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

by CJ Roberts

  Alexandre stands on the edge of the bed and undoes the zip of his pants. Like a cobra, his erection comes free, proud and magnificent. The black pants, the big heavy boots, the clinking of the bits of metal on the waistband have me mesmerized in a Playgirl Firefighter Fantasy. I walk on my knees and take his erection in my hands, letting my loose hair brush back and forth, swishing across his shaft. I kiss him there, up and down, mini nips and kisses all over, and on the tip.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe, and I mean every word.

  I take it in my mouth, rimming my lips about his hard shaft and look up at him from under my lashes.

  “Turn around,” he says and swirls my body using his hands to control my hips, so my butt is facing him. I am on all fours.

  “I’m going to have to spank you, Pearl You did wrong abandoning me in France the way you did. You had me desperate, distraught. I have to punish you so you won’t do it again.”

  He pulls my thighs further apart.

  He’s into hurting women, after all, I think. I brace myself. How bad can a spank be? He pulls me closer to his pelvis. I’m waiting for his hand to come down on my ass. Instead, I feel a thud right up between my legs right at my entrance. I don’t know what he is doing, exactly, but it feels so erotic, the thud, whack, thud. I bend my head all the way down and push my head under my thighs. I look up from under myself and see his cock slapping me. His dark pants against the color of his smooth flesh, has me throbbing with excitement.

  “Pearl, I’m going to have to bite you now. Bite that creamy ass of yours.” I feel his teeth nipping into my flesh, all over my butt, and then at my wet entrance where he gently tugs my lips with his mouth.

  “Keep punishing me,” I murmur in a faint whisper. “This feels incredible.”

  “Greedy… (bite)… Girl…. Greedy…. (slap)…. Girl.”

  I’m groaning.

  Suddenly, he lifts me off the bed, holding me in his arms like a baby. What? Don’t stop now!

  “You’ve been punished enough,” he says seriously. “I want to make love to you now. I think we’ve fucked enough, don’t you? I think we need a bit more commitment from one another. No more games.”

  “But I am committed,” I protest.

  He sets me back down so I am sitting on the bed, and he gazes deep into my eyes. “Undress me, Pearl. Get me out of this gear. I feel claustrophobic trussed up in this outfit.”

  I smile wickedly. “Not so fast, Mr. Fireman. I think Mr. Firefighter needs a little dance first. A little lap dance to ease his tension.” I find my iPhone and go to my play list and select the most sensual song I can think of – a French song – Je T’aime….Moi Non Plus. I start slowly gyrating my hips to the rhythm of the music, the deep voice of Serge Gainsbourg, the breathy, ecstatic sighs of Jane Birkin – a love song if ever there was one.

  Alexandre’s erection is jutting out from the uniform pants and I dip down on it, parting my Venus lips as I do so, sitting on it then rising up, pressing my pelvis against his stomach, rising all the way up and impaling myself on him again to the beat of the music. But he grabs me tight, his hands immobilizing me.

  “Pearl, that’s enough now. Get me out of these. Game’s over. I don’t want my future wife doing a lap dance for some dirty firefighter.”

  I burst out laughing. “But you’re the firefighter.”

  He’s trying to suppress a grin. “Some dirty firefighter who broke into your apartment uninvited.”

  I smile, realizing what he just said: future wife! I unbutton his waistband and pull the pants down over his hips, stopping to gaze at his navel, kissing it, tugging gently at the hair there with my teeth. I peel the pants down past his muscular thighs and stroke his arms until my hands are resting on his. He holds my hands, squeezing my palms and caressing my fingers. There is a stillness about him, a calm. I see such tenderness in his eyes – an expression I have not noticed before. I bend down and unlace one boot, and then the other. Then I stand up, and push him backwards onto the bed with a hard shove. He topples back and laughs with surprise. I tug each boot off and throw them, one by one, on the floor.

  “Now you’re free,” I say.

  “Take off that bra. I want you naked. Naked the way you were at Cap d’Antibes. Let me see those pearly breasts that are trapped inside.”

  I unhook my bra and throw it across the floor but carry on with my dance. I can’t stop, the music is making me feel very sensual. Future wife….oh yes!

  “Be still,” he beckons with an intense look on his face. He steadies my moving hips and pulls me to him. “Lie beside me.”

  I lie down at his side so we are facing each other. He is motionless – just gazing at me. He strokes my hair and lays his long fingers on my shoulders, fondling me softly, studying my face.

  “You’re unique, Pearl. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  I say nothing, just watch his expression.

  “I want to marry you. To start a family. Is that what you want, too?”

  I nod. My heart is beating so loudly he must be able to hear it.

  He draws me close to him, pulling me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and plants small, whispery kisses on my neck and shoulders which send shivers all over me. He smoothes my wild hair away from my forehead and traces his finger along my eyebrow, my nose. I curl my arm around him and stroke the small of his back, tracing my nails lightly on his coccyx and on the cheek of his butt. I edge up closer to him. His breath is coming in long, slow sighs. Sighs of contentment, of feeling at peace.

  His fingers are stroking my inner thigh with such a light touch I can hardly feel them and then they tap on my Venus as lightly as the heartbeat of a bird. Tap, tap, tap.

  “A little spanking,” he says with an ironic smile. “For being so wayward – for escaping from me.”

  I edge up the bed higher so his erection is resting at my entrance and I sense the head there, soft yet hard. I clench my inner muscles into mini contractions, needing him, wanting him – I know he can hear my desire through the pattern of my breath.

  He eases himself into me, stretching me open and I cry out in surprise. He feels huge.

  “So wet,” he whispers, pulling himself back out so he is only an inch inside me. He stills, doesn’t move again.

  I use his biceps as leverage to move myself in little circles so he is rimming me. I have this carnal need within me but the look on his face is about love, tranquility. I keep moving, his tip is soft on my clit, then my entrance, all the nerve endings – the nexus of pleasure connecting my entire body – are alive with hot desire. He kisses me softly, parting my mouth with his tongue. He flexes his hips towards me which makes him enter another inch. I hold the pulse between my legs. He is still gazing at me.

  He narrows his eyes slightly, and says, “Will. You. Marry. Me. Pearl?” When he says each word he gives tiny punctuation thrusts which are like mountains moving inside me. I grab his butt and pull him deep into me so he is close. He stills and I can feel his throbbing. Something about his heartfelt words bring on a rush of pleasure, fireworks inside me, the waves of bliss roll through me, the unexpected orgasm upon me now in flashes of white stars. Intense. Sublime.

  I cry out, “Yes, oh yes.”

  He juts his hips forward and I feel his release, filling me. He holds me tighter, closer. “Yes, what, Pearl? What are you saying yes to?”

  “Yes, Alexandre. I will marry you.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” and he kisses me again.

  Shadows of Pearl

  (Book 2 of The Pearl Series)

  Click here to buy Shadows of Pearl: Amazon U.S

  Click here to buy Shadows of Pearl: Amazon U.K

  About Arianne Richmonde

  Arianne Richmonde is an American writer and artist who was raised in both the US and Europe. She lives in France with her husband and coterie of animals.

  As well as The Pearl Series she has written an erotic short story, Glass. She has also written a suspense story, Stolen Grace. />
  The Pearl series:

  The Pearl Trilogy bundle (the first three books in one e-box set)

  Shades of Pearl

  Shadows of Pearl

  Shimmers of Pearl

  Pearl

  Belle Pearl

  To be advised of upcoming releases, sign up:

  ariannerichmonde.com/email-signup

  For more information on the author visit her website:

  www.ariannerichmonde.com

  To listen to the Shades of Pearl soundtrack.

  To see the inspiration board for Shades of Pearl on Pinterest.

  Double Occupancy

  Elaine Raco Chase

  1

  Matt Granger’s bleak gray eyes traveled from the neat computer e-Ticket in his left hand to the graffiti-covered plaster cast that covered his right foot and extended to the center of his thigh. His firm lips twisted into a humorless grin at the mental image his mind evoked of being wheeled through five airline terminals trying to make plane connections, along with the fun TSA pat down, and, most probably, the dismantling of his borrowed wheelchair. But all that was nothing compared to the one hundred fifty steps to the sea his Mexican villa afforded.

  Matt exhaled and tossed the ticket carelessly onto the frayed brown blotter that protected his scratched metal desk. His head lolled wearily against the threadbare fabric of his tan contour chair. Sitting here, silently cursing his skiing prowess, was doing little to alleviate his frustration at canceling his winter vacation plans nor was it eliminating the growing stack of paperwork spilling out of his IN basket. And, to be perfectly honest, he reminded himself bluntly, he had far too many decisions to make regarding the fate of his newspaper to have made relaxing in sunny Mexico a pleasure.

  His ears once again registered the constant industrious hum coming from the city room of the Hub Annex. Matt looked through the top of the clear glass partition, watching with proud, parental satisfaction the way his staff went about their duties in companionable rhythmic orchestration.

  Slowly – overpowering the endlessly ringing telephones, surmounting the normal level of lungpower – two voices were exploding in anger. It was Reynolds and Baker, standing eye-to-eye, nose to nose, arguing – again. Lately, Matt reflected morosely, Reynolds had been arguing with everyone and everything.

  The hand that was about to phone and cancel his airline reservation reached instead for the arm of his desk chair. His long fingers curled tightly around the wooden head of the black metal cane that was anchored there. With the force of Thor hurling a mighty bolt of thunder, Matt slammed the cane against the corrugated aluminum bottom of his wall divider. A menacing rumble vibrated through the city room. For a brief moment in time, the voices, the printers, and even the telephones jolted into respectful silence. Matt jerked his thumb sharply at the quarreling pair, his gray eyes watching as a sheepish Baker and a still defiant Reynolds paraded into his office.

  “What seems to be the cog in the Hub’s wheel on this Friday morning?” Matt inquired dryly.

  “Reynolds thinks this story deserves front page attention. I want to kick it inside,” Ted Baker explained hastily, his voice betraying the nervous quiver of a newly hired employee anxious to please a superior.

  “Our front page is Boston, not world events,” Casey Reynolds snapped irritably. “This is the last article in my series on physical and mental abuse. It gets the front page,” she stated flatly. Her emerald green eyes narrowed menacingly before leaving Ted Baker’s handsome face to focus with piercing intensity on a framed copy of a headline announcing the attack on The World Trade Center that hung next to the headline of The Attack on Pearl Harbor.

  “Your first two articles did get front-page coverage,” Ted reminded her. “I just don’t happen to feel your wrap-up story is that crucial. And it can be cut by at least one paragraph.”

  “Cut!” Casey rounded on him, her temper flaring like a tongue of fire. She reached out and snatched the pages of copy from his hand. “This is a tight, polished piece. Remember, Ted, you are editing a newspaper not radio copy. Our stories don’t have to fit in thirty seconds and be played between the latest Lady Gaga song and a hemorrhoid commercial.” Her voice was nasty and her eyes mocked him. “There is no way my story is going to be cut.” She informed both men in a low, deadly tone.

  A mottled red blotch slowly crept up Ted’s neck. He brushed a fallen lock of sand-colored hair off his forehead and cleared his throat. “I realize I’ve only held the editor’s job for two weeks, but I have worked in the news business for five years and I –”

  “I’ve got you beat by seven years.” She interrupted with infantile sarcasm, perversely crossing her arms over her chest and tapping the toe of her boot.

  “All right, all right, that is quite enough!” Matt snapped. “Let me have the story,” he extended his hand.

  Casey glared resentfully at the blue pencil he picked up and watched him check her copy line by line. Matt crossed out two words, transposed a phrase, and corrected three spelling errors before handing the pages back to Ted. “It’s to be printed as written. Front page, below the fold.”

  Ted cleared his throat; his tongue wet suddenly dry lips. “I see. Perhaps Miss Reynolds should have been given the job of editing this newspaper.”

  “Miss Reynolds turned down the editor’s job,” Casey sneered, briefly savoring the momentary enjoyment of bursting his bubble.

  “Yes,” Matt interjected, “despite Casey’s obviously childish ways, she has been here even longer than I have owned the paper.” He relaxed back into his chair and carefully readjusted his heavy plaster-coated leg that was propped on a side chair.

  “I…I didn’t mean to –” Ted stammered self-consciously.

  Matt smiled kindly at his new employee. “Listen, Ted, editing radio copy is very different from editing newspaper copy. We do allow more than the bare bones of a story and, since the Annex is a weekly, we want the paper to focus on Boston and its suburbs. People get the national and international news on TV, the internet, and the dailies. We want to go into depth on our local problems and concerns. Casey’s series does just that.”

  “I wasn’t disputing the importance of her series,” Ted returned quickly. “I just felt her final article on verbal and emotional abuse was not as acute a problem as her child and elderly physical abuse articles.”

  “You have no idea just how physically debilitated a person can become from other people’s words and emotional pressures,” Casey remarked, her voice sounding hollow and cracked.

  “You might be right after all. I certainly feel physically drained after arguing with you.” Ted grinned, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

  “Why don’t you have that copy redone and get some lunch. We’ve got a directional meeting at two.” Matt reminded him, his alert gray eyes focusing on Casey’s hunched shoulders and bowed head.

  “Actually,” Ted replied, “I was going to ask Casey to bring me back some lunch. We made a list and –”

  “We?” Casey’s head shot up.

  “Brian, Fred, Steve, Andy and I are staying in, it’s snowing out there and –”

  “And you decided to let good old Casey brave the below zero weather and bring back lunch,” she finished with saccharine sweetness. Her eyes narrowed menacingly, and a coat of invisible armor stiffened her body.

  “Well, yes…we did…” Ted’s voice trailed off lamely. He ran a finger uncomfortably under the collar of his blue shirt.

  Pushing herself out of the chair, she stalked over to him. Her chin jutted out as she jabbed a long forefinger into his chest. “Would you like me to tell you where you can put your lunch list.” She hissed, drawing herself up to her full height to tower over him. “Not only won’t I get lunch today, but I won’t get lunch on any other day. And you all can start getting your own damn coffee. And if you don’t like it, you can jump into the Charles River!”

  “Casey, sit!” Matt ordered. “Ted, close the door on your way out.”

  “Can you
believe that?” She gritted her teeth. “Send good old Casey out for lunch. Have good old Casey make the coffee. Let Casey do this, do that, do everything!” She stalked over to Matt’s desk, seized a pencil from the holder, and pointed it at the bustling city room. “Things haven’t changed around here in the last ten years,” she told Matt, whipping herself into a fine rage. “Everyone still thinks of me as the high school kid hired to be the office go-fer. I’m the oldest piece of equipment in this place!” Her long fingers easily snapped the pencil in half. She threw it in the wastebasket and immediately grabbed up another.

  “Well, I am damn sick and tired of it. And I’m tired of being a dumping ground for everyone’s problems, too. Who do they think I am, Dear Abby?” She growled resentfully. “Do you know how many people on this paper owe me money. If I did go and get lunch today, none of those guys would have paid, it would have been ‘let me owe you, Casey.’ I could go to Europe for a year on all my owes!” She stabbed the yellow pencil into the metal desktop and succeeded in snapping it, too.

  “Those pencils cost twenty cents each,” Matt informed her.

  Casey flashed him a withering look, jammed her hand into the pocket of her burgundy blazer, and threw a dollar bill on his desk. “Put the rest on my tab.”

  “Your tab is in the four figures and climbing. You’ve broken two keyboards, thrown three computer mice across the room, destroyed your second smart phone and…” he shuddered, “…you killed the Keurig™, which is why everyone sends you out for coffee.” Matt sighed and rubbed his face. “Casey, honey, what in hell is the matter?”

  One look at his concerned features and she felt her own anger ebbing. Her eyes mirrored her confusion and pain. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Lead-filled legs dragged her battle-weary body to the window. She pulled up the blind and leaned her damp forehead against the comforting coolness of the icy pane.