What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9)

by Kristine Cayne

  Ian leveled a look at her and reconsidered his rule. Thick ebony strands were twisted into a bun. The upswept hairdo only highlighted her almond-shaped eyes, dark chocolate irises and long lashes. She leaned forward checking the packaging tags. Smooth, delectable skin peeked out.

  She looked prim in the pin-striped dress suit. Her tits high and tight. Unbelievably curvaceous hips made his fingers twitch. He wanted to sink his nails into them. She barely came up to his chin, but the cut of the skirt and high heels made her legs seem to go on forever. Prim and corruptible.

  Always put together neatly, polite and personable…he was tempted to witness her stripped bare in a literal and figurative sense. He’d never fucked at work, but Ian thought about doing it now. The unruly consideration started a delicious pull on his balls that only feminine caresses and tender tugs could ease.

  Her hands tightened on the clipboard and she brought it closer to her chest. Maybe she could see all that in his gaze. No matter how much he wanted to see her head thrown back, hair gripped in his fist and arse arched high, he couldn’t. Not with her. She wasn’t sweet but close enough to make things difficult.

  “Next item?” he asked and ignored the tug.

  She told him, her voice breathless, but he ignored the change in tone too.

  “Technically,” she said, “It wouldn’t be kissing and telling if you haven’t done it yet.”

  He laughed. “There’s not much I haven’t.”

  She tried to hide her chagrin by looking down, but he’d seen it. “Uh, public place seems too easy for you. What else?”

  “Sex swing. Airplane.” He gauged her reaction.

  Her head snapped up. She swallowed. “Airplane. Bathroom’s too small.”

  Fuck. “Noted,” he said.

  He lowered his gaze and worked up and down the room, letting her call off the lots. He didn’t ask any more personal questions about what she hadn’t done yet, especially in the bedroom. That way he wouldn’t think about all the ways he’d like to do them with her.

  It took them another hour to finish so by the time they entered the break room, they were the only ones left at work outside of security. The large room was well lit even with the cafes and bistros closed. They stood closer to the industrial-sized glass refrigerator, sink and microwave than to the central area with all the tables. In the quiet, with her, the moment felt strangely intimate.

  “Thinking I’m going to call it a night, get up early tomorrow and finish the rest.” She eased them into a conversation. “Then have a normal weekend.”

  She rested against the counter and blew into the hot coffee. The way her plump lips pursed shot straight to his dick. He sipped his drink silently, trying not to envision those same lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, wet and eagerly suckling him.

  But he couldn’t abide the uncomfortable silence, not with her. Joce would find some way to question him about something else if he left it. “When do you plan to start the insanity?”

  “After work tomorrow.”

  He chuckled at the straight-forward admission. Finishing off the coffee, he put the cup in the sink. She’d closed her eyes, let her head fall back, exposing the beautiful curve of her neck.

  He stilled, tried to breathe through the urge to taste her skin. “Heading out for drunken karaoke?”

  Her eyes shot open and her gaze whipped to him, but then she smiled and it was one hundred percent mischievous. “No.” She shook her head, the smile fading. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

  He wanted to see the smile cross her face again. “Then maybe you absolutely should.”

  She laughed, shook her head. “Can’t believe I’m going to say this…” She sighed. “I’m going to pick up a guy in a bar. Never done that.”

  His gut clenched. Another man would do all the things he’d been imagining. She’d let him, because there were things she’d never done. Ian set his cup in the sink, keeping his hands to himself. “Shouldn’t take you long, but I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “Careful? That’s the whole point. I’ve lived my life pretty risk-free. I’m not saying I’m going to lose my mind, but I’m tired of doing the safe thing, the right thing. I want fun, reckless and maybe a little stupid. Break the rules I’ve made for myself.”

  He grappled onto his skewed moral code as her tongue glided over her bottom lip, lapping up every drop of warm liquid that clung to the flesh.

  He flexed his fingers. “We’d be barbarians without rules.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Didn’t take you for a rule follower.”

  “I have my own,” he said.

  Her teeth grazed nervously over her bottom lip. He couldn’t remember which rule kept him from reaching forward, or why it was important in the first place.

  “I’m curious but I don’t want to pry,” she said.

  So polite. Only a twisted son of a bitch would want to change that about her, to push just to see how she’d react. He had to say something to knock that unquenchable desire from her gaze. “What you’re looking for, Sweetheart, you can’t find in a bar hook-up.”

  “And what is it I’m looking for, Ian?”

  “To be fucked senseless and not have a shred of guilt over it.” He’d expected shock, a flush, anything other than the smile that started in the corner of her mouth and lit up her eyes.

  “Yeah. Pretty much that.”

  The brazen confession made him laugh, made his cock rock hard. “All this time with you and I thought you were innocent.”

  “Nah.” She shrugged. “Lost that sophomore year in high school.”

  Without thought he edged closer to her. Shit. He couldn’t exactly wish her good luck, but he had to end this exchange before he changed his mind. He had no claim on her and shouldn’t want one. He pushed off the counter. “Happy hunting. In the morning then?”

  “You’ll be here?” There was no mistaking the anticipation in her tone.

  Ian smiled when he should have discouraged the emotion with a grave frown. “Aye.”

  He escaped with his dick still safely, smartly, in his trousers. He’d call it a win.

  Chapter Two

  Jocelyn spent most of her morning trying to talk herself out of adding a new item to her list of things to do before thirty—sex with Ian. The idea plagued her most of the night when they’d worked together, in the break room and in her bed as she tried to sleep. And now, early afternoon, she’d given up the useless litany of reasons why she shouldn’t, how she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d ask for sex. Women who had sex with Ian probably didn’t ever ask politely for a roll in the sheets.

  What could she do? She’d never seduced a man. And what about his rules? He hadn’t needed to say sleeping with people at work was one of them. If they’d met in any other way there was no doubt in Jocelyn’s mind he’d have ripped off her clothes, pinned her to the floor and screwed her every which way but loose.

  And she would have let him.

  Completely out of the norm for her, but she had to figure out a way to talk him into breaking his personal commandment, because she wanted him to pin her to the floor, wall, mattress, wherever and whenever. No use in lying about it or telling herself she shouldn’t. That was the whole point behind the plan to do all the daring things she’d never done before. Good God, sitting here quietly helping him, paralyzed with what to do next, just solidified the fear that even at twenty-nine she’d lost all possible gumption and was slowly calcifying into a sexless, lonely, cardigan-wearing nun.

  No. Hell no.

  “You,” Ian said, breaking her out of her reverie, “have been thinking furiously all morning. It’s distracting.”

  He’d shed his coat and tie again today. Also, he’d rolled up his sleeves and smelled like something she wanted to swallow whole. That was distracting. She opened her mouth to let those words tumble out, but he looked up, gaze narrowing on her face.

  “Scared of your plans after work?”

  “You’re teasing me,” she said.
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  “I am.”

  She smiled despite the irritation of him of all people was poking fun at her staid life. He was the abnormal one. “Not everyone has arm-wrestled a shaman and won.”

  And then a thought struck her sideways. A man who’d done all the things Ian had probably didn’t need much goading to do what he clearly already wanted to do. All those moments where he’d been one muscle twitch from jumping her hadn’t been in her imagination. They both kept that boundary in place. What would happen if she tore it away? Ian couldn’t cross a line that didn’t exist. He’d built his career by being smart, courageous and certain. Not much changed his mind unless he wanted to be persuaded. And Ian wanted her. She was sure of it.

  The thought sunk its teeth in. Her skin flushed and she did her best not to glance up with a grin that would look as mischievous as she felt. No, what she’d do next wasn’t world domination. She just needed to make Ian lose control and break his goddamn rule. One, it seemed, he wanted to break anyway.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, trying for sex kitten and not sure if it was working. “What makes you pick up a woman in a bar?”

  His white-gloved hands froze over the ritual ax, and something passed behind his gaze she couldn’t describe much less distill into a single word. “She’s attractive and breathing.”

  She snorted and lost the hold on her sex kitten. “No really.”

  He considered her again, sighing. “Do you plan to walk up to him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, start with your walk. More leg and hip action. Not like those models who trot like horses. Sensual. Seductive. Understated. The kind of sway a man can imagine you being on top of him moving the same way.”

  With a sly smile she stood. His gaze narrowed on her. She scrounged up every thought of being on top of a man, his cock sliding in and out, how it would feel rising up and down, his fingers gliding over her waist, up to her breasts and fixed those thoughts in her mind and walked toward him. She stopped a few feet from him and raised a brow. “Like that?”

  His hands gripped the ax. “Passable, but now put that movement into thought and there in your gaze.”

  She thought of Ian’s fingers digging into her waist and holding her still so he could thrust into her. “Passable?”

  He made a noncommittal noise. “Just like that, Lass.”

  But he wasn’t joking when he said it this time. Not with the way he spoke so softly, but a bit of a growl could be heard in the back of his throat. Her nipples hardened as though his voice was something tangible and could scrape against the sensitive tips. She had to swallow. “And then what?”

  “He’ll do the rest of what needs to be doing to get you in his bed. No question.” He flexed his fingers over the ax, his breathing uneven.

  But he didn’t move toward her, not even a twitch. She’d crossed the line they’d put up. Made it clear she wanted more to happen, and he wasn’t doing what needed to be done to get her into his bed. Damn. Her gamble didn’t work. She started to turn away so he wouldn’t see the defeat creeping over her expression, but Ian spoke.

  “But it’s me you want, isn’t it?”

  Her steps froze at his words, but a corner of her mouth crooked up. “Depends.” She faced him fully and saw he’d put down the ax.

  “On what?”

  “Whether or not you’ll break your rule.”

  “And what rule would that be?” He stalked forward, to her.

  Her heart jumped in her chest. “I assume it’s something along the lines of you don’t sleep with coworkers.”

  “A rule for a good reason, too.”

  “Complications,” she said. “Sour grapes. Anything awkward if the sex isn’t good or too good and one side buys into an emotional entanglement you don’t want.”

  “Took the words out of my mouth. So, I’ll say this once and I want you to believe it, down to your toes.” He made another predatory step toward her. “I want to fuck you. Not make love or anything else with flower-y intent. No. Fuck. The kind that’s sweat and come soaked and breaks some furniture in the process.”

  His words gave her pause, mainly because she had a visceral reaction to them, to him—wet. She was soaking wet and from the sudden jump in her heart rate, her hands trembled too. She’d had the hearts, the flowers and sweetly whispered words before. Great, wonderful even. Making love was like meat and potatoes—fulfilling and warm and right with the right person.

  What Ian offered was sinful, decadent like something sweet, and then covered in chocolate just to make it that much better. Nothing that could sustain you, but by God, it was delicious and mouthwatering. The kind of sex that left you raw on the inside and out. Something she’d never had and it was about time she did.

  “Am I supposed to be scared right now?”

  He chuckled and it sounded like trouble—some she’d borrowed for no reason other than temporary insanity.

  “Aye. But you teased me so I’m going to let you stew for a while until we finish up, and then we’ll head to my place. You have until then to back out.”

  Maybe she should have been worried there was an escape-for-your life-while-you-can clause. She wanted something that would eclipse the first twenty-nine years of her life and make it seem like she hadn’t even started yet. An experience that said tame and tasteful sex wasn’t all there was to life.

  So, she said. “Ditto, Ian.”

  He chuckled again and walked back to the ax. They went through everything, prepping as though nothing had changed. Really, that’s what made her eventually start to quake in her heels. A man that didn’t have to prove himself was a dangerous kind of man.

  She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Three

  Jocelyn assumed Ian lived in a home she could never afford on her current salary. Not that the museum paid her so little. She had a decent cushion of savings thanks to them.

  Decent and opulent were worlds apart. He lived in a high-rise—the penthouse. He didn’t make an over-the-top gesture when he opened the door to prepare her, but he should have.

  “You live here?” She tried not to gape.

  “Don’t own it, but it’s serviceable.”

  She worked with antiques and things that required countries to sign over and create contracts to lend to other places. But, this…wow.

  “You’re looking scared again, Joce.”

  She shook her head. “I know you’re…important, but I didn’t know how much. This place makes that pretty clear.”

  He frowned at the apartment, maybe seeing it through her eyes. The living room and kitchen had things you needed for functionality, but both had plenty of pretty things, breakable and costly. She kicked off her shoes only to have her feet sink into plush carpet.

  “People pay to have things they don’t need. To have a status that means nothing. Here, I can make what I need to eat or order it. I have a soft place to lay my head. The museum felt this is what I wanted.”

  He shrugged out of his coat and kept moving deeper into the high-rise. She followed because this was his domain and, to be honest, she’d handed over the reins to him. He knew what fucking was.

  They passed by an original Van Gogh in the hallway and she almost stopped to admire it, but he kept going. “You don’t care for all this?”

  He halted, pushed open a door—his bedroom. “Not really. It’s not home. It is what it is.”

  She’d noticed he preferred sparse in most things, but his clothes, for one, were tailored. He drove a high-end sports car and even lunch was ordered from nice places. She scoffed. “You’re trying to tell me you’d stay in a flea bag motel?”

  “Fuck no, but if that’s all I have to stay in, I’d rather that than outside.” He pushed the door open.

  The bed was as plush as the carpet. Pillows galore, dark tones decorated his domain. She wondered if he made the bed himself, or had maids who came in. Probably maids. She couldn’t see Ian arranging pillows on the bed. Neither could she see him straightening the wr
inkles in the sheets and comforters and tucking in the corners.

  His words made her wonder but that’s not why they were here. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. The faster she got out of her clothes, the faster she’d get over any insecurity and awkwardness about being naked in front of him.

  Ian stopped at the bed and tutted. “Stop.” His gaze roved up and then back down. “Come here to me.”

  Jocelyn’s fingers fumbled over the suit jacket’s buttons at the command but she shuffled to him. He’d settled on the edge of the bed and that made him eye-level to her breasts. Ian cocked his legs open for her to slide right in. She did. His thick thighs bracketed her knees.

  She wasn’t close enough to feel the thick length of his erection. A shame because his cock sat up, proud and needy, pressing against the slate gray slacks in a way that made her mouth water. This close, the scent of his aftershave filled her next breath—decadent and musky.

  Slowly he unbuttoned the suit jacket and shirt, pushing them open, exposing her lace-covered breasts. “Tell me, Joce, what haven’t you done?”

  He started at her collarbone and trailed his fingers over the rise of her breasts, over the edge of the black bra as he held her gaze.

  Aroused already, she found it hard to breathe normally. “Think it’s safe to say everything you probably have.”

  “So you need to catch up before things really get interesting between us?” He traced her nipples through the thin material with his fingertips.

  She trembled and nodded. His fingertips drew smaller circles, softly flicking at the sensitive buds. Heat scorched her skin.

  “Not good enough.” He’d started the caress back up to her collarbone. Once at the top again, he let each finger have its turn teasing her nipples on his way down. He tugged lightly at the tips with his forefinger and thumb and then started over. Enraptured with the sensations, all she could do was shiver and let his fingers work their magic.