done for today. Same time tomorrow.”

  As he stepped out of the ring, he wondered how he would make it through tomorrow. Hell, how would he make it through the night?

  He plunged two fingers into her pussy. “So wet, baby,” Jax whispered as he angled his fingers to pulse against her sensitive inner walls. “But I want you wetter.”

  Marcy arched out of her bath as she thrust two fingers deep inside her. With her other hand, she cupped her breast, then pinched her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

  Oh god. So close.

  She closed her eyes and imagined Jax covering her with his body like he’d done in the ring. Except now he was naked, his broad chest glistening with sweat, his beautiful tattoos shining in the dim light as his cock, hard and thick, prodded at her entrance.

  “I want to fuck you, Marcy. I want to fuck you till you scream.”

  She pumped her hand, spreading her fingers, pressing her palm against her clit, imagining his cock swelling inside her. But as she climbed toward her peak, her fantasy changed, and Jax had her facing the wall, her cheek pressed against the cool surface, hands bound and secured over her head. And then she heard the soft hiss of a flogger as its tails flew through the air. When the first imaginary blow thudded on her skin, she climaxed. Hard and fast. Pleasure merging with a fantasy pain. And then she sank into the water, drifted, wondering how she would tell Jax the training wasn’t going to work.

  A run in the park followed by an early-morning exercise routine cleared her head after a restless sleep. But the minute she saw Val at the store, something cracked inside her. Between the rows of boxing gloves and volleyballs, she let everything spill out: her desire for Jax and her fear for the future of her career.

  Val thought she should sleep with Jax and get him out of her system. Then she wouldn’t be wondering about how good he might be in bed; she’d know. Marcy didn’t agree. Her career was at stake. What if sleeping together ruined their professional relationship? He was uniquely qualified to help her, and without his help, she might never get ahead. Val thought the sexual tension was already ruining their professional relationship, especially after Marcy told her how Jax had abruptly cut their last session short. And did Marcy ever consider that they might be able to make it work? Lots of relationships started in the gym. Lovers helped each other train. Why was she so different?

  Marcy couldn’t tell Val why she was different. She had never told anyone about her darkest, most forbidden fantasies—the fantasies she strongly suspected could come true in Jax’s arms. He was simply the most dominant man she’d ever met. Where Reid was loud and aggressive when he wanted something done, Jax could command obedience solely through the tone of his voice, a look, or even a touch. Utterly confident, assertive, and in control, he epitomized everything she secretly longed for but had been too ashamed to seek out after Preston’s brutal rejection.

  What she wanted from Jax as a lover was the opposite of the fight he wanted from her in the ring. The incongruity of his demands with her innate desires was tearing her apart. How would she get through the next few weeks of training? She couldn’t. Not without taking drastic steps to solve the problem.

  Chapter Five

  “Anything you want to discuss about our session yesterday?”

  Arms folded and legs apart, Jax stood in the center of the training mat. His tight green and white fight shorts only served to inflame Marcy’s already heightened state of arousal. Why couldn’t he have worn baggy, torn shorts like some of other fighters, maybe an unwashed T-shirt, or better yet, a ski suit? Why did he have to taunt her with his chiseled pecs and toned abs when she was already at the edge of her rope? Damn Val and her insistence that a quick roll in the sheets was the solution. If Val hadn’t kept on about it all afternoon, putting all the wrong images in Marcy’s head, she would have had no problem keeping it professional.

  None.

  Really.

  Jax frowned when she didn’t respond. “You seem distracted. Were you okay last night?”

  Marcy sucked in a sharp breath, and her cheeks heated as she thought about just how okay she had been after their session last night—the first night in over a
year that she’d let anyone touch her in a way that wasn’t entirely fight-related.

  “Sure.”

  Jax outlined his strategy for their evening training session and the weeks to come. Marcy took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. She just had to get through the next hour and then … what? Tell him it wouldn’t work or invite him home? Tell him it would work and invite him home? Just invite him home? She gritted her teeth. How about ripping off his clothes and running her hands over his muscular body?

  “If you’re happy with that,” Jax said, wrapping up the outline, the end of which she’d missed in favor of indulging herself in torrid fantasies of her and Jax rolling around on the mats, “we’ll start with some simple arm bars and triangles.”

  Relieved to be spared another session of his hands touching her body, Marcy dropped to her knees on the mat and waited for him to position himself on his back.

  “Mount.” He beckoned her forward, his voice curiously husky, and for a moment, she wondered if his touching exercise the other day had affected him as much as her. She crawled up his body and then sat astride his abdomen in full mount. God, his stomach was rock-hard. Just like the rest of him.

  His body stiffened beneath her. “Christ, Marcy. Are you trying to kill me?”

  Puzzled, she shrugged. “I thought you wanted me like this.”

  “I do. No. Fuck. I mean, to practice the submission, you need to be in high mount.”

  Understanding dawned, and she tried and failed to repress a smile. “Am I mounted too low for you, Jax?” She was sorely tempted to give a little wiggle because she could feel something hard pressing into her ass, and she was desperate to know if he was wearing a cup. In all her years of training, she’d never affected a guy this way, and she had to bite back a laugh.

  His eyes blazed with liquid heat, and his voice dropped to a husky bark. “Move up.”

  Marcy eased herself up, her thighs parting wider as she positioned herself high on his chest, her knees under his armpits. “High mount is easier with female fighters,” she said. “Your chest is so broad—”

  He cut her off with a low growl. When she glanced down to see what she’d done to irritate him this time, she was caught in the blistering heat of his gaze.

  “I’m on to you, little fighter.” His eyes glinted, amused. “Don’t think for a minute you’ll distract me from doing what I came here to do.”

  A smile curled her lips. All week, she’d had to listen to the fighters at the gym talking about the aura of mystique surrounding Jax and his “fighter whisperer” ways. And yet his visible discomfort at her position on top of him made him seem all too human.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He raised an eyebrow and exhaled through gritted teeth. “How about we try for mid guard?” The warmth of his breath caressed her inner thighs, and moisture flooded her sex. How unprofessional. She’d practiced this position countless times with other fighters in the club. Not once had she ever become so utterly and desperately aroused.

  “Actually, probably better if we move to full guard.” Jax bucked, throwing Marcy forward and onto her hands and knees, a standard defense to high guard but one that put her breasts within an inch of his lips.

  Her nipples tightened, and she quickly rolled off him to hide her body’s response. With gentle pressure, Jax pushed her to her back, then moved into a dominant position on top of her, taking his weight on his elbows, his legs tucked between hers.

  So hot. So heavy. So utterly male. Desire coursed through her veins, and she tried to think of anything but the erotic weight of Jax on top of her.

  Coach. Training. Professional. But her body, now a live wire, wasn’t on board.

  “How do you want me?” Her breathy voice shaded into a whisper of desire.

  For a long moment, he didn’t move. She could feel his heart drumming in his chest, hear the rasp of his breathing, and when she looked up at him, the heat in his eyes made her shudder.

  He dropped his body, his hips pressing against the juncture of her thighs, his lips only inches away. Her pussy throbbed, and she arched under him. If she stretched up just the tiniest bit, she could have a little lick of his enticing, full lips. Just as she had imagined last night and every night since the day they’d met.

  Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

  As if he had heard her unspoken demand, he dropped his head, and his lips brushed over hers. Firm but fleeting, his kiss was there, and then it wasn’t.

  Fire streaked through Marcy’s body with such intensity she forgot to breathe, burning its way straight to her core. She blinked and Jax was gone.

  Alone, limp on the mat, she drew in a ragged breath. What the hell had she been thinking? Had she learned nothing from her breakup with Preston? Just because Jax was dominant in the ring didn’t mean he was dominant in the bedroom. Or that he had any interest in her besides being a coach. Yet the more she was with him, the more she craved his touch—like a drug addict who had found the source of an endless fix.

  It could only end in disaster.

  Christ.

  Jax scrubbed his hand over his forehead in the back alley outside the gym. What the fucking hell had he done? He had always maintained a rigid line between the personal and professional aspects of his life. And what about the control he had fought so hard to achieve? Had he learned nothing from the deaths of his mother and sister? He had promised himself he would never feel that helpless again, and yet the minute Marcy walked into the gym, all he could think about was stripping off her clothes and getting her beneath him.

  No doubt, she’d complain to Reid. And well she should. He’d taken advantage of his position and the physical proximity fight coaching required. But when he’d felt her soften beneath him, her breath soft and sweet on his cheek, he’d lost any semblance of control. Only the sight of Two Step, watching them from the cross trainer, had brought him to his senses long enough to get away.

  Run away.

  Just like he’d been doing for the last ten years.

  The back door opened and closed, and Two Step joined him in the alley. For an awkward moment, neither of them spoke, and then Two Step leaned against the brick wall and sighed. “Gets hot in there.”

  Tension curled between them, born of an understanding only two men with an interest in the same woman could share. “Yeah.”

  “So you done for the night?” Two Step folded his arms, his massive biceps shimmering with sweat. Although Two Step didn’t move away from the wall, Jax understood the underlying threat. He wasn’t afraid of Two Step. Even after leaving the professional circuit, he’d kept up his training regime to stay in shape, focused, and better able to help the fighters with new techniques. Still, he wasn’t interested in getting involved in a physical altercation, and Two Step’s body language suggested he was spoiling for a fight.

  “I’ve got Susie at eight and Davy at nine.”

  “But nothin’ for the next forty-five minutes.”

  Jax raised an eyebrow at the unspoken admonishment. “You got something to say?”

  “You hurt her and I’ll come down on you so hard you won’t know what hit you.” Two Step’s voice was soft and all the more menacing for it.

  “I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here to help.” He met Two Step’s gaze. Marcy was lucky to have friends who cared about her so much. Always on the road, Jax didn’t have time for friendships, and the constant relocation helped him avoid putting down roots. Roots meant relationships, and relationships meant pain.

  “Good to hear. Hope it stays that way.” Two Step let out a relieved breath. “So, you coming to the barbeque tonight? We’re taking advantage of the downtime between events. Marcy will be there.”

  Jax frowned. “I thought you just warned me to stay away from her.”

  “I warned you not to hurt her. Couldn’t go through that again. She was with this guy…” He swallowed hard. “She didn’t show up at practice for a coupla days and didn’t answer her phone, so I went to her place to see if s
he was okay. Bastard had hurt her bad. There were bruises on her wrists and ankles and … fuck … the marks on her back and the backs of her legs…” He scraped a hand over his head. “I was gonna go after him, but she told me he was gone and wouldn’t be back. She wouldn’t go to the police. Said she’d consented, but who’d consent to something like that?”

  Someone with a kink or an interest in BDSM. A submissive. Just like he’d thought.

  “All sorts of people with all sorts of interests out there.” Jax understood better than most the prejudices faced by the kink community. He’d been ostracized by his family when he’d been open about his involvement with a local BDSM club. As a result, he’d lost valuable years with his mother and sister. Years he would never get back.

  Two Step pushed away from the wall and headed for the door. “So, you coming?”

  “Given the nature of my work, I don’t usually socialize with my fighters. But thanks.”

  “Address is posted on the bulletin board in case you change your mind.” Two Step pulled open the door, and the scent of lemon cleaner and stale sweat from the gym drifted into the alley. “We’re a family here. We don’t exclude people no matter how they want to fuck with our heads.”

  Jax laughed. “Not really what I do, but thanks.”

  Two Step paused and looked over his shoulder, his lips curled in an amused smile. “She likes whiskey. Straight up. No girly drinks for our Marcy. There’s a good place round the corner … just in case you feel like picking up a bottle.”

  “You’re cut off, baby girl.”

  Marcy glared when Two Step snatched the shot glass out of her hand. “What the hell? I’m a grown woman. I know when I’ve had too much, and I’m not even close. I can still stand.”

  “You gotta eat something before I give it back.” He gestured to a short Australian fighter with a surfer-dude twang flipping burgers on the grill. “Porter will set you up. He bought out Costco’s meat department to make up for the lack of buns. You get something in your stomach, and then you can drink all you want.”