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

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What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 8) Page 94

by Sabrina York


  “Thanks.” I’m surprisingly touched that he’s being so helpful, even though he is acting a little cordial, all things considered.

  “I was pleased with the way the apartment looked last night. Do that once each week, and you’ll earn your keep.” His steely blue eyes latch onto me. “Any problems finding what you needed?”

  The tantalizing way he’s looking at me, its obvious he knows I came across his stash, and it pleases him. I almost choke on a mouthful of eggs, but catch myself before he can detect that his words jolted me. “Your closet’s huge, but it was easy enough.”

  “If you ever find anything in there you want to borrow, all you have to do is ask.” He winks before shoveling a fork filled with eggs in his mouth.

  Shit. This is going to be much harder than I thought.

  The day’s filled with calls to potential employers, most of which have already filled the position or require a four year education. Frustrated, I visit the grocery store, then spend a few hours trying to make the plain bedroom feel more like mine. I eventually give in and flip the TV on, mindlessly scrolling through the channels and eating carrot sticks until I fall asleep.

  I start with the sound of the front door slamming against the wall. High-pitched giggles pierce the air. I scoot up from the couch to see Erik embracing a rather curvy blonde sporting a strip of white fabric that doesn’t leave one to wonder what she would look like completely naked. Although she’s wearing a bit too much makeup, her blond hair is long and silky, spilling across her large breasts, and her skin’s a beautiful shade of olive. She’s gorgeous, and way too old for Erik.

  They don’t seem to notice me watching from the couch as Erik lifts her by her impossibly small waist to perch on the edge of the island. Blondie wraps her legs around him, her bright red heels and matching manicured fingers moving around behind his back as they begin to make out. I can’t see her face behind Erik, but I can hear her heavy breaths and see her long, slender legs locking around him like he’s a fly caught in her web.

  I become mesmerized by the way they rock together as they kiss—dry humping as my sister Megan would call it—their mouths every bit as insatiable as their wandering hands. About the time Blondie removes Erik’s shirt and begins to trace his smooth chest with her tongue, I decide I need to bolt. Still, I can’t move other than to grab a pillow and hold it in my heated lap. If I get up now, they’ll know exactly what kind of pervert I was to watch them this long without saying anything. My other option is to pretend I was sleeping, though I doubt they’ll fall for the lie.

  The woman’s long fingernails disappear beneath the waistline of Erik’s jeans, grabbing onto his ass while he reaches down to open a drawer at his side. I duck my head behind the safety of the couch when her face suddenly becomes visible, though her eyes are shut as Erik runs his mouth up the side of her neck.

  A few long, drawn-out moments later, Blondie screams with pleasure. When I gather the courage to look again, Erik’s looking down, watching himself slam into her as she rides him.

  “You like that?” he asks between huffing breaths.

  “God, yes. You’re fucking amazing,” Blondie answers, panting.

  Clutching the pillow in my hands, I’m hit with an unexpected, raging surge of jealousy.

  That could be me if I would just give in.

  Unable to bear watching them any longer, I lay back on the couch and cover the pillow over my head, drowning out their noises of bliss as I try to reason with myself. Just because I may have gotten a touch turned on watching Erik get it on with another woman doesn’t mean I want to have sex with him. He’s no good for me. If I’m going to continue being his roommate, nothing else will ever happen between us. It can’t.

  Blondie makes one last screech that probably woke anyone in the apartment building who isn’t used to Erik’s trysts. Erik grunts loudly, and the slapping sounds stop. Once it seems safe to peek again, Blondie’s slithering into her dress with a wide smile as Erik zips up his pants. She pulls him in for one last, sultry kiss. Her lips are still lingering in the space between them when she says, “I had fun tonight. Maybe next time we can convince your roommate to join us instead of just watching.”

  Blondie turns to wink at me before grabbing her purse and waltzing out the door. By the time Erik regards me with one of his grins that lets the world know he’s completely full of himself, I’m seriously paralyzed to the couch, staring at him in horror.

  Erik’s dark laughter follows him to his bedroom.

  By the next day, I’M convinced Erik asked me to move in with him as some kind of sick game to see how long it will take to break me, before I agree to have sex with him again. I wait until I know he’s gone to classes before sneaking out to the kitchen, wanting to avoid the awkward questions and explanations that will be coming next time we’re face to face.

  But he’s waiting for me in the kitchen with a plate of his delicious eggs, shirtless once again.

  I stop in place, the temperature of my face spiking through the roof.

  He raises one dark brow. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” I snap, refusing to step any farther.

  “Not today.” When he realizes I’m not going to accept the plate, he sets it down with a devilish grin. “Look. If you’re embarrassed over what happened last night, don’t be. If you had only said something, Maura and I would’ve been more than happy to have you play along.”

  “We’ve been through this. I already told you that I’m not having sex with you again, Erik. If you keep harassing me, this isn’t going to work.”

  “You never said anything about having sex with others. Maura would’ve been more than happy to exclude me. She’s done it before.”

  It dawns on me just how many women Erik has probably slept with before our romp in the alley. Suddenly I feel like the stereotypical notch in the bedpost. How did I get myself into this situation? I cover my face with my hands, moaning, and head back to my room.

  The remainder of the week I keep myself as busy as possible with my never-ending job search. My friends are all too busy with work and school to stop over, which is totally understandable, so I test my limits on how far I can wander from the apartment on my own. I become pretty skilled at figuring out the subway system thanks to an app Jewels recommended. It’s amazing how many things there are to see around the city without spending a dime.

  I finally score an interview with a deli down the street late Thursday afternoon, but can only understand every other word the owner speaks in a thick Russian accent and have to withdraw my application. Otherwise the job hunting continues to look pretty bleak, even after I join a few websites that boast available opportunities in the city.

  Whenever I know Erik’s going to be home, I either find an excuse to leave the apartment or hide out in my bedroom. It’s not ideal, and I can see how much it amuses Erik whenever we do run into each other. Yet I begin to feel like the arrangement may actually work.

  Friday night I have plans to attend the opening of a new club in the Meatpacking District with Chloe and Jewels, sans any guys. Theo took his sister to the upper part of the state to celebrate her birthday, and Adam decides he doesn’t want to be the only testosterone among the group.

  I’m finishing up the final touches of eyeliner when there’s a knock at my door.

  “Yeah?” I call out.

  The door creaks open. Erik takes my low cut dress in with a smoldering gaze. “You look good enough to eat. Hot date?”

  “Yep,” I say, turning from him to add lip gloss. Avoiding his sultry looks seems to be the key to preventing myself from giving in. Because hearing his “eating” comment just adds sparks to my belly.

  He steps into my room, resting his elbow on the dresser, watching me. “Is it your plan to completely ignore me the entire time you’re living here?”

  I sigh deeply. He’s like a child, always looking for attention. “Only as long as you continue to make sexual innuendoes. Otherwise, it
’s actually possible for us to be friends.”

  “In that case, as friends, would it be inappropriate for me to ask that you accompany me to a Broadway show tomorrow night? It’s a requirement for one of my general credits. I’d go alone, but then I’d have to spend the night warding off pesky advances.”

  “I can see how that would be bothersome.” I glance back at him, smirking. “What, Maura’s busy?”

  “She’s just someone I occasionally hook up with and Broadway shows aren’t her style. Besides, she’d be too much of a distraction.”

  I fluff my hair as I consider his offer. Chloe has a gig in Jersey, and Jewels wants to spend the night in with Adam. With Theo out of town, I really don’t have any other options. Plus I really do want to take in a show on Broadway. It seems to be one of those things in New York that everyone has to experience at least once. “How much are the tickets?”

  “I’ve got it.” He heads back toward the doorway. “Be ready to go by five. We’re going to dinner first.”

  He’s out of the room by the time I realize, in a round-about way, I inadvertently just agreed to a date without even saying yes.

  Saturday morning I sleep off a brutal hangover before heading out in search of a simple dress for the show with Erik. I read online that people wear a wide variety of fashion to these things, but among the few items I packed, none of them seem appropriate. I find a sleeveless dress on a clearance rack with a high neckline and knee-length hem that’s fashionable while covering enough to keep Erik from gawking.

  I’m ready to go a few minutes before five and find Erik in the kitchen, dressed in a blazer and cuffed shorts with a pair of slip-ons. Although still maddeningly attractive, he looks like he’s about to sail out on a yacht.

  He studies me with his head cocked. “So not what I pictured you wearing, but you look passable.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks. Let’s do this thing.”

  The private car waiting outside takes us to a darkly lit restaurant near Times Square where a delightful aroma triggers a grumble in my stomach. The host wears a crisp suit and treats Erik like he’s VIP from the minute we arrive, rushing us past those waiting to a small table veiled by dark drapes, fussing over us until he’s sure Erik is pleased.

  We’re left alone with a wine menu and the sound of violin music beneath a ceiling filled with ornate chandeliers. Erik peruses the lists of wines, smirking.

  I glare around the intimate area, put off by the upscale feel and the fact that we’re segregated from the others in the restaurant. Everything here is going to cost a small fortune. “You know this is not a date, right?”

  “Of course. We’re here as friends.” His eyes flicker to mine for a brief moment. “Dates aren’t something I indulge in.”

  A waitress appears in a beautiful black dress to take our wine order and bring us full menus. Erik orders a bottle of pinot while I look through my dinner options. The cheapest meal I can find is a salad for $25.

  “Good thing you don’t make a habit of dating.” I say once the waitress has left. “You couldn’t have found somewhere cheaper to take me?”

  “Having wealthy grandparents gave me the option to dine at only the finest restaurants.” He shrugs with a smirk. “Would you rather I take you to McDonalds? You seem slightly overdressed for fast food.”

  Rolling my eyes, I look back to the menu. “It’s just not the lifestyle I’m used to.”

  “Consider it a cleaning bonus. You take care of me, I’ll take care of you.”

  I squirm in my seat, warning myself not to take the meaning of his words too far. I end up ordering steak and shrimp, Erik the lamb. After my first glass of wine, I finally begin to relax. Erik doesn’t seem as flirty as usual, so it’s easier to have conversations in which I can trust myself to behave.

  “Why’d you pick New York?” I ask him while we’re waiting for our meal.

  “Same as you.” He swirls his glass of wine by its stem, staring down into the liquid. “I wanted to get away. I never imagined my brother would end up out here. He hadn’t ever left the Midwest until he met Jewels. The world never seems to be a big enough place.”

  “Whatever happened between you and Adam must’ve really pissed him off.” I sip my wine, waiting for him to break down and confess.

  His stoic expression doesn’t change. “Everyone has something in their past they’d like to go back and change. But since that’s not possible, you have to move forward. That’s what you’re trying to do by living here, isn’t it?”

  “I guess. Maybe it would help if you let up on Jewels and Adam a little. You come off as being arrogant. Not everyone can deal with that type of personality.”

  He looks up, meeting my gaze. “You seem to handle me without any difficulties.”

  My cheeks grow warm beneath his baby blues. If only there was a way for me to stop physically responding to him. “I’m not exactly loved by all either. I tend to call things as I see them.”

  “It’s part of the reason you’re attracted to me. People like us have to stick together.”

  I bring my curled hair around one shoulder, giving my shaking hands something to do. “It doesn’t mean we should have casual sex, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you.” He leans forward, closing the space between us. “You stir something primal in me. I really enjoyed taking you in that alley. I’d love for it to happen again.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I take another drink of wine, pushing back the pleasurable memories of our night together. “Except that I’m moving forward, as you said. So it can’t happen again. It won’t.”

  The waitress approaches with our food, breaking the uncomfortable flow. I pay for our meal when we’re done, letting Erik know that I’m going to start paying him something for rent. It’s the only way I know how to prevent myself from feeling like a kept woman.

  The rest of the night is relatively harmless. He doesn’t make any advances during The Book of Mormon, and I get so caught up in the production that I almost forget he’s at my side. By the time we return to our apartment, the vibe between us feels less like a date and more like a couple of friends hanging out. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward moment where we have to say goodnight, or think of what to say to each other next. Erik heads for his room and I change into my pajamas before slipping into the bathroom.

  As I’m finishing brushing my teeth, however, Erik appears in the doorway without a stitch of clothing, his magnificent body on display. I drop my toothbrush in the sink and consume every succulent inch of him in with my eyes, my heart lodged in my throat.

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m used to getting what I want.” With his eyebrows raised, he smirks. “And I really want to fuck you.”

  He advances toward me in the flash of an eye. I open my mouth to say his name or tell him to stop, I’m not sure which. But he covers my lips in a seething hot kiss and his hands are suddenly everywhere, eagerly groping and kneading my flesh. I stand frozen in place with my hands at my sides, telling myself to back away, but his massive hard on pushes against my stomach and I can’t think. I fall apart with memories of our tryst in the alley and moan into his mouth, twinning my hands through the thick of his hair.

  We don’t stop kissing as Erik lifts me to sit on the sink, then reaches down to one of the drawers. I hear the dull sound of foil ripping. He stops to roll a rubber onto himself, watching me the entire time with a blazing determination. I’m breathless, driven by nothing more than my overwhelming need to have him inside me.

  It’s like I’m literally on fire when his talented lips return to mine. He’s quick to yank down my shorts and underwear in one movement, ripping something in the process. There’s no time to think, no time to process what I’m doing. He sinks into me easily, biting my lip and pulling on my pierced nipple. Stars of lechery and delightful pain flash before my eyes.

  “Say my name,” he commands, his breath hot against my ear. “I want to hear you fucking scream it.�


  I comply, digging my fingernails into his warm skin. He sinks deeper and deeper into me with each thrust, his steely stare unrelenting. I move my hands down to grip his tight ass, lost in a mix of his tantalizing smell, the taste of toothpaste, the raw sounds of our skin slapping together, and the delightful pang as he pushes into me. My head spins and spins like I’m stuck on a sinister carnival ride.

  By the time he climaxes, moaning loudly with one final trust, the cloud of desire passes and the heavy realization of what just happened slams into me with the force of a runaway truck. I don’t move when Erik kisses me one final time, his tongue brushing against mine as he gropes my breasts. He sucks on my bottom lip and pulls out of me with a pleased smirk crossing his lips. “It’s like I said. I get what I want.”

  “Hole. E. Shit,” I whisper to myself after he’s left the bathroom.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Eight

  The next couple of days are long and stressful as I try to battle the guilt of giving in to my burning needs with Erik again. At least he’s conveniently away from the apartment most of the time. I have no idea how to interact with him when he actually is around, so I stay locked away in my room. My body craves him despite the misgivings of my mind. Moving out seems to be the only option at this point, but where would I go?

  More than ever, I wish I had someone to talk to, maybe help me sort through my dizzying feelings. Growing up with a religious mom, I was told premarital sex is a sin. There weren’t any talks of safe sex or waiting for love. I was never told how to deal with a guy afterwards if you do give in to your desires. Last year I messed around with Matt on a regular basis, but we were good friends, so hanging out when we weren’t having sex felt natural. This back and forth with Erik has worn on my nerves.

  Theo calls every night. Instead of answering his calls, I send a text out in the mornings with some lame excuse. I can’t talk to him any more than I can look at myself in the mirror.

 

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