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

by Selena Kitt

  Before I’m able to get a word out, she drops the towel. I can’t breathe, only stare while she covers her damp, naked body with the T-shirt. Then she gives me a peck on the cheek and walks off, the towel now draped over her arm.

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I’m left behind, watching the suggestion of her shapely ass swaying side to side underneath the cotton fabric. The T-shirt covers her halfway down her thigh and even though it’s old, faded and huge, somehow she makes it look sexy.

  IV.

  The look on his face was priceless.

  I have never been self conscious about my body, though I know it’s not perfect but that’s OK. And the looks he keeps giving me are addictive. It’s taken me long enough to get his attention initially and now I want him speechless again and again.

  More than anything, I guess I want him to know I’m his.

  The incident at work showed me one thing above all, he may be shy, insecure about a lot of things. But he’s also a real man, strong and imposing when he wants to be. He won’t think twice to protect me.

  I have always taken pride in my independence; that I don’t need anyone to take care of me. And as much as the situation with Dick made me doubt whether that’s actually the case, I also sort of enjoyed being able to rely on someone else.

  Cliché perhaps, but being the damsel in distress really does work on a very primal level. I wasn’t lying when I told John that I was impressed.

  Even now that the immediate danger is over, he’s still taking care of me by handling the fallout. I’m so grateful for it.

  Now that I’ve relaxed as well as found my much needed release, I realise how hungry I feel and head to the kitchen. The fridge has nothing much in it. There are some ready meals in the freezer, along with the obligatory bag of frozen peas every household seems to have. Nothing appeals.

  I find a bunch of take-away menus on the counter and start leafing through them when John comes up behind me.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Yeah, how about you?”

  “Oh I could eat something.”

  “I’d love to cook you something, if I had the ingredients,” I say.

  He puts his arms around my waist and I lean back against him.

  “Sorry, groceries haven’t really been on my mind lately,” he says.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve just been eating ready meals and takeaways.” I turn around, frowning.

  “I’m afraid so.” He brushes a streak of hair out of my face and smiles.

  “That won’t do! How about this, assuming you have bread somewhere, we’ll just have a sandwich now and then I’ll cook you something decent for dinner.”

  “I’d love that,” he says and gives me a kiss on my forehead.

  He fetches a loaf of bread from a cupboard I wouldn’t have thought to check.

  “I just realised, I’ve never seen you have lunch at work. What sort of sandwiches do you like?” I ask.

  “I’m not picky. There’s ham in the fridge.”

  Our little meal doesn’t take long. I make a few sandwiches and we eat them standing up in the kitchen. I’m truly looking forward to cooking for him and already have a few ideas.

  Preparing to change, I get my clothes from the bathroom.

  “Your bathroom door keeps opening on its own,” I remark upon coming back to the living room.

  “I know.” He looks caught out, busted.

  It’s quite an effort, but I just about manage to keep a straight face and keep quiet. Instead I grab a pen and paper and head back into the kitchen. Let’s see what all I need.

  V.

  The small Tesco supermarket just around the corner is surprisingly well stocked and I managed to get everything I need. It’s not going to be a gourmet meal, but at least an improvement compared to the contents of his freezer.

  I’ve always liked to cook, but it gets so boring when there is nobody to appreciate the end result. John will though, he looked absolutely ecstatic when I made him breakfast on Saturday. Same thing just now when I put together the simplest sandwich in the world.

  When I get back to his place, he’s sitting on the sofa, writing on a notepad. He looks up to greet me and his eyes linger on certain features of mine just a little longer than others. I wonder what’s on his mind but I don’t get the chance to ask.

  “I was just writing down a few things for tomorrow. Topics to be mentioned, complaints,” he says.

  “Right.” I walk back over to him after leaving the food in the kitchen. “What have you got so far?”

  There is a glaring omission.

  “Remember the other week when I asked you not to leave me alone with him? I never had the chance to tell you why,” I say.

  I tell him about Dick cornering me by the drinks machine. John’s face hardens in a frown.

  “Why didn’t you say something then? That’s completely out of line!”

  “I didn’t expect he would go further than that, I just thought he was creepy,” I explain, but I don’t think it’s going to help soothe his temper.

  John shakes his head and adds it to his notes. I recognise the same expression on his face from this morning and decide to give him some space to calm down. Otherwise, I might just panic and say something to make it worse.

  It’s kind of nerve-wrecking, knowing he’s frustrated because of something I did, or didn’t do as is the case now. As a result, it takes me a fair while to locate everything I need to cook.

  But once I get started, I forget about everything else. Slicing, chopping and frying, it’s so very relaxing. And while the sauce simmers away, I turn around to find John leaning against the door frame, smiling.

  “Been watching me long?” I ask.

  “Sadly, I missed the bit at the beginning.”

  “I hope you like pasta,” I say.

  “Of course,” he responds.

  We move back into the living room, leaving the sauce to simmer for a while.

  I read through the notes he’s made, he’s added something.

  “Who’s this? Tracy,” I ask, pointing at the last item on the list.

  “Richard’s previous mistake,” John says.

  He tells me about an incident a year ago, where a girl named Tracy joined the Accounts department. Unfortunately for her, Dick noticed her one day in the hallway. Things appeared to end badly after she refused him. John never knew how badly, only that she left suddenly one day, never to return.

  While I was out at the shops, he managed to look her up online and she told him her story and that she’s happy to help. She’s going to come in for a separate meeting with Gary tomorrow.

  Things are starting to look up. I sort of knew Dick was bluffing in his office when he said nobody would believe me. But I do know how it appears; John and me going to the Christmas party together and then him storming into a meeting in Dick’s office. One might think we orchestrated the whole complaint just to cause trouble. A third party with a similar story about Dick changes everything.

  “Thank you.” I mumble, still looking down at the notepad.

  “What are friends for,” John says.

  “Hmm yeah, we’re not just friends though, are we,” I say, looking back up.

  “We are whatever you want us to be.” He looks uneasy.

  I know I’m putting him on the spot, but it’s an important question. And I suppose, it’s also just a little bit amusing, watching him fret over where this conversation is going.

  “I need to know what I am to you,” I insist.

  He takes a deep breath and leans back into the sofa. Then he laughs nervously.

  “They never tell you how hard this is! I’ve never been great with people, especially not girls.”

  “Am I just some girl to you?” I ask with a wicked smile.

  “No! Not some girl. Except maybe the one that stayed when others ran,” he says.

  I squeeze his hand.

  “There are no wrong answers, I just need to know what you think about everyth
ing. You worry too much,” I say.

  He looks at me and pauses a little.

  “You are…”

  I wait, growing nervous myself. He softly runs his thumb over the back of my hand and my heart jumps.

  “When I’m around you, I feel like everything I’ve ever worried about is meaningless. I’m insanely jealous of every man you’ve ever had in your life before and at the same time grateful that they indirectly let you end up here, with me.

  “And to think that that asshole, Richard, tried to hurt you… I might’ve taken things way too far, if you hadn’t stopped me.

  “I wish that I could be enough for you, that whatever it is that makes you want me doesn’t go away. I really am not used to being around people, I’ve never had a lot of friends. I realised it can be hard to live with someone when Julie stayed with me for awhile. But with you it’s different… I just don’t want you to leave.

  “When I left on Sunday morning, it was the hardest thing because I felt like a part of me was left behind. But I felt so betrayed and knew if what I suspected was true, staying would break me.”

  He smiles awkwardly and looks down at our hands. I don’t doubt a word he just said and feel a little dazed by his confession. But I owe him the same amount of honesty.

  “John,” I whisper.

  “I have to admit, I knew somewhat about what happened with Julie because Amanda told me. And it pissed me off so much, because I knew you deserved way better.

  “Every day you came into work and it was obvious how hurt you were. All I wanted was to make you smile. I wished so much that you would see me and I could be yours; to take all that hurt away.

  “I love spending time together, I want to know everything about you. At this point, I don’t think we could ever be just friends. I wish for a lot more.”

  He’s quiet, I wonder if I freaked him out. But if so, he doesn’t show it. He simply pulls me closer and rests his face against my hair.

  “Is this real?” he asks finally.

  “It feels real,” I answer.

  “But don’t think saying a bunch of sweet things gets you off the hook for peeping on me in the shower,” I chuckle.

  “The door was open,” he says.

  “Accidentally! So, were you just watching?” I say, playfully poking him in the side.

  “Were you just showering?”

  “Fair point,” I say, snuggling against him and replaying everything he’s just said in my head.

  “Oh, for that list.” I point at the notepad. “I almost forgot because at the time I was too preoccupied.”

  “But during my job interview, he spent more time looking at my boobs than my face; I guess you should add that.”

  “What?! For fuck’s sake, Cath,” John sighs.

  “Oops?”

  “It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far in one piece! Why on earth did you take the job when it started off that way?” He doesn’t sound pissed off this time, exasperated rather.

  “You’re not going to like the answer,” I say.

  “Oh?”

  “If I hadn’t, I probably would’ve never seen you again,” I explain.

  For a few minutes, there is no need for further conversation. We’ve got our arms around each other and I feel like this is exactly how things should be. In a weird way being so close is relaxing, but my heart is pounding relentlessly in my chest all the same.

  “Crap, I’d better check on the food,” I say, rushing to get to the kitchen.

  VI.

  I somehow made it look easy, running into the kitchen to rescue some forgotten food on the stove and turning it into something edible.

  He has a way of distracting me just with his presence. Or in this case, probably the bigger distraction is that I’m actually in his house and am having a hard time believing it.

  Throughout the process of finally boiling the pasta, before plating it all up, he kept eyeing me. Almost in awe, as if I was performing some kind of magic. I wonder if it was just because I had again changed into his T-shirt, with nothing much underneath, or for another reason. I really ought to ask.

  Now that we’re done and the dishes are cleared away, we’re back on the sofa, exploring the eclectic, weird and wonderful collection on his iPod. One earbud each, we take turns to scroll through the song list and pick something.

  “I love this song,” I say, selecting The Beatles – ‘Girl’. He takes the iPod from my hand and puts it next to him on the sofa. His fingers run over mine, exploring the indents between my knuckles, following the veins on the back of my hand down to my wrist before turning my hand over and softly caressing my palm and fingers.

  The combination of his soft touch and the beautiful tune in my ear has turned me to mush. I try to compose myself but it’s no use, I’m hopelessly lost for words and my heart rate is up exponentially.

  He lets go of my hand and runs his finger through my hair. Then he guides my face in his direction. He looks at me with such tenderness, I forget to breathe.

  I wait, partially because I’d love to find out where he wants to take this, but mostly because I’m simply unable to move. He comes closer, with his hand slipping around my neck. I love the taste of his lips, the care with which he kisses me.

  Finally, I manage to react, even if my breathing is still letting me down. I grab hold of his hoodie and lift myself towards him. As focussed as he is, I am impatient. His arm wraps around my waist while he shifts around and leans back against the armrest of the sofa with me against him.

  Fully on top of him, I’m intoxicated. His hands on my back and his tongue against mine. It feels like we’re a couple of over-eager teenagers, unable to let go of our first taste of each other. We’re making out as if nothing else matters.

  It occurs to me that ordinarily this comparison would be just that, but in this case it’s not far off the truth. Although not by choice, it feels as if he saved up all this passion, just for me.

  He didn’t fully spell it out earlier, but I understood that he had fallen for me as hard as I had for him. It’s all such a beautiful coincidence.

  With the iPod now on shuffle, the mood changes on its own. From the beginning of Tim Minchin’s ‘Peace Anthem’, I start to giggle uncontrollably in his mouth.

  “This song…” I chuckle, it’s infectious.

  “Stop laughing, you’re tickling me!” He grins.

  I remove the earphone and attempt to keep a straight face while sitting up. After leaving the iPod on the table, I turn my focus back to him underneath me. The way he looks up at me with his eyes wide, expectantly, makes me forget my ill-timed sense of humour.

  His hands start to caress my bare thighs, while he continues to look into my eyes. He has to be the most patient man alive because it takes me seemingly forever to stop staring and actually move.

  “I wish you could see what I see right now,” I whisper.

  I lean down and unzip his hoodie in one smooth gesture. He tries to reach for a kiss but I’m a fraction of an inch too far away and just savouring the view.

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” he asks.

  I momentarily break eye contact, noticing the dark blue T-shirt my actions have just exposed. Or rather, I’m noticing what’s underneath, because in all the excitement it has ridden up a bit.

  “A dream I’ve had over and over,” I say.

  My hand reaches for the side of his belly, caressing him and lying back down against him for more kisses. I can feel him shiver, making me want to play with more of him. His side first, then reaching upwards under the stretched out T-shirt and running my fingertips softly over his chest.

  Just like Saturday night, I can’t get enough of how he feels. Then I relied only on touch. now I get to enjoy the desire in his eyes as he does mine. Looks can’t kill but they can definitely melt you and I think he’s feeling the effects as much as I am.

  There is just something rather special about being with a big man. The sensuality of it, the softness I can caress or dig my fing
ers into. It causes a kind of sensory overload unmatched by anything else I know.

  The prospect of feeling his whole body against mine with nothing in the way has me panting for air. I simply cannot understand how anyone would prefer hard muscle over all this.

  Impatient and greedy, I let my hands run over him freely. He doesn’t seem concerned anymore when I push his T-shirt up as far as it will go. Instead he’s focused on enjoying more of my body through what little I’m wearing.

  I’m glad he’s letting me see this time, his almost flawless skin with some brown hair along the centre of his torso. It’s tragic he’s shy about this, possibly even ashamed when he’s so irresistibly beautiful to me.

  Would he believe me if I told him? I’m not sure, but I can try to show him.

  I love the fact that when I lean down, his body is so accommodating and adjusts to mine. And when I sit back up to look at him, his short, excited breaths look more obvious; amplified even.

  Underneath me, the rough fabric of his jeans brushes against my most sensitive parts with every move he makes. All of it makes me giddy, and so very wet yet again. I struggle to remember the last time I lusted this much after one guy, over and over on the same day. Probably because that’s never happened before.

  He can’t stay still and neither can I. I ache for his hands, his lips, but more than that I need to be one with him. Never have I wanted something so much and been forced to wait. Normally a guy might want in my pants before I get the chance to change my mind.

  He grinds up against me and again his jeans hit me where it’s needed the most.

  “John, why do you torture me?”

  I cling onto him with one hand and let the other travel downwards. The moment I touch his crotch he groans loudly into my ear.

  Sitting up again, I swiftly remove my T-shirt. He glides his hands up my sides and carefully cups my breasts. His face already looks flushed and eyes are glazed over. But I want to see more desire, more pleasure, I aim for total desperation to match my own.

  “I love how you know to touch me just right,” I whisper.