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

by Kristine Cayne

  She grinned. “We just had sex for the first time today. Got to give you something else to look forward to.”

  Fortified once again after some appetizers and sports drinks, Carm sorted clothes while Declan waited on the sofa. The whipped cream had worked better than expected. Why hadn’t she tried that before? How comfortable was he with losing a bit of control? After their day of sex they would have to talk about things like that.

  She snuck a peak at him. He watched her intently as she worked which worked perfectly for her next plan. She bent over at the waist to pick up a towel. Still bent over, she wiggled a little as she picked up a second towel. When that didn’t work she spread her legs an inch, bent over and touched her toes. A growl from the living room brought a smile to her lips. The tell-tale creak of the floor made her wet.

  He turned her around, captured her lips in a rough, deep kiss that left her breathless. Eager hands roamed her body at the same time his tongue caressed hers. He squeezed her ass, his fingers biting into her flesh. A sense of power rushed through her while he pulled her towards the sofa again.

  She went to lie down. He shook his head.

  “Bend over.” He pointed to the armrest.

  A sizzle went through her body. She complied, bending over the armrest, her hands planted on the sofa cushion. He rummaged in the end table for the condoms she’d put there that morning. Unable to see him, she waited, grower wetter by the second as thoughts swirled in her head. His rough hands fondled her breasts, slid down her stomach. A finger slipped inside her. A satisfied grunt from behind shot a shiver through her.

  Pressure on her ass as he spread her cheeks, propelled momentary panic through her. They hadn’t talked about what she wouldn’t do. She could tell him to stop. Before she said anything he plunged into her pussy. Her breasts dangled above the sofa as he rocked her back and forth, driving into her as deep as he could go, balls slapping her with each thrust.

  The sex was fast and frenzied this time. His hands on her hips pulling her back to him faster, faster. Pressure built, begged to be released. With his hands free, he used a finger to rub her clitoris as he drove into her. With each thrust she got fractionally closer to coming. So close she ached. With one last thrust the floodgates opened. Convulsions racked her body and he kept pumping faster, harder. She felt his desperation. Allowed him to rock her at the pace he needed until he cried out his release.

  They collapsed onto the sofa. Heavy breathing filled the apartment. Before he apologized, before he could ruin the moment she kissed him.

  “Wow again. If we keep doing this I’m going to need to find some other words for wow.”

  He grinned. “Keep bending over like that and you can guarantee a repeat performance.”

  “So my plan worked.”

  “We should talk about stuff like that for future reference.”

  “I agree, but not here.” She got off the sofa, took his hand and pulled him up. At the stairs she stopped. “You know where it is.”

  “You’re following me this time?”

  “We both know what happens if you look at my ass too long.”

  “Good point.”

  Muscles sore yet languid, she collapsed on the bed. If he wanted to have sex again she was more than willing, after a nap. And a talk. She propped up pillows against the head board then she curled up under the covers, pulling the blanket to cover her breasts. He got in beside her.

  “Why didn’t you just ask me out?” He asked.

  Straight to the point, she liked that even though it was a hard question. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

  He coughed. “Why wouldn’t I say yes?”

  “You didn’t apply for laundry day for months. I thought you weren’t interested. Besides, I’m the owner of the building and your boss. Why didn’t you ask me out?”

  When she said it out loud she wanted to groan. She was his boss. He didn’t strike her as the type to lodge a sexual harassment complaint. Maybe if the sex wasn’t to his liking he’d discuss it with his partner. But he didn’t seem like the type to cause trouble or hurt someone on purpose.

  He drew lazy circles on her arm with his finger. “You’re my boss. Is that why you gave me weekends off?”

  “No! Maybe. You do have seniority now that I hired Bob.”

  He gathered her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart soothed her. Meeting in the elevator would never be the same. Every time she saw him she would remember the day. She hoped he meant what he said earlier and this was not a one time deal.

  “Last load of the day are the bed clothes again,” she said.

  “Nap first, laundry second.”

  Stripping the sheets off the bed meant if they were going to have sex again it would have to be in a different room. While she wanted to christen every room in the apartment, she didn’t know if she had the energy. The nap had been wonderful. Waking up in Declan’s arms brought home how much she missed that about relationships. Not that she wanted a relationship with him. Unless he wanted one with her. But a few more rolls in the hay would be nice.

  The dryer buzzed signaling the end of laundry day. The bed clothes were done. There were still some kinks to work out but she would have more laundry days if Declan would play. Dressed now, she felt awkward sitting on the sofa beside him. Maybe the nudist colony a few miles up the road had something. Walking around naked all day had been freeing and fun.

  “Do you want help making the bed?”

  Her stomach grumbled. “That’s okay. I’ll do it later. Right now I’m a little hungry.” She smiled at him.

  “How about I take you out to dinner?”

  Her legs trembled. “We’d have to stay clothed.”

  He chuckled. “I can handle it if you can.”

  “I’d love to.”

  He took out his spare key and the spare key she had put in the envelope. They were tied together with a piece of black twine. He put them on the entry way table then opened the door for her.

  “You do this laundry day every month? We need to get through the rest of that bowl.”

  She grabbed her purse from the entryway table. “Actually, I do laundry every week.”

  “Perfect. So do I.”

  Coming Soon

  The Mating Game

  Coming soon to O-Zone TV a game show with a sexy twist. The Mating Game. Three choices. No peeking.

  When her contestant for a brand new dating show suddenly gets married, producer Simone DeRosa panics. With two hours to air she needs to fill the contestant chair fast or lose her job. After all, the game was her idea. She turns to the one person she knows she can count on. Her roommate. But will her roommate agree to appear on cable television virtually naked?

  Before You Go

  I hope you liked Laundry Day as much as I enjoyed writing it. The story came to me one day when I was bringing a basket of laundry down to the basement. And I wondered what if I was watching ALL my clothes and I literally had nothing to wear. I will never look at laundry the same way again. If you have a moment please return to the website you purchased the story from and leave a review.

  About the Author

  Keira is a former strip club bartender. Nights at the bar gave her lots of sexy ideas to work on. She writes thrillers, paranormals and contemporary stories, usually exploring an erotic twist. Her characters have never complained.

  Find Keira at:

  www.keirakohl.com

  Check out Keira’s books at:

  www.keirakohl.com/books

  Follow her on Twitter:

  www.twitter.com/KeiraKohl

  Like her on Facebook:

  www.facebook.com/StoriesByKeira

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  eepurl.com/-wOCv

  Summer’s Journey

  A True Romance / Erotica Series

  Summer Daniels

  Volume One: Losing Control

  Prologue

  I slipped the blindfold over my eyes, took a deep
breath and knocked twice on the door. I heard it open and Mark’s warm voice filled my ears. “Come in Summer. I am so happy you chose to join me tonight.” He led me into the center of the room and stopped. “Just stand there for a moment if you would while I feast my eyes. You look absolutely stunning. That lovely dress is going to look very stylish on the floor next to the bed.”

  I never heard him move, but I could feel him behind me now. As he nuzzled the side of my neck, he pressed himself lightly against me. Whatever reservations I once had at giving up control to this stranger disappeared as my nipples did their best to rip through the lace bra and silk dress. How on earth could he know that my neck was one of my weak spots?

  “I must confess that you are wearing much more at the moment than I am” he said. “Allow me to even the playing field.” As he slowly unzipped my dress, he followed the descending zipper with his soft lips and tongue. He reached up and tugged gently and the dress pooled at my feet.

  1

  I gave serious thought to unveiling my real name to the world. Throwing all caution to the wind and changing my life for good.

  I decided it wasn’t quite fair to my family. While I’m not particularly close to my brother or sister, I am quite partial to my nieces and nephews and I couldn’t picture the looks on their faces if my secrets were revealed and my true identity widely known.

  I think sometimes it is still possible that they will stumble across these stories someday and recognize their Aunt in some fashion. Then I think that the odds of their associating the wild and wanton ways of “Sassy Summer” with the Aunt who would never even wear a bikini in front of them would be akin to winning the lottery without buying a ticket. Not going to happen.

  Then again, I had no idea just how wild and wanton things were going to get.

  I was a simple fortyish average housewife. Not going to win any beauty pageants, but I hadn’t given up on trying to keep a little pride in my appearance, or in my marriage. Right up until the day about eighteen months ago when my husband of almost twenty years told me he was trading me in on a younger, sportier model. Not his exact words of course, but they might as well have been. To say I was shocked would be an understatement of epic proportions.

  Things had never been particularly exciting in the bedroom, or in our marriage in general, but they were comfortable. That was the word that described our marriage and our life together the best. We rarely fought, nothing more serious than the usual complaints of a long marriage, such as a toilet seat left up leading to a wet ass in the middle of the night. Or his anal personality shining through in the way he scrubbed all our dishes before they were allowed in the dishwasher. I’m sure he had his complaints as well, who doesn’t after almost twenty years of marriage, but if he had them, he kept them to himself.

  Perhaps the ass I mentioned previously had gotten a little wider since we had gotten married, but he never said a word and since I bought most of his clothes over the years, I knew that his waistline had expanded as well.

  Looking back I suppose it is just too easy to get complacent, to get “comfortable” in a marriage, to take each other for granted. It is a sad commentary on marriage perhaps, but I would bet more than half of you out there reading this right now are nodding your heads in agreement, recognizing for yourself the truth in my words.

  Some of you might take that recognition as a wakeup call for your own marriage. If you do, I am more than happy for you. Some of you will recognize the signs of demise in your marriage, or already have, but just don’t care. That is honestly more common than I think most people care to admit to themselves.

  As for myself, I am not sure I really believe in marriage anymore. Or maybe I just can’t see going back to the way things were. Feeling free at the age of – well, at my age, doesn’t just feel good, it feels right.

  Maybe the spark had died in our marriage when we went through the series of miscarriages fifteen years ago. The last one was a fallopian tube miscarriage, ending for us the dream of children of our own.

  The emotional scars that were left behind were much more damaging than the physical ones.

  Sex was never the same for us after that. Where things had once been light and playful, there was now a sense of lingering disappointment and resentment. Maybe it would have been better out in the open where we could deal with it, but neither of us were the type to confront our feelings, choosing instead to hide behind our usual routines and excuses. Sound familiar to any of you?

  2

  After spending the better part of two weeks crying into my ice cream and wine with my best friend Julie, I finally came to the realization that maybe this was an opportunity instead of a disaster. I had always wondered in the back of my mind what it might be like to be that uninhibited woman capable of having sex just for the sake of pleasure, to be well and truly fucked for once, to be satisfied to the point of exhaustion. Certainly these were things I had never felt in the confines of my marital bed.

  Given how much time I suddenly had on my hands coming home to an empty house, I found myself spending too much time with my hands on myself. While I enjoyed masturbation with a renewed sense of purpose since the separation, it left me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I needed to go out on a date. Except I really didn’t want to date, I wanted to get laid. Crude perhaps, but true.

  Something Julie said one night after too much wine came to mind. She said that the internet had opened up a whole new world for women in terms of finding someone to take care of their needs. Given that she is happily married with three kids, I found the comment somewhat unsettling and quickly dismissed it as nothing more than the wine talking. Her comment stayed in the back of my mind through the next several days though and made me wonder what might be out there.

  I had enough common sense to not just post an ad that said “Looking to get laid” – I would still be sorting through responses and close-up pictures of men’s cocks even now a year later. Those pictures lie by the way, they are never as big in real life as in the photo, something about the angle of the camera.

  After looking through hundreds of ads from men that either wanted “to meet tonight” (translation: desperate) or that were just “looking for someone to talk to” (translation: married), I finally decided on posting an ad that simply said “Seeking something casual, I’m a sure thing, but not easy, I’m going to make you work for it”. I figured that would weed out the “let’s meet tonight” guys and allow me to exchange a few emails with an intelligent man or two. I figured wrong. The sheer volume of “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll walk funny for a week” emails quickly overwhelmed me. Or should I say the sheer volume of “u r so sexy – I have a large dick and you will cum over and over” type of emails overwhelmed me. The lack of intelligent response and simple grammar skills was mind-boggling.

  Sorting through emails, unsolicited pictures and more than a few threesome invites, I really had no idea what I was looking for. It became something of a process of elimination, because I certainly knew what I wasn’t looking for.

  It became apparent quickly that finding the right combination of intelligence, humor, personality and charisma was going to be like the proverbial needle in a haystack. Out of several hundred responses (who knew there were that many horny men out there?), only a few warranted a return email. Perhaps I was being picky, but I really didn’t think being able to spell orgasm without being spotted a vowel was asking too much.

  3

  After several promising emails back and forth with a man who took the time to spell check and showed some interesting hints of personality, I agreed to meet for a drink at a local hotel bar. According to his emails of the previous days, he was recently divorced himself and slowly wading back into the dating world. Gainfully employed as an engineer and still sporting most of his original hair (if his emailed picture was to be believed), he was quite the catch, although the attention I was looking for honestly was a little farther south than my heart.

  First impressions are always im
portant, so when Mark stood up from his bar stool to greet me and hold out my chair, I smiled warmly and relaxed. We had left things fairly vague in our emails, agreeing to nothing more than meeting for a drink and seeing if there existed an attraction. Mark looked better in person than his email picture, standing about six foot even, short dirty blonde hair and a sparkle in his eyes that spoke of intelligence and passion. He was certainly not physically imposing by any means, but there was something commanding about his personality that made him stand out in the crowd.

  Any apprehension I had about meeting this stranger for a drink disappeared as we chatted for a few minutes about our respective lives. We talked about our divorces. He instigated his after finding out his wife was cheating on him. “It was such a cliché” he said, “she reconnected with an old high school friend through Facebook. She started spending more time online than she ever had in the past. The warning signs were there, I just thought I meant more to her than that.”

  I told him what it felt like when my husband came home one evening and said he wanted a divorce. No argument, no reason he would articulate, he just wanted out. It was only when I threatened to contest the divorce did he admit to “having met someone”.

  “For three days I went back and forth between hiring the most aggressive ball-busting lawyer I could find to take every penny he ever even thought of making, and crying myself to sleep. I found myself arguing passionately about saving a marriage that we both had neglected for way too long. Looking back, I think I was simply scared of being alone after all that time together.”

  Mark nodded slowly as I talked, empathy etched on his features. I ordered a second glass of white wine while he had another Jack & Coke. As we talked about mundane things such as work and family, I almost forgot for a moment what had drawn us here together. Then again, I was wearing a thong for the first time in at least a decade and spilling out of a low-cut top I rushed out to buy after agreeing to this meeting.