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

by Sabrina York

Both men grinned.

  “Meet me in the saloon at two in the afternoon,” she said. “Don’t make me wait. I’ll have a surprise for you guys.”

  Before either of them could ask what she meant, Mercy hurried away, grabbing her clothes as she fled.

  Saturday night, Dutch checked to see if Mercy had returned. Nope. The parking space in front of her cabin was still empty. Earlier, she’d called Travis from Fast Fill, apologizing for not being able to work tonight, explaining that she’d made a double batch of chili the previous day so he should be covered.

  Dutch wondered if she’d car trouble, or how that could even be possible. He’d overhauled her damn clunker, giving it new guts. When she’d insisted on paying him, he’d refused, not wanting her money. He needed her to be here.

  He liked Mercy. She got him. There were no awkward moments between them. Being with her was like being with a guy. Easy and uncomplicated, only better. She made him feel so fucking powerful. Needed. Wanted.

  He strode into the saloon, which was filled with too much smoke and rowdy bikers. Travis leaned against the back counter, looking as gloomy as Dutch felt.

  “Hey,” he said. “Mercy’s still not back. She call? Is she having trouble with her car?”

  Travis lifted his shoulders. “The last time I talked to her, she said she couldn’t make it tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he shot back. “I guess she’s busy.”

  “Doing what?” With who?

  As if they were thinking the same thing, he and Travis scoured the crowd. The blond biker was here, so clearly he wasn’t with her.

  “Did we do something wrong at the picnic?” Dutch asked. “She’s been different since then.”

  “I don’t know.” Travis pushed his fingers through his hair, dragging it back. “What the hell could we have done wrong?”

  “Maybe it’s not us. Could be she’s got PMS.”

  “Yo,” a bruising biker called out. “I need a brew.”

  “Be with you in a sec,” Travis said. To Dutch, he mumbled, “We’ll know for sure tomorrow, when she gives us her surprise.”

  For the first time in nearly two years, Travis shaved on Sunday and took pains with his hair and clothes. Not as though he was going on a date. He simply wanted to look good and to smell nice for Mercy. She deserved that, and so much more, from any man.

  He reached the saloon at the same time Dutch did. He’d shaved too. Pretending not to notice each other’s grooming, they hurried up the steps to the front door.

  Inside, a bluesy instrumental played. She’d pulled the shades down, which cast the large room in shadows. The only light came from flickering candles placed on a group of tables that circled one in the center.

  Dutch whispered, “Holy shit.”

  Travis elbowed him, not wanting anything to break the magic Mercy had created. Holy shit didn’t begin to cover it.

  She sat in the center of the middle table, legs folded back, naked as the day she’d been born, except for her black spike heels. Four inches, at least. Her hair rippled down her back in silken waves. She’d wrapped a black scarf around her eyes—a makeshift blindfold—and held her wrists behind her, a rope looped loosely around them.

  Blood pounded in Travis’s ears. He moved closer. So did Dutch. They stopped at the same time. Travis figured Dutch had finally seen what he had…the leather strap next to her leg.

  Turning her head to the side, she purred, “Make me surrender.”

  Mercy heard their harsh breathing, sensed their surprise. Good. She had their full attention, as she never would again. Today they’d be hers, no one else’s. A promise she’d made to herself.

  Travis reached her first. Mercy recognized his stride, knew his scent. With his hand on her throat, he lowered his mouth to hers, slipping his tongue inside.

  Mercy whimpered in delight, parting her lips to him. As Dutch neared, she arched her back, needing his touch.

  It was everything she required, soft and strong, light yet intense as he fondled her breasts and plucked her nipples.

  With his fingers splayed on her belly, Travis ran his hand over her mound to her clit. Mercy trembled at the rush of sensations he produced. Dutch slipped his fingers between her cheeks, concentrating on her anus, arousing Mercy beyond restraint.

  She wanted him to use her there again. She wouldn’t be satisfied until both of them screwed her raw—but only after they’d disciplined her. A game Travis had started but hadn’t continued. He didn’t know how much Mercy would gladly endure, the contents of her fantasies. Leather straps, whips, and brutal corsets. Him blindfolding and dominating her until she felt oh-so vulnerable and fully used.

  Arousal stirred in her cunt, moisture dampening her plump folds.

  Travis’s fingers slid down her dewy cleft. He broke their kiss and pressed his cheek to hers. His was hot and smooth.

  Ohmygod. He’d shaved.

  Maybe he’s starting a new life, the same as you.

  Sorrow pricked Mercy’s chest, the ache sharp and deep. She pushed it away. This was about having a good time. Her last chance for it.

  “You’re sure about this?” Travis murmured. “You want us to use the strap?”

  Mercy nodded. “Punish me. I’ve been bad.”

  He chuckled. “Oh baby, you don’t know how good you’re being.”

  She glowed at his endearment and naked enthusiasm. With Dutch’s help, Travis guided Mercy to her feet and quickly tied her hands in front.

  “Lean over the table,” he ordered, “back arched, ass high.”

  “Legs spread,” Dutch added.

  Approval and desire sluiced through Mercy. A pulse ticked deep within her cunt. She assumed the position, her skin heated with excitement. The strap made a faint rasping sound as one of them pulled it from the table. Blindfolded, she couldn’t be certain which. Her mind saw Travis, then Dutch wielding it. The end flying up, suspended for a moment, before it came—

  A hand on her waist halted her thoughts. The crack of leather against her skin registered a second before the burning sting. Mercy’s mouth hung open on a gasp that wouldn’t come. She was too breathless and stirred, then comforted by the surge of warmth.

  Dutch or Travis brought the strap down again, this time slightly lower, marking a new part of her. Delivering a feeling of wicked abandon and incredible heat. Mercy swallowed and lifted her ass, inviting punishment.

  Three more times the leather touched her, both men breathing as hard as she did. Perspiration coated her skin. The strap fell to the floor. Something followed, making a soft rustling sound. Mercy sensed it was a tee. Boots clunked against the wood. Socks, jeans, underwear dropped.

  Fingers probed her anus and cunt. So many at once, Mercy didn’t know which belonged to Dutch, which to Travis, who mumbled something beneath his breath then fell quiet.

  Mercy sensed he’d seen the condoms she’d brought.

  She heard him tear the packet, pictured him rolling the slick latex over his rigid cock. She trembled as it touched her inner thigh. A moan tore from her as he entered, fully and deeply, in one coarse thrust.

  His control at an end.

  It would return, Mercy knew, though not until they were finished. She ground her ass into his groin, wanting him to use her, brand her so she’d never forget this moment.

  Travis rode her for a long time, his grunts eager and shameless. His shaft thickened within her. Passion, tenderness, need, and heartache raced through Mercy. Desire won. Her body welcomed his, her climax growing close, though not quite there.

  Travis brushed his fingers over her clit.

  She cried out. He came when she did, pumping furiously. Mercy joined him at the peak of pleasure, soaring higher than she ever had, the room spinning, her body tense one moment, limp the next.

  Panting, Travis cradled her close, giving Mercy what she really wanted. Intimacy and warmth.

  Dutch wasn’t as sentimental, his sighs frustrated.

  Poor guy. “Rest
,” Mercy whispered to Travis.

  He kissed her shoulder then, on a weary huff, pulled out.

  Dutch mounted Mercy immediately, his cock slightly thicker than Travis’s, though not as long. Their lovemaking was different too. Dutch’s thrusts were slow and smooth. He didn’t clutch her hips as he pumped, but played with her nipples and dragged his fingers over her nub.

  Mercy’s pussy tightened around his shaft, increasing the friction between them. His rod grew bulkier, his thrusts more demanding, his groin smacking into her ass. She fisted her fingers and fought her approaching climax, needing this to last.

  As though he couldn’t wait any longer, Dutch teased her nub. A torrent of feeling raced through her.

  They came within seconds of each other, his shout the loudest, her sigh the longest. Both of them spent.

  When their gasps and moans had drifted away, Dutch rubbed his cheek against her back. The second he pulled out of her, Travis helped Mercy up. He untied her hands and pulled off the blindfold.

  She blinked at the faint candlelight.

  Yawning, Travis eased a strand of hair from her cheek. “You okay?”

  No. She’d never be all right again. Mercy memorized his exquisite features and dark hair, wonderfully mussed.

  Travis smiled self-consciously at her scrutiny. “What?”

  Mercy whispered, “You shaved.”

  He rubbed his chin. “You don’t like it?”

  She loved everything about him and Dutch. Mercy looked over. “You too.”

  Dutch’s complexion darkened with his blush. “Yeah, well, didn’t want to look like a bum.”

  Mercy laughed softly then blinked back tears. “God, how I’m going to miss you guys.”

  Travis’s hand stilled on her neck. “What?”

  Mercy’s throat trembled with her hard swallow. Her eyes shone in the bobbing flames. “I’m leaving tonight. Jill and her boyfriend Carl are going to help me move out. I’ll—”

  “What?” Travis interrupted, his fatigue vanishing, gut twisting.

  “Moving?” Dutch said. “Why?”

  Mercy looked as though she wanted to bolt. She backed up a step and murmured, “We can keep playing around until I do. Have some fun before—”

  “What?” Travis snapped. “You’re leaving in a few hours, but you want us to fuck around until you do?”

  Her chin quivered. “I can’t do this anymore.” She looked from him to Dutch. “With either of you.”

  “Why?” Travis asked.

  “Tell us what we did,” Dutch said. “We won’t do it again. Christ almighty, we can work this out. You don’t have to leave.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She pointed at Travis. “You said two months. I’ve already been here one. You may be able to screw around and turn your back on people when you’re through, but I can’t. I lied. It’s killing me. I like both of you too much, always have. I’d rather cut this off now than get in any deeper.”

  “Mercy, please.” Travis’s chest and throat hurt so bad he could barely speak. “Calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

  “No.” She backed farther away and grabbed her bathrobe from one of the chairs. “I can’t be like you guys. I tried. It didn’t work. I like you too—”

  “Hell, we feel the same about you,” Travis blurted.

  Dutch nodded.

  “We don’t want you to leave,” Travis said. “Stay as long as you want. You don’t even have to pay rent.”

  “This isn’t about the money,” she cried. “Or fucking around. What am I supposed to do when you two meet someone and fall in love? Stay here and watch? Listen as you gush about another woman? God.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Do you think I’m that brave? I’m not. I can’t do this. I have to go.”

  Travis got to the front door before she did and blocked it. “I can’t let you leave.”

  “Neither can I.” Dutch stood next to him.

  Mercy covered her eyes and sank to the floor. “Why are you making this so damn hard? Do you think so little of me?”

  “Little?” Travis dropped to his knees next to her. The thought of losing Mercy was more than he could bear. He spoke from the heart, something he never though he’d do. “You’re the finest women I’ve ever known. Good god, you have to stay.”

  “Yeah,” Dutch chimed in. “What would we do without you?”

  She looked shocked, then cautious. “You mean for sex, cooking, cleaning?”

  “Hell, I can always hire someone to work here,” Travis said. “And no matter what you’ve heard, Dutch and I don’t live for sex. We’re talking about you. Mercy Robinson. The woman we want.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth. She regarded both of them. “You guys mean it?”

  “Fucking A,” Dutch said.

  “Why would we lie?” Travis asked. “Do you think so little of us?”

  “No. It’s just that…”

  “What?” they both asked.

  She dropped her hands. “How long do you want me to stay?”

  “There’s no time limit,” Travis said first. “Unless you get tired of us.”

  “Tired of you guys?” She laughed then started to cry again. “Are we going to be lovers? Coworkers? What?”

  “We’ll be what we are now,” Travis said. “Lovers and friends. We’ll start with that and see where it takes us.”

  Her mouth trembled. “What about other women?”

  Aw, Mercy. Travis thumbed mascara from her cheek. “There aren’t any, baby. There won’t be for me.”

  “Same here,” Dutch said.

  She threw her arms around them, hugging fiercely. “If you want to set up ground rules, that’s fine. I swear, I’ll follow them. I’ll—”

  “Shhh.” Travis stroked her hair. “We’ll take it as it comes. See what happens.”

  She pressed her cheek to his and whispered, “You’re sure?”

  Only about one thing. Now that he’d found Mercy, he couldn’t lose her.

  Epilogue

  Thirteen months later…

  The ovens pinged with heat, warming the mild August day. Scents of cinnamon, caramel, chocolate, apples, and bananas wafted to the front of the shop. Tourists and bikers lined up in two lines, three deep at the counter.

  Mercy finished another tray for the display case, then hurried to help Jill. They were both dressed in cowgirl hats, boots, jeans, and white tops with fluttery sleeves. The uniform Mercy had decided upon for her shop—Sweet Mercy! In addition to her cupcakes, she offered other baked goods, candies, and fountain drinks.

  Travis and Dutch had converted one of the unused cabins for this place and had remodeled another, expanding it for their home. She’d worked tirelessly beside her guys, learning about them.

  Not once had they held orgies at this place. Both guys had howled at the notion even as they puffed up at having such cool reputations.

  Men.

  Dutch’s real first name was Dwayne, which he loathed. Allergic to shellfish, he nevertheless adored tuna in any way, shape, or form. It took him forever to wake up in the morning and only a moment to nod off at night. He loved most sports except hockey. He’d gotten his spectacular tattoo after his divorce from Sara.

  “Guess it made me feel like macho man,” he’d confessed.

  Despite the acrimonious union, Dutch had spoken kindly of Sara, as though she were no more than a stranger he once knew. He treated Mercy as his friend, confiding his dream of expanding the repair shop to include automobiles, adding three more mechanics to handle the demand. He spoke of his desire to travel since he’d never been out of Oregon.

  He treated her as his lover, craving Mercy’s body and heart as much as she yearned for his.

  Travis was no different, though it took him months to open up to her, and only when Dutch couldn’t join them one night. Although Mercy figured Travis had dough—given that he owned this property—his background had stunned her.

  Travis’s dad was a political bigwig in San Francisco, worth more than a b
illion bucks. His two brothers were corporate attorneys. His mom an heiress.

  Travis had followed the path created for him from birth, graduating from Yale, succeeding in finance, mingling with the one-percent, dating women as wealthy as he was. None of it satisfied. Travis couldn’t make power and money his god as the rest of his family had. He craved a connection, tenderness, simple human warmth.

  “I’m not certain I know how to love,” he’d admitted. “No one ever taught me how…I don’t want to fail or lose you.”

  Wasn’t possible. Mercy adored him too much, and knew he felt the same about her. It was in his kiss and caress, the welcoming smile he gave her each morning, how he pressed his face to her neck at night.

  As with Dutch, she’d brought Travis to his knees without knowing how she’d accomplished such a miracle.

  She encouraged his closeness, and for him to reach out to his family. Mercy knew Travis still wanted their approval and understanding of the man he really was. His parents and brothers weren’t exactly gushing in welcome or planning to ever visit the saloon. But at least they were finally speaking. Becoming a part of each other’s lives once more.

  Smiling at the last biker, Mercy handed him his change. He’d bought two of her molten chocolate cupcakes, three pralines, and a strawberry smoothie to wash everything down.

  “Bridgette should be here in five or so,” Mercy said to Jill. Bridgette had been their coworker at Fast Fill. Now all three of them worked here, their convenience store days in the past. “Think you can manage?”

  “Go.” Jill rested her hand on her swollen belly, the baby due in a few weeks. She’d married Carl nine months ago. Mercy, Travis, and Dutch had decorated the saloon for the newlyweds’ reception.

  “You’re sure?” Mercy asked.

  “Outside of having to saw these boots off my feet, I’m good.”

  “Sit.” Mercy pulled out a white wrought-iron chair. She’d decorated her store to resemble an ice cream parlor from times past. “Tell the customers to wait on themselves. They can choose what they want and leave their money on the counter until Bridgette gets here.”

  Jill waddled to the chair and took a load off.