What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7)

by Lexi Buchanan

  Bending down, he took one of her nipples in his mouth, rolling the tip with his tongue. Her body jerked, and she whimpered. “Still sensitive?” he asked. The nipple clamps had been on for a while.

  “Yes, a little, but it feels good, too.”

  He moved to the other nipple, and she arched her back, moaning. Before he got rough with her tender breasts, he moved lower. She let out a soft whimper that got him more aroused. She raised her hips as an invitation, and he teased her by moving slowly to her pussy. His thumbs parted her folds, exposing her most sensitive places, and generously worked his tongue and lips on her swollen bud.

  Zoe cried out and lifted her ass off the floor. “Damn, Merritt, if you tell me I can’t come until you say so, I will kill you.”

  He laughed into her pussy and thrust a finger deep into her channel. She had to be on the edge of an orgasm by the way she was shaking and moaning. “Go for it. I can do this all night.”

  “You won’t need to. God,” she shrieked as her body thrashed beneath him and her hands gripped his head, holding it.

  He lapped at her juices and plunged deeper with his finger, pressing her G-spot, drawing another yelp out of her. When her cries began to subside, he slipped the condom on and thrust inside her. He thrust slowly at first, easing into her tight passage, feeling her slick and hot depths. When her hands gripped his ass, he lost control and moved like a piston, quick, hard thrusts as he stared down into her eyes. The look of desperate passion raised his hunger and need for release, but something also wedged deep in his chest. “Damn, Zoe. I can’t slow down.”

  She laughed. “Would it help if I said you must ask for permission?” She grabbed her breasts, lifting them up. She knew damn well that got him hot.

  “Fuck no.” He pumped into her hard, tensing his body, trying to hold back his release. His balls ached as the pressure built.

  “I have the willpower. I guess you don’t.” She smiled in a teasing dare. Her hand slid down to finger her pussy.

  He groaned. “Cold, heartless.” He held back his climax. Damn it. If she could, then he could.

  “Keep fucking me like this, and I’ll come again.” She rocked her hips in a perfect rhythm.

  He was battling between proving he could hold off and enjoying the most intense orgasm he’d had in a long time. Then her legs wrapped tight around his waist, and she rode the next wave. The ache for release was more than he could bear, and he spilled into her with his cock buried deep. “Fuck yes.” Spasms raged through his body. The scent of sex, the scent of her stirred his senses, making him lightheaded. “Ah, fuck yes,” he groaned again.

  She looked up at him as he slipped from her body and collapsed beside her. “Hold me,” she said.

  “All night,” he promised as he pulled the blanket around them. He’d get up in a minute to clean up. Right now he had to feel her close. He pressed her head into his chest, stroking her hair. That wedge was still stuck in his chest, a sensation of emptiness or worry. He finally figured out what it was. “I don’t want you to do it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Melissa lifted the coffeepot, held it up and frowned. “Empty. Probably a good thing. If I drink any more, I’ll be awake for three days,” she said to Tyler.

  She paced the press secretary’s office. Waiting was the worst, more than when she was leading a presentation. Tyler, however, could have been at home lounging by the pool for as stressed as he looked. He sat in a delicate Victorian-style chair, his hard body overly male and sexy in contrast to the cream-colored print fabric. The top button of his tailored white shirt was open, his tie loosened. He sat sideways in the chair, head back and eyes closed.

  “Hmmm,” he answered, not opening his eyes. “Julia said we could go home.”

  “Go home then.” She stuffed the pot back on the hot plate and turned off the machine. The kitchen staff had brought in a cart with coffee, sandwiches and cookies for the late meeting. Melissa sniffed at a sandwich and put it back down. Julia had gone home over an hour ago. Normally, Julia hung in her office until the presentation was over and she got word that the target had left the White House, but this evening she’d gone home with a migraine.

  The first lady, Alana, Clay Stewart, a Secret Service agent and also part of the FLC, and several other Secret Service agents and video technicians were currently engaged in the presentation with two representatives from Chad. “I don’t like last-minute changes.”

  Tyler narrowed his gaze and lifted his chin. “You don’t like the Chad delegates choosing Alana over you. Don’t take it personally.” He closed his eyes. “I think the two delegates would’ve preferred to have the room by themselves without Alana.”

  Melissa hadn’t considered that. If they were lovers, what a rush to get it on in the White House. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’ll leave whenever you do.”

  “I’m not leaving until it’s over.” Melissa sat on Julia’s desk. She was too tired and too worried to care. “Alana’s done threesomes before, but not with the likes of these two men.”

  “What’s the deal with these two? I know they have ties with terrorists, and there’re rumors they’ve given these groups safe refuge. But most of the action is in the Middle East.”

  Melissa nodded. “After the president of Chad and his wife were assassinated, the new president, Turi Aleid, stepped in and quickly appointed Miron Gerard as his prime minister. Chad then became a new hotspot for terrorist groups. Julia said they believe these groups can centralize there and move their focus outward like a spiral.”

  “Blackmailing these dudes might get them out of the picture one way or the other, but how are you going to get the terrorists out?”

  Melissa rubbed her face and expected her eye makeup was smudged beyond repair. “The ultimate objective is to blackmail these guys into gaining some damaging information about these groups first, then take them out of office. If the terrorists find out, Aleid and Gerard may not live long enough to step down. President Bryson or the UN advisers should have someone in mind to help Chad with the transition, if not a recommendation for a new president.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs,” Tyler said.

  “I know. Sometimes this whole setup scares the hell out of me. It’s like we’re building a house of cards. One wrong move, and everything collapses.” Melissa checked her watch. “Damn it, it’s after one. What’s taking so long? Alana doesn’t like an audience, but I’m worried. The first lady should never have agreed to both delegates from Chad for Alana’s presentation. They’re both bastards. I’ve read their files. Aleid, especially. He prefers to carry a machete and dagger instead of a sidearm.”

  “Weapons are not allowed in the White House,” Tyler reminded her. “The metal detectors would light up like a Christmas tree.”

  “I’m going to check on her.” Melissa got up and straightened her skirt. “Coming?”

  “She’s fine. You can’t get in there anyway. The door’s sealed. Clay Stewart is in there. The guy could strangle both of them with his bare hands.”

  The Secret Service agent had a powerful presence. Narrow-hipped but tall, barrel-chested with large biceps and hands. His military-cut dark hair had a squared-off shape, as did his angular jaw and cheekbones. The only soft features on Clay were his hazel-green eyes and full lips. He would tower over the two delegates. Knife or no knife, they wouldn’t attempt anything, Melissa hoped.

  Melissa smiled. “He probably could flip over a small European car with one hand.”

  “Relax, Miss Control Freak, they should be done soon.”

  “I’m not a control freak. Alana’s my friend.”

  “Not a control freak? So you didn’t try to stop Jason from training Zoe? I thought I heard you discussing this with Faith and Julia.”

  She glared at him. “That’s different. I’m the best person to train her. I’m a Domme. Jason isn’t in the lifestyle.”

  “You did train him, though,” he pressed. “Weren’t you thorough enough with him?” />
  “Screw you, Tyler.”

  “Anytime. I might even allow you to tie me up, if you’ll let me do the same.”

  Melissa leaned against the doorframe, folded her arms and rapidly tapped her toe on the carpet. “I know and I don’t care. Coming?”

  When they got to the basement, they moved slowly and silently down the hall. The two Secret Service agents came to attention and blocked the hallway but eased their stance when they realized who they were. One raised a finger to his lips, signaling them to be quiet.

  They both nodded. Melissa noticed the red X of tape stretched across the door leading into the Red Tape Room. Tyler pointed to the adjacent Mason Room, showing the other agents where he and Melissa were going. One guard cautiously nodded his approval.

  After Melissa and Tyler entered the dimly lit room, she quietly closed the door and eased around the tapestry and into the tunnel. When they entered the video room, Melissa noticed two men engrossed at laptops. The technicians glanced up at them, alarmed at first, but recognized them and turned back to their work. Video cameras were clamped on stands at various heights, pointing through slits in the wall.

  The narrow hallway-like room was mostly soundproof, but the people inside wouldn’t take the chance to talk or move around too much. Melissa looked over one technician’s shoulder at the laptop monitor. The picture on the screen was of the inside of the Red Tape Room.

  Alana stood to the side of the St. Andrew’s Cross with a flogger in hand. Clay stood beside her. Since when did the Secret Service guy stand so close during a scene? As a switch, she was prepared to act as a Domme or submissive, depending on the needs of her clients or targets. Apparently, she was engaged as the Domme, but she was practically uninvolved with the scene.

  Prime Minister Gerard was totally nude, facing forward and strapped to the cross, arms and legs spread wide. His dark, mahogany skin gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. He was quite aroused, his cock hard and pointing straight up. The president of Chad, Aleid, pointed to Alana, and she swung the flogger in an arc and smacked the back of the cross. Gerard jumped and yelped. Melissa suspected she hadn’t even hit him. Was it a playful act?

  Aleid turned and Melissa saw the knife gripped in his hand. She planted both hands over her mouth and stifled a scream. The tech gave her a warning look and half-smile. Were they crazy to allow knife play? That usually wasn’t allowed. She glanced at Tyler’s deep frown.

  Alana wore an under-bust corset in black with black lace thigh-high stockings and red suicide-spike heels. Aleid, also nude, had his back to the camera but occasionally turned enough so they could clearly see his face and hard cock. Melissa nodded to Tyler, referring to the clear shots of video. He looked worried, even though the scene appeared to be under control, except for the naked delegate and the president gripping a knife.

  Hadn’t they filmed enough for a successful blackmail recording? Melissa wished this scene would end. Her insides knotted, and a wave of nausea passed through her. Alana’s flogger struck the cross, not Gerard. Then Aleid brought the knife up to Gerard, close to his face. Clay tensed. The knife edge slid over his chest, making the tiniest of score marks, then lower to his abdomen, a couple of scores, and still lower, toward his cock.

  Gerard’s cock was still hard. Either he trusted Aleid that much or he was crazy. Aleid held the knife at the base of Gerard’s shaft then removed it. Smiling, he kissed the bound man and put the knife down. Everyone in the room let out their breath.

  Faith stood to the side, in the shadows, her face hidden by a decorative masquerade mask and her body carefully blocked by furnishings, standing wall dividers and hanging tapestries. Madam first lady knew exactly where she could and couldn’t stand. If she accidently moved into view, the video could be edited. From what Melissa could see, Faith wore a slight, humorless smile as she observed the scene. Her body language didn’t show signs of stress. Then Alana approached the table of sexual implements, and the first lady’s smile widened.

  Alana selected a handful of nylon straps off the table and fitted them around her hips, securing them tightly. Her back was to the table, and the men from Chad watched with complete fascination.

  “Oh my God,” Melissa whispered.

  One of the technicians glanced a warning at her to be quiet.

  Tyler glared at her. What? he mouthed.

  Watch. Melissa pointed to the screen. This was about to get interesting. Bravo, Alana.

  Alana turned so that those taping could see she had a strap-on dildo sticking out from the straps at the level of her pubis. In one hand, she held a bottle of lubricant gel. She stood in front of President Aleid and pointed to the floor in front of the cross.

  “Bend over,” she ordered, and he complied without hesitation. “Now, pleasure him.”

  Aleid took Gerard’s cock in his mouth and began sucking. Alana used the gel on Aleid and positioned herself behind him, her slick dildo pressed between his cheeks. She thrust into him, and Melissa couldn’t tell which delegate groaned louder. Melissa glanced at Tyler, who had his eyes closed and mouthed the word, Fuck.

  Satisfied that Alana had everything under control, Melissa took Tyler’s hand and led him out of the video room, the Mason Room, and back up the stairs to the West Wing. “Can we go now?” Tyler asked. “I think I’ve been scarred for life.” He laughed uneasily, but there was a note of teasing.

  Melissa laughed. “Too much?”

  “I can watch pretty much anything in a porno movie, but when it’s someone I know and foreign delegates I’ve seen in the news, somehow it’s hard to watch.” He sighed, the exhaustion evident in his eyes. “Should we go back to Flynn’s office?”

  “No, I’m tired. Alana’s okay. She’s almost done. The video will be amazing.”

  “Cool. I’ll walk you to your car.” Tyler placed a protective hand on her shoulder. How nice to get a Secret Service escort.

  “That scene didn’t turn you on, did it?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Hmmm. Perhaps.”

  The next two days, the White House surged with visitors and meetings. Zoe had received only a quick text or two from Jason, early this morning. She sat in her dark, windowless office, poking at a cranberry muffin and sipping black hazelnut coffee she’d bought at Ebenezers Coffeehouse. She hadn’t felt like herself since that night with Jason. She kept replaying the scene over and over again. He knew her intimately from when they’d worked at Langley, but did he realize how much his training session had turned her on? During their year together, they’d had sex in the most unromantic of places while on missions—the back of a van, a warehouse at night, a boat dock, a storeroom in an office building that was under surveillance. She closed her eyes, recollecting those times and how hot she and Jason had been for each other. But never had they crossed into bondage or the whips and chains stuff.

  Her body heated up thinking about what he’d done to her. She didn’t think she’d ever had such an intense orgasm before in her life. How much was training for her presentation for her target and how much was their own private exploration? He wanted her to turn them down, drop out of the FLC. He had to know it was much too late for that.

  She stared down at her schedule of meetings for the day. Muffin crumbs dropped on the memo she’d found in the interoffice envelope that morning from Julia. What time did the woman get to work?

  She had to meet with Julia, Melissa and the first lady at noon to discuss details of Zoe’s upcoming presentation with the president of Iran, Majeed Kadir. At two, she’d meet with security adviser Frank Phillips about her personal safety. Zoe laughed at that. What could he teach her that she hadn’t already learned at Langley? Phillips was an ex-Marine scout sniper who retired early after shrapnel damaged his eye. He claimed he could still shoot as well, but the military had forced his retirement. Besides the glasses he wore and a one-inch scar slashed over one eyebrow, there were no other physical signs of his injury. Zoe wondered about the non-physical ones.

  The pounding on her door made h
er almost spill her coffee. “Hang on, I’m coming.” Zoe got up and opened the door. Alana stood there dressed in a professional business suit, quite a change from the Domme outfit she’d seen her wear. Zoe hardly recognized her. The young woman was huffing and puffing from running down the stairs.

  “Hurry. You’ve got to see this for yourself.” Alana grabbed Zoe’s arm, but Zoe ran back inside to pick up her keys and locked her office before racing up the stairs behind Alana.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Oval Office.” Alana giggled. “Aleid and Gerard are getting a personal viewing of the video from the other night.”

  “We can’t go in there,” Zoe warned.

  They reached the hallway, and Alana slowed to a professional pace, the fast walk that everyone in the West Wing did. “No, we can’t, but we can watch as they come out.”

  “Alana. Are you crazy? Those men can’t see you,” Zoe said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before. I love to see the looks on their faces. Powerful, evil men defeated in a matter of seconds. Pure bliss.” Alana’s eyes glinted like a wild woman’s. She talked faster and faster. Even more than normal. Coming from Ohio, Zoe had discovered that people in major cities like New York, Washington, DC, and Los Angeles talked fast. And those with high IQs were very fast talkers.

  “Why do you keep doing this? Come on, let’s get out of here before they leave.” The only reason Zoe was up here again was to keep Alana out of trouble by changing her mind. She grabbed Alana’s arm. “I can give you a list of reasons on why this is a bad idea. One is keeping your job. The other is never do anything stupid to jeopardize an operation or your life.”

  “No.” She yanked her arm back. “This is my payback against Mr. Miller.”

  Deep breath. This wasn’t supposed to turn into an argument. “Who the hell is Mr. Miller?”

  Alana gave a snort. Her face wrinkled up in a frown. “My high school calculus teacher who also happened to be the football coach. He said women didn’t need math and managed to flunk me out of his class. It ruined my final grade point average. When I complained to my father, he told me, ‘Prove him wrong.’”