What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 8)

by Sabrina York

  He drove into me, pulling me against him firmly enough to leave bruises, as though he thought he might penetrate whatever nebulous boundary there was between us, to make me a part of him again. I jerked my heels into his hips, hard, to feel him in me that much deeper, to try to do my part to connect us in a way that I couldn’t break. He hurt me with how deeply he forced himself, but in that pain was pleasure, self-flagellation, and a sense that for the first time in years, I was whole.

  My nails bit into his back as I cried out, and he moaned into my collar bone. He flexed inside me. The twitch was so familiar, so personal to him, I knew he was about to come. I needed that. I needed that orgasm to be the first of many apologies, and as my hips slid a little further off the lip of the washer, he pushed deeper, clutched me tighter. His lips found mine. He arched himself into me the way he knew I liked, his arm around the back of my neck, and the other hand angling my hips.

  He moaned for me, and his skin slid against mine, alternating with the fabric of my disheveled clothes. I begged him to take what he wanted, to let me give him something nice, to come for me. The machine vibrated underneath me as he shuddered into me, and I cried out with him as his orgasm overtook him, and sent me into my own. His hands shook slightly as he picked me up enough to slide me back onto the washer. He rested his forehead against my shoulder and touched my cheek, but wouldn’t give up his grip on the small of my back. I kissed his cheek and smiled. “The washer’s working, at least,” I said. “Do you want to go upstairs until it’s done?”

  He nodded, his nose bumping my collarbone, and backed away. For a moment I felt deprived, almost empty, without his warmth. He smoothed my skirt back down and picked up his shorts from the filthy floor before helping me down.

  Halfway up the first flight of stairs, I remembered. “Shit, the water’s probably boiling for that tea.” He took my hand and pulled me forward, and we shouldered through my stubborn door together.

  Thankfully, the water hadn’t boiled over. Hadn’t boiled at all, in fact. I had been so upset I’d forgotten to turn it on. I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Do you want me to start it for you now?”

  He shook his head. “Truthfully, at this point, I’m probably too tired to enjoy it the way it deserves. In the morning?” I nodded, went to get my nightclothes, and put on some music.

  I threw on an undershirt and pajama shorts, and stretched at length. Truth be told, I’d pushed myself harder at work tonight than I had in weeks. I’d be sore in the morning, but at least I had a few days off before I had to be back. There was a knot behind the back of my kneecap that I had never really been able to stretch on my own.

  In the old days, I had good results doing supported stretches with a partner, but things with Ben felt too raw to fall back on old patterns. What if he realized how different I was, and decided that whatever possessed him to confess his love was just idealized memories of who I was, crashing against the sensualized ideas of who I’d become, and right before his brother’s wedding? I caught a glimpse of Ben stretching in the hall.

  “I like this song,” he said, without a trace of shyness now that it was just us, even though he was still standing in his underwear.

  I stretched my shoulders and paced. I thought I might doze off otherwise. As I stepped back toward him, the song changed, and he performed the series of arm movements that began our sophomore duet. He pouted as I ignored my cue, and jumped back in to turn me in a pirouette. I laughed. “What are you doing? You know I can’t do this shit anymore.”

  “Sure you can.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. He spun me again and lifted me into the fish dive that had been my favorite. At the last minute, I remembered to tense myself so he wouldn’t hurt his back. “See?”

  “If you give me a concussion, you’re paying the medical bills. I still can’t afford insurance right now.” I tried to think of an easy way to disengage from the lift without making him drop me. He finally tipped me back up and set me on my feet.

  “I promise. If I give you a concussion, I’ll pay the medical bills. Now that we have the formalities straightened out—” he swept my feet out from under me to lift me again. I laughed. I’d missed this kind of horseplay. The last few years we worked together, we’d been too busy with rehearsals, and too concerned with injuries to play. But it reminded me of the first few times we danced together, when we were excited by everything we could do with our bodies. Every bit of my weight he could lift, every last inch further I could sink into my extension with his support, felt intoxicating.

  We felt that again, when we learned how to touch each other some years later, but it had never rivaled those early days of trying to learn new variations without our teachers’ supervision, getting dropped on the floor, accidentally leg-sweeping each other, or kicking each others’ faces.

  He supported me in a pas de chat, a short jump, and set me gingerly on my feet. His hands lingered on my hips, and he spun me to face him. Nose to nose, he paused and kissed me.

  For a moment, I flexed, sure that he was just trying to put me off my guard enough to sweep me into a dip, then tease me for my lack of coordination. Our first few kisses had been like that. But his kiss was insistent, and I settled for wrapping my arms around him tightly, to catch myself if he tried anything. His lips parted, and I felt him chuckle into my mouth.

  He pulled back slightly and tracked his hands along my sides. “You caught me. No fooling you.” He held me until I put my hands over his to push him away. The horseplay reminded me that my night had been very sticky.

  “Do you mind if I shower? Three baby wipes later, I still felt bloody, and that was before…” I didn’t quite know how to phrase it.

  “There’s time later,” he said, and tugged the hem of my shirt up, a weightless grin on his face. His fingers brushed my ribs, and I hurried to suck in the gut I’d put on since leaving the company. His skin pressed against me, warm above his underwear, but lightly enough that I felt it tug against my skin’s tackiness, rather than gliding along it. I shivered slightly, and he let the cloth fall out of his hands, his eyes reflecting hurt at my withdrawal.

  The change in his carriage was scarily abrupt. He stiffened and shifted his weight to lean away from me. I mentally swore at myself. He obviously thought I was just playing nice, but wasn’t comfortable undressing in front of him, maybe even that what happened in the laundry room meant nothing to me. I sighed and tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  He turned away from me a bit and looked at the tea bag I set out for him, not willing to look up, but probably not finding anything else to look at in my sparse apartment. His jaw tensed, and I recognized the set of his lips, the carefully cultivated ‘what look?’ look he saved for when he was preparing to walk away from a fight.

  I frowned, not understanding, but trying to work it through. Maybe it wasn’t just him misunderstanding my flinch—he’d never been that sensitive to my body language. Maybe dancing had made him oblivious to the genuine emotions that leaked from a body.

  Or maybe he had what he needed, including an excuse to pull away. I didn’t think regret would settle in this soon, but…I had to at least hope he’d gotten the closure he wanted. He could leave with something positive to show for the night, and I’d be back at the club tomorrow, same as usual. I nodded, convinced that was all that it was.

  What had I thought would happen? He was probably going back home after the wedding, and I had no intention of living in a small town again. And with our whole…history…the idea of us making small talk on a dinner-and-a-movie date was just ludicrous. No. It had just taken me longer to catch up with where I knew his mind was. We had no future. Only the chance to say goodbye.

  “I really need to bathe,” I said, taking pains to avoid looking at him as I shouldered the bathroom door open and turned the faucet on. I tried to keep my hurt out of my voice. I wanted nothing more than a long bath right now, but a shower was a much better idea. At the same time, I wasn’t sure what had happened, and
a bath might give me time to think. I stuck my hand under the water and plugged the drain when I made up my mind. I sat on the edge of the tub as it filled and curled toward my knees to stretch out my bad leg. I stood and stripped off my clothes.

  I stretched more fully, as best I could with the limited floor space. I braced a foot on the counter, arching my chest over it and away from it, feeling muscles I hadn’t used in months stretch and open. I supposed I should be more concerned with Ben’s seed, moist between my thighs, but it would get rinsed off in the tub anyways, so why worry? I shifted my weight and the angle of my hips so that my leg was extended behind me, and repeated the forward-backward torso bend to stretch every inch of me. I lowered my torso toward my standing leg and raised the other leg from the counter into an intense stretch.

  A hand slid down my back and hips. Another caught my top leg and helped support the stretch. As I had so many times in the past, I held on to Ben’s legs as he leaned backward, pulling me deeper into the stretch. I pushed my weight away from him. I breathed deeply and eyed his foot, the only part of him in ready view. He released my ankle, and I straightened my torso until I could lower my foot to the floor.

  “Can I come, too?” He smiled, with only a little nervousness in it. He seemed to be trying to put me at my ease. I’d never been good at de-escalating situations, and if he acted as defensive now as he had several minutes ago, he’d end up on the other side of a locked door. I glanced toward the water and turned off the faucet.

  “Sure.” My tub was tiny, certainly not big enough for two, but I wasn’t about to turn him away. I stepped into it, and snapped his underwear’s elastic. He chuckled and slipped out of them. I knelt at the faucet end of the tub and let him have the comfortable end. I began rinsing my face and chest as he got in the water. With any luck, that would help settle me. I couldn’t feel like this was him reaching out to me, not if there was still a chance he was just getting what he could before walking away.

  He adjusted his legs in the tub, and pulled me toward him. I curled into him, mostly out of the water, but entirely lost in his flesh. He wiped a damp strand of hair back from my face, and sighed. I wrapped my arm around his ribs and squeezed. He imitated me, draping his long arms around my shoulder.

  I felt shaky. I knew we should talk, but to do that, someone had to start talking, and I didn’t think it could be me. My knee twinged, and I remembered him talking to the doctor while I cried. I shut my eyes, and pressed my face against him.

  “Lani? Lani?” He tapped my shoulder and I realized he had been speaking.

  “Hmm?” I snapped my eyes up to him.

  “I said, ‘Where do we go from here?’” He stroked my cheek. “I’m not sure quite where to pick up after this long, but I don’t want you to leave me again.” I glanced down. There was something loaded in the question, and I wasn’t quite sure how quickly he wanted a response. But at the same time, a shred of hope. Me leaving him. Not him leaving me. Maybe that wasn’t hope. Maybe it was an attack.

  “What do you want from me? What does that entail?” His brows snapped together. “Are you just asking if you can have my new number, or see me another time? Or are you asking me to drop what life I have here, and move back home with you?” My speech accelerated as every fear that had struck me since we had made love forced its way out of my mouth at once. His lips twitched, and I thought it was anger, so I pulled away. He reached for me, and I shoved his hands away until I realized he was laughing.

  “This is home, Lani; I live in town. And I want everything you want to give me: I want your number, I want to see you again, and I want to learn what your life here is. Most of all, though, I want to know that you won’t push me away. There’s so much different about you, and every time that thought hits me, I hate myself for not being there to see you change. I want us to change together, whatever that means for whatever future we want. I’m not demanding anything of you, and whatever happens, this has been one of the most important nights of my life. But please, promise me that if you think I can’t fit into your life, you’ll talk to me about it before you disappear.” He squeezed my hand. “There hasn’t been anyone else, you know. No one else has been in the trenches with me, or shaped me as much.”

  I thought about it. “I haven’t really wanted anything in a long time. After I left, I hoped I might get an idea of something to want, but that never happened. But I don’t want to leave the club.” I met his eyes squarely. “If you still want me in your life, you have to accept that I want that.”

  He smiled. “Deal, so long as I can come in and watch sometimes.”

  I flushed.

  “Deal.”

  Malia/Kalani, and the staff of the Queen of Clubs will return in Queen of Clubs: Tori, coming soon. Each season of Queen of Clubs is serialized monthly, so check back frequently for news on upcoming titles, or sign up for Katie’s mailing list.

  Authors and readers alike depend on reviews. Ten minutes sharing your thoughts could lead someone to their new favorite book, or steer them from one that’s not their cup of tea. Every time you review a book you’ve finished, someone gets a blowjob. Support blowjobs; review Queen of Clubs today!

  More Erotic Romances By Katie de Long

  Queen of Clubs

  The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don’t worry, these girls won’t ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.

  Season One:

  Cora

  Malia

  Tori

  Krissy & Athena

  Crystal

  Marina

  Princess of Thieves

  Run with Anna as she tries to escape her past, and hold her own among mobsters, spooks, and low-lifes. There are no happy endings not seized at the end of a gun. When her chance for happily ever after comes, will she be strong enough to take it?

  Incognito (Coming Soon)

  Impregnable (Coming Soon)

  Rex Roderick, Sex Detective

  Rex Roderick, sex detective, doesn’t want that reputation. It’s not his fault most of a private investigator’s cases come back to the horizontal mambo, at some point. And Rex has a special skill for attracting the seediest, sexiest, most sensationalized cases LA has to offer. Trafficked girls on the run with their boss’ sex doll, rogue sexual therapists, and more.

  Escape From The Sex Dungeon (Coming Soon)

  Angry Dragon (Coming Soon)

  To keep up to date with new releases, and get sneak peaks of many other stories coming soon, sign up for Katie’s mailing list. Katie also shares extra content, including book reviews and extras like dancer playlists on her website, delongkatie.com.

  About the Author

  Katie de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that’s when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there’s so many bookmarks in her library.

  Queen of Clubs Glossary of Terms

  Airdance: A lapdance or private dance done with as little physical contact as possible, often none. Required by law in some areas, or sometimes done simply because a dancer is not comfortable having closer contact with a particular client.

  Asshole Tax: A practice of disincentivising bad behavior by levying additional fees on customers who don’t comply with club rules, or who violate a performer’s boundaries.

  Boner man: also Sweatpants Boner Man. A man who patronizes a club wearing clothes deliberately chosen to impede the performer as little as possible, to put as much sensation on his genitals as possible. Performers often regard these clients with derision, and the additional intimacy as a violation, since there’s a difference between dancing for a man whose clothes prevent you from feeling every ridge on his penis, and a
man whose clothes do force you to feel every ridge on his penis. A man wearing basketball pants, exceedingly thin slacks, pajama pants, or sweatpants may find himself getting an airdance as a dancer seeks to avoid having to be in contact with his erection. The term may also be applied to other problematic behaviors, such as men who lick performer’s breasts, or attempt to touch performers without permission.

  Bumper Music: A song used to fill in the time at the beginning/end of sets, when one performer is gathering their tips and clothing, and another performer is making their way to the stage, putting down their purse, cleaning the pole, preparing to perform. May be a set clip of a song, or may be whichever song the DJ wants to play for 30-60 seconds.

  Buy someone’s time: To pay a performer for their time without purchasing a dance or private room. May be simply giving them a bill every few songs while talking, or may be a set rate agreed on in advance, for instance $100 per half hour.

  Buy someone out (of a set)/Buy out of rotation: A practice of tipping a DJ to skip a dancer’s place in the rotation. A dancer may buy all their sets out because it’s more profitable to work the floor, and a customer may buy a performer’s set out because they wish to socialize with the performer uninterrupted.

  Cattle Call/Dollar Dances: A practice used in some clubs to get customers excited over their options and get them primed to spend money during primetime. At a set time, usually at the busiest part of the night, all performers may be required to go to the main floor, or the main stage, for customers to look at them all at once. Additionally, they may be required to offer mini-private dances—’dollar dances’—for every dollar customers offer them during the duration of the cattle call. These dances will not last the full song as a normal one does, but will be shuffled around every 15-25 seconds, to encourage customers to put more money forward. Often, music such as ‘Girls, Girls, Girls,’ is used, leading to a lot of dancers, especially ones who are pulled away from private dances to get paid less during the event, to regard this practice with irritation. Performers currently in private rooms are not usually required to participate, as they are making the club far more money by continuing to work their current client.