What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 3)

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Like anything else he put his mind to, he excelled, giving it a hundred and fifty percent of his energy and after a few years he was the superstar agent at Stewart Realty, the largest regional, independently owned brokerage in Ann Arbor. As a total side bonus: he’d taken on the challenge of seducing every hot female agent in the company plus a few clients, and memorably, the mother of a client. She’d been a very eager cougar who’d made him nostalgic for Mindy, until the woman got a wee bit too clingy after a couple of fun nights so he had to cut her loose.

  John Gordon Senior had kicked the bucket in the meantime as well. Massive heart attack dropped him on a job site in his tracks, dead before his stupid head hit the floor. That had been one of the more surreal weeks of Jack’s life. Not only had he lost his father—the one man who still motivated him, if for no other reason than to prove him wrong, that he, Jack would be more successful in every area of his life—but he’d gained a brother-in-law.

  His sister Maureen had gone and fallen head over heels for none other than his old friend Brandis, right under Jack’s nose. He had rejected it even as he saw it coming. Even after he caught them together in Brandis’ bed in the house he shared with the guy one summer. While it took him a while to accept it, he realized he was being the clichéd overprotective big brother. It had not helped that Brandis and Mo had moved overseas nearly immediately to an airbase in Germany.

  His friend had become a respectable, reliable grown up—not much different than he’d been as a teen really. Jack had just been too busy to notice. There was not a man on the planet who would be a better husband for his sister than Brandis. Their wedding had been one of the happiest days of his life, to date.

  And they now had twins, a boy and a girl, that Jack truly adored. They made it home twice a year, and he had been over there once or twice. “Vacation” being a word he didn’t truly give much weight to, considering his drive to make more, be more, and have more, even now after having just rounded the corner on his mid-thirties, and still alone.

  He stretched his arms over his head and observed the subs being led into the dark wood-paneled room. His skin pebbled in anticipation but his mind was not on the task tonight, he could tell. And that was probably not good for any woman who wanted him, so he started to rise and head for the side door, hoping to catch Kyle on the way out and apologize.

  A whiff of perfume, or something more primal, made him stop and turn, narrowing his eyes at a luscious female form. She knelt on the stage, dressed in a leather bustier, a thong, and high black leather heels. He stuck his hands in his pockets and watched her a minute, trying to square what his head was telling him—to go home—with what his body now suddenly, urgently messaged—go to her.

  He let his body lead, which was par for his course, and something he should probably change. But his skin was tingling in a familiar way, and his brain was clearing of all clutter. He knew nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing—but her.

  She was curvy perfection, legs that went on for miles, and a head of thick auburn hair that made his fingers curl into fists in anticipation of diving into it. He hesitated a split second, realizing why he’d been drawn to her and that he should just leave and let someone else have her.

  That hair…he touched it as he stood in front of her. It was like spun red silk under his fingers. Heart pounding, he did the forbidden thing, unable to stop himself. He put his finger under her chin, tilted it up so he could see her face. He had to—the imperative drove him to break rules, even as he heard Kyle’s throat clearing admonition behind him.

  Her eyes were huge, hazel, and sincere. Her full lips parted, which made him bite back a groan of anticipation. He sighed and walked away, kept going until he hit the door. He heard Kyle calling his name as he pressed the elevator button.

  He had to get the fuck out of here. He had no business doing this anymore. It might calm him some but it revved him up too high at the same time. He needed a break. But his body was putting on an admirable show of resistance. His legs trembled, his scalp kept tingling in that way he knew could only be helped by a long, hard, session aided by—he could guess by looking at her—handcuffs, a ball gag, a flogger, and hot wax that he would drip, slowly, down her creamy white torso.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered, leaning on the wall with both hands, shaking like a leaf.

  “Jack!” Kyle was nearer now, and Jack punched the button again, willing the damn elevator to rescue him, as if he’d be free once the doors were shut. Which he knew was nonsensical. But the way he felt, a slave to his…kink…to his fetish. It was too much. Jack was a guy who had to be one hundred percent in control of everything, everywhere. This thing he did, this urgent, base need he exorcised more than twice a week, was gaining the upper hand. He had to wrestle it back into its cage where it belonged.

  “Gordon, shit. What the hell? Do you have any idea who that was you just left, alone, like an abandoned prom date? Jesus.” Kyle’s eyes were bright with angry confusion. Jack was his prize pony, his Master stud, whose prowess was known far and wide among the circles that cared about such things.

  At that precise moment, Jack hated Kyle. Hated this whole sick scene. Despised himself for falling prey to it.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t care. I’m not…I don’t feel too hot. I gotta go.” He turned from the man who had become a good friend to him and to Evan, and had been his friend Rob’s lover, briefly, before that guy had run off to Chicago. What a convoluted mess. When Rob had told him he was bi-sexual, after his years in France had opened his eyes to that fact, it felt like one more thing Jack should have figured out but hadn’t.

  He sighed. Kyle put a firm, and very large hand on his arm. “I am not in the mood. I won’t be any good for anyone.” He kept his gaze trained on the still closed elevator doors.

  “Relax. It’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had to do anything you didn’t want to.”

  “Oh, I want to.” Jack turned around fast, anger licking at the edges of his brain. “I want to toss her sweet ass up on a cross and spank her, hard, use wax on her too…I want to make her scream my goddamned name and beg me to fuck her. Then I want her to suck my cock with those amazing red lips so hard I see stars.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, not even sure why he’d said all that. Now that he’d stated it, he wanted it even more.

  Kyle leaned back, raised an eyebrow and stared at him. The guy was nearly six foot ten and three hundred pounds of powerful muscle. With a light brown complexion, odd, reddish–brown, tightly-curled hair and gray eyes. He’d always been a specimen on the gridiron. Now, covered in bespoke dark navy silk and wool, Egyptian cotton with three-thousand-dollar leather shoes and sporting a watch that cost twice as much as Jack’s own, he was the epitome of success.

  As owner of the Midwest destination BDSM club, a bi-sexual man, he was lonely at times he claimed, but content. Jack looked up at the ceiling, tried to calm his twanging nerve endings. Kyle stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, finally, blowing out a breath. Something about the man’s silence made him relax.

  “Jack, you know I understand how you feel, right? I mean, when we met I ID’d you right away as a Dom and as the kind who has to use it as an outlet to stay sane. I’m the same way. It took me nearly twenty years to come to terms with it. But if you need a break, I get that too. This whole thing,” he held up a hand, indicating the expensive carpets, huge bouquets of fresh flowers, original artwork and the soft music, “can be overwhelming after a while. It’s why I go away for a month every year.” He dropped his arm and mirrored Jack’s stance by putting his hands in his trouser pockets. “You’ve been coming here nonstop for, what? Nearly three years now? And not a single one of these women has intrigued you enough to see them again? To go out on a date, have a cup of coffee? Anything? That worries me.”

  Jack scoffed, opened his mouth to tell Kyle he had plenty of coffee dates and every other kind of date for that matter and not to worry about him. Then he stopped, the w
ords frozen on his lips.

  He had… nothing. And he knew it. A shit ton of money in the bank, a showplace of a house he’d renovated with his own hands, a job he loved, his father’s construction company humming along, and yet…. Gulping, he started to turn back around, to escape the hard reality his friend had just tossed in his face.

  His ears burned and his body still thrummed with that old annoying, restless energy. And the fear, that he would open himself up to emotion and get bitch-slapped by it once again.

  “Wait,” Kyle said. “Let’s go sit and talk. I’ll break out the Pappy Van Winkle. You don’t have to do anything else but have a drink, and relax. We’ll let all the others be on stage for a change tonight.”

  Jack squared his shoulders, faced his friend, and nodded. Kyle Summerlin was just as “in demand” as Jack himself, and with both sexes, which gave him more options, Jack supposed. He, himself, had never once been inclined, not even tempted to do anything with a guy other than that once when he and Rob had been higher than kites and some girl wanted them to kiss. He’d done it, but it meant nothing, and it had turned her on so much well… it had been worth the weirdness.

  Even when Rob came out to him when he got back from cooking school, it hadn’t mattered. These men were his friends and always would be. He was never more grateful than he was for Kyle, sensing his need to not be alone that night, but not to perform on the sexual stage as he’d been doing nonstop for… yeah, Jesus, three years now.

  “You will owe her one though,” Kyle said, draping an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “She came here for you.”

  Jack laughed but it was not a pleasant sound, not even to his ears. “Okay, deal. You gonna tell me who she is?”

  “Nah, you’ll just have to guess or ask her yourself.” He poured them a healthy helping of the two-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon, then raised his glass. Jack clinked his, a bit of his frustration ebbing as the brown liquor coated his throat. The memory of Jenna nearly floored him then, from out of nowhere, for no reason, mocking him. He set his jaw, downed the booze, then stood. Kyle looked up at him with those odd, gray eyes. “Where’re you going?”

  “To make the mystery lady’s night,” he said, shooting his cuffs. “I’m still sober, you know that. I think pretending I can just leave here without getting her off, like she paid for, would just make me look bad.”

  Kyle sat back, sipping his drink, his face pensive. “If you’re sure. I’m thinking you should take a break.”

  “I will. After this one.” He turned, opened the door, and marched down to the stage where the Doms—four men and two women—were now arrayed against the velvet-lined wall, waiting for the subs to choose.

  Annette. Her name was like honey to him, pouring through his soul. He’d done exactly as he’d planned, and she’d responded just as he expected. Reacting to the hard metal cuffs, the gag, the wax, even the bit he’d let drop right onto her pussy. The sweet, hard button of her clit had quivered when he’d done it and he’d latched onto it with his mouth, sucking and tugging her toward the fourth or fifth operatic climax.

  Finally, she’d done the thing he’d anticipated.

  “Sir, Sir…oh god, Sir please, please, fuck me…. I can’t stand it. I have to have you inside me.”

  He’d undressed then, slipping out of his trousers without a word, releasing her wrists and ankles quickly. He needed to feel her around him, required a deeper connection. Was this it? Could this be the sub he took out…what did Kyle say? For coffee? On a date? Oh dear Jesus, he sincerely hoped so.

  He sighed as he slipped into her, taking her with a firm, deep stroke that drew groans from them both.

  “Look at me,” he whispered as he captured her wrists over her head on the silk bed cover. “Annette,” he sighed into her neck, moving his hips fast, faster, hard, harder. Her breathing quickened again. She made small sounds of satisfaction as she wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him the deep angle he loved.

  “Sir,” she cried out as her body clamped down on his and her pussy pulsed, drawing him ever nearer to his own release. “Oh…yes!”

  He let go of her wrists, closed his eyes and let himself have it, that connection, one of physical and potential emotional depth and breadth. His brain buzzed and his body tensed as the orgasm rolled down his spine, making him shudder with its energy.

  He opened his eyes, kissed her then for the first time, loving her taste and the way she opened to him. Then, she stopped. Her dark eyes seemed to flip a switch—to off. As in “get off me I have to go.”

  He pulled out of her, his body cold, his soul frozen as he watched her sit, run her hands through her hair. Then she stood and walked away from him without a look. He rolled to his back, pulled off the condom and stared at the ceiling. This is what you do, Gordon. You fuck them and leave. Why are you expecting this woman to act any differently?

  He decided to turn on some native charm, see if he could coax her to stay, try a few more moves. Anything, if she would only stay.

  When she walked out of the bathroom she was dressed in a power suit, her hair pulled back, glasses and earrings on. His gaze went straight to the gigantic diamond on her ring finger. He lay, naked, his cock still half hard, and glared at her.

  “Hope it was all you wanted it to be. Annette.” He used the name she’d thrown at him, figuring it was not her real one.

  She smiled and sat by him, ran a manicured finger down his pecs to his abs, cupped his balls a brief second. “I’ll be back for more, stud,” she said. “My husband is in the next room, getting his ass spanked too. Maybe next time we’ll go for a bigger party room, hmmm, make it a foursome?” But Jack turned his head away, sick at himself for even thinking anything at all beyond what he usually did, for not sticking with what worked, emotionally speaking.

  “Maybe,” he said, as he headed for the shower, his mind churning already, letting go of her and the split second he’d thought he’d found something special. Gordon, you truly are the fucking king of bad timing.

  He stayed in the shower a long time, then drove home through the dark just before dawn, his eyes burning with self-pitying tears he refused to shed.

  He had a long week ahead of him, four listing appointments and a relocating doctor couple to tour around. They wanted to see every available luxury condo Ann Arbor had to offer, which meant he had a total of three properties to show them, including one he figured they’d buy, the penthouse on the corner of Main and William. Sighing, he rolled the window of Stingray down, cranked the tunes, and let his sexually sated body enjoy a few moments of relaxation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack hit the ground running, literally, the next day with ten miles at five a.m., enjoying the sights and sounds of his Midwest college town coming to life on a pleasant spring day. His head was clear, heart light, body on fire with purpose. On the one hand he wished he had just sat with Kyle, had another bourbon and left. On the other, having that strange, connected feeling with the redheaded sub had been good for him too. It had reminded him of his purpose—fuck early, fuck often, fuck well and go home—alone. It was the only way.

  There were plenty of women to choose from. Why make it a one-course dinner when the smorgasbord was available? Because for a guy like him, it was exactly that. He smiled when his phone interrupted the stream of sixties Brit rock music for a text.

  One of the new clients he was meeting to list her house, in a plum, sought-after neighborhood on Ann Arbor’s southwest side was one of the hottest blondes he’d laid eyes on in a while. She was tall, sort of acerbic, but with a smoking, hard-won body which threw a fuck-me vibe so clear the first time he met her at the front of his office he’d chuckled, making her shoot him a funny look. He’d asked her out, of course, and they had a date set for tonight.

  “Looking forward to tonight, Jack,” she said at six a.m. in a text message. “See you soon.”

  He ignored it, figuring it for a fishing expedition to see if he’d answer. In no mood for game-playing with a woman
he planned to seduce, ride like a circus pony, and then snag her listing, he kept running. He finished up his usual route in time for an extra cup of coffee before showering.

  His assistant Jason was already in place, fielding calls and printing out an itinerary for the condo-shopping couple. He dicked around with a few negotiations, but his heart wasn’t in it. Jenna’s face kept jumping up into his consciousness for some stupid reason, alternating with the O-face he’d given Annette or whatever the fuck her name was, a half a dozen times the night before.

  He leaned over his desk at one point, his heart pounding so hard it actually hurt when he realized that part of him didn’t even want to go out with the hot blonde potential client tonight. He wanted something else, something elusive and that he, personally had never even witnessed before—a stable home, someone there to meet him, a faceless, nameless…someone.

  He shook his head. Then called Evan to see if he had time for lunch before focusing on the rest of the shit he had to do before taking the grand condo tour. By the time he had picked the doctor couple up, he’d worked himself into a small frenzy of frustration.

  One thing he fully grasped about himself: he was hardly ever satisfied with what he was doing. He was always thinking of the next task to be done, the next woman to satisfy, the next item on the list. He sighed, recalling the lunch he’d shared with his oh-so-calm friend, who’d done the wild-ass thing of buying a brewery and then falling hard for the hot chick who owned a damn beer distribution company.

  He was happy for Evan. Although part of him rebelled against it, wanted the two of them to go on being pussy-chasing bachelors for a bit longer. Shaking his head at himself, he glanced down to see yet another text from his date—the woman he hardly knew, making a thinly veiled suggestion that he “take his vitamins” for tonight. God. He ran a hand down his face. This is what he’d been reduced to?