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

by Lexi Buchanan

  He cranes his head to look at me, his eyes asking Yeah?

  “Nothing.” I shake my head.

  A hand travels between my thighs. His fingers glide against the edge of my opening, running circles around my flesh. I pull his head toward me, forcing a passionate kiss. I hiss pleasurably into his mouth as one finger parts me down below. My knees spread at the welcome intrusion, then there’s another finger. He draws in and out, stretching and preparing me, making me crave to be filled.

  “I love you, Charlie,” he breathes into my mouth.

  “I love you, too.” I take a mental picture of his face so close to mine. Every perfect detail—the way a smile somehow peeks through absolute desire—and every perfect flaw—the story-filled scar below his right eye.

  His slick fingers pull out and he rolls over me, nudging my knees wider with his thighs. His steel cock rubs against me, teasing me. “Fuck me,” I plead.

  He pushes himself up onto his fists, one on each side of my head. His hardness pushes against me, entering me with precision and an unwavering tempo. The further he sinks, the more everything becomes clear. Running is the right thing to do if it means keeping him.

  When his pelvis meets mine, he lets out a well-earned moan. My fingers navigate to the muscles on his back, holding on tight as the ride starts. At first, he pulls out slowly, bringing himself all the way to the edge before pushing back in. It’s painfully slow, but I know the hydraulics are just getting heated up.

  Every thrust quickens while sticking to the same basic beat. He rises to his knees so that his whole body is like a tower peering over me. It’s not fair that his body is a landmark not many will ever see. He grabs a small, unopened bag of Molly that sits at the top of the bed and tears it with his mouth. A thin cloud of white powder follows gravity toward my body.

  His cock reaches the hilt, and he stays there while he slides my bra off my arms and empties a line of the drug in the fold between my breasts. If I did any more Molly, I’d probably get lost in some magical world of rainbows and butterflies, unable to ever find my way back. But he’s much more experienced than I am.

  He pins both my arms against the bed. His tongue rolls against the crease of my breasts, lapping up the line of Molly while he begins to drive into me again. The thrusts are shallower than before, but remain just as effective at making my insides scream.

  At the end of the bed, my toes begin to curl. It’s funny how they always know that I’m about to explode well before the rest of me is able to catch on. Blue falls back onto his fists, thrusting further into me with every bounce. The only thing that could make this better would be a mirror above the bed so that I could see his miraculous ass while he fucks me senseless.

  Sweat drips from his face onto mine. It’s the first time since I came into contact with his dick that I’m aware how terribly hot it is in this room. Our entire bodies gleam with a coat of sweat. If Rake managed to find us and walk in that door, he’d be blinded by the light bouncing off us.

  The bed begins to creak as he moves faster and harder. He’s like a drag racer with a full tank and no speed limits. I fear the bed could break with every thrust. I become aware of the sounds being thrown from my throat. Every time he slams into me, I find myself praying out loud for release.

  I almost feel bad for our neighbors in this fully-booked motel. I say almost because I’m too lost in a sea of ecstasy to care. The headboard slams against the wall, making sweet music—it’s the drums. Blue’s grunts are the bass and my moans are the vocals. We have quite the set-up here.

  Sweat falls from his face like a tree shedding leaves in October. My hands trail to the swell of his back, pulling him closer to my body.

  I’ve never seen him quite like this. The first time we met, we fucked, but it was quick and distant. Other times, we just fucked. But this is something else. There’s an animal in his eyes, like he somehow transforms once he hits the sheets. I’ll admit it. I love it. He’s so sweet and gentle in mixed company, but when we’re alone, he has the power to take me on a trip out of this galaxy.

  His blue eyes burn with desire, absorbing every little bit of me there is to see. He fucks me deep into the mattress without saying a word. And there’s nothing wrong with that—sometimes you just wanna fuck someone’s brains out. And my brains are about to splatter against the headboard.

  There are only three things that make me feel alive anymore—sex, Molly, and him. And right now, I have all three. It starts in my toes and then possesses my entire body. I’ve just died and gone to heaven. My entire body tenses, wrapping tight around both his dick and his ass. My knees rise, locking him in place against me as his thrusts become erratic.

  “Fuck,” he yells. “I’m gonna come.” His hands tangle into the sheets, his chest propped up above me as his entire body quivers. I feel every throb as he empties himself inside me. Every tiny tremor threatens to start up my engine again. He drives into me still, each stroke less deep than the one before. After he’s come down from his euphoria and he pulls out completely, I notice he’s still hard as steel. He bites into his lip and I know he’s not finished yet.

  Neither am I.

  He grabs my legs and rolls me over and onto my knees. He inserts himself from behind in one sudden slam. My eyes go blind.

  I wake to a cool breeze blowing through a small opening on the side of the window. It’s a little past three and far from daylight. It’s abnormally quiet, save for the faint blaring of a TV coming from the room behind us.

  The ice bucket is empty, so I grab it and step outside. Two simultaneous sounds occur—the clicking of the motel door and the slamming of a car door. My palm wraps around the railing and rides it as I make my way to the ice machine situated halfway down the outdoor walkway.

  There’s a calmness in the air, betrayed for milliseconds at a time as gusts come and go. My bare feet pad against the concrete, making no sound, as if I’m walking on air. I place the ice bucket under the ice machine and press it back against the handle. Ice grinds against metal, and then shoots out into the bucket. It comes out strong, sending stray chunks of ice against the cement, then rolling toward the railing.

  It’s not hot out here, but it’s warm enough for the ice to melt. It’s slow, but puddles begin to form around each escaped cube. I kick the cube closest to me, sending it flying off the edge of the second floor. I make my way to the railing and set the bucket down, then I lean against the railing with my elbows folded, staring out into the nothing of this once-busy highway.

  It’s difficult to see change in motion. Only when you’re looking back do you truly grasp it. With every breath we take, something changes, but it’s not until we’ve breathed a million more breaths that we notice it. I wonder what my life will look like in this moment when I’m thinking back while rocking my chair on a suburban porch at sunset. Will I be able to see that exact moment that everything changed?

  The bell attached to the office door rings and a man comes skulking out. His arms are heavy and pulled tight toward the top. He looks like a man on a mission and when he turns around and locks his eyes on me, I know what his mission is.

  Rake races toward the steps and I snap backward, tripping over the bucket of ice. The ice scatters against the concrete and scrapes along my leg. I push myself up with my hands, noticing the clanking on the steps behind me.

  It’s just like the movies. I’m running from Jason Voorhees and no matter how fast I run, he’s right on me. He pivots around the corner, almost slamming into the railing as I finally catch my speed. I sprint to room twenty-one and slide past it once I reach it. My hand twists the knob, thrusting the door open and slamming it shut just as quick.

  “Get up!” I scream.

  Blue jolts up in bed, throwing off the stray bit of sheet that managed to wrap itself around his right leg. His head and chest are drenched in sweat–so not the point.

  “He’s here!” I push the deadbolt into place.

  “Rake?” he asks very rhetorically. He knows the answe
r.

  He launches himself out of bed. Naked and vulnerable, he practically jumps into his jeans, yanking them up over his legs.

  Something thumps against the door. The knob twists and the door pushes open a fraction of an inch before slamming against the deadbolt. Cheap-ass motel door lock.

  “Come on, let me in,” Rake says through the door, taking a break from beating on it. “I just wanna talk.”

  His voice is calm and one that could be forgiven for welcoming him with open arms. Not so forgiven? The Good Samaritans dead bodies floating in the bathtub. I back away from the door, opting to not end up in the bathtub. I pace backward, bumping into Blue. He grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me behind him as he buckles his jeans.

  “No?” Rake asks.

  Blue begins to speak, but pauses.

  “Come on, Blue.”

  “Just give me a minute,” Blue says to him.

  Rake laughs diabolically. He’s insane. And I’m not down with Blue’s plan, whatever it is.

  “Blue,” I whisper, “you’re not really going to open that door, are you?”

  The look he gives me speaks volumes, whereas he could have just said three simple words… Are you stupid?

  “I don’t got a minute, babyface.”

  Babyface? I don’t say the words—I mouth them—but Blue has an extraordinary ability to read lips. He’s not thrilled about it either.

  Blue turns his attention back to the psychopath on the other side of the door. “Come on, man. I thought we were past that.”

  “I don’t know, Blue. I think you’ll always be Babyface to me.”

  I’ve had enough. “All right, seriously, why the hell is he calling you Babyface?” I ask louder than I intended.

  Rake laughs. “He didn’t tell you?” He clicks his tongue. “Makes you wonder what else he’s hiding, huh?”

  “All right, where’s the gun? I’m going to shoot him,” I say. Again, louder than intended.

  “That’s how we’re going to play?”

  And then there’s a worrying silence. The door that was pinned tight by Rake’s body is now quivering against the deadbolt.

  Then Rake’s body slams against the door.

  “Let me the fuck in!” he screams. The full weight of his body is hurled toward the door again.

  Blue dives across me, his hand scooping the gun off the bed, cocking it in the same beat. He angles the gun toward the door while looking at me. “You need to go, Charlie. Sneak out the bathroom window and wait by the Jeep,” he whispers.

  “I’m not leaving you.” I shake my head.

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  My eyes bulge. “Don’t you know those are the famous last words of every dead person, ever?”

  “What are you lovers talking about in there?” Rake asks amusedly through the door.

  “Go,” Blue commands, then leans in, kissing me. My hand rubs across his soft cheek as I pull away and grab the keys off the table. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You better be.” I rush into the bathroom and climb over the stained tub. The small window, big enough for me but probably not for Blue, takes force to push open. I pop my head out the window. The ground’s not that far down. But for me, someone who is inexplicably terrified of heights, not that far is far enough. I don’t fancy the idea of jumping. Especially head first.

  I turn and stand on my hands, pushing my legs backward through the window. I slowly lower myself against the rough exterior, until all that’s left inside the room are my head and my arms glued tightly to the window sill. One more look down and I gauge it’s about an eight-foot drop. There’s no rational reason this should scare me as much as it does.

  I hear the door break open. “Put your gun down!” Blue yells.

  I try to pull myself back into the window. God knows why. It’s not like I could actually do anything to help Blue. Then there’s gunfire and my vision goes black. I lose my grip and drop to the ground, landing squarely on my feet. “Blue!” I scream.

  My feet pound against the grass as I circle the back of the motel, racing toward the front. My bare feet press against the cool grating of the metal steps. Once I reach the top of the stairs, I trace my palm against the railing as I carefully pace toward our motel room. I’m half terrified that I’ll find Blue dead, equally scared that Rake will be lying on the floor. The two scenarios mean two different things, but both mean that Blue’s life has come to an end—either figuratively or literally.

  I pass room twenty-four. With every foot closer to our room, the worry in my gut escalates. I’m sure everyone in this motel, out here in the middle of nowhere, heard the gunshot. The police will be here whenever they can manage. My guess is that the nearest police station is at least twenty minutes away. I’m worried about what they’ll find almost more than what I will.

  Room twenty-three. If there’s an argument, a fight, or fists being thrown, I think I’d be able to hear it. But all I hear is silence. It’s time to start thinking about best-case scenarios. Otherwise, I might just fold over the railing and puke.

  Room twenty-two. The only thing I hear is the buzzing white noise of a tenant tuned into a porn station with a bad signal. That’s what you get when you don’t pay extra for cable, though I’m pretty sure that’s not an advertised amenity.

  The edge of room twenty-one. I hesitate, my feet pushed tight against the floor. I search for the deepest of breaths from the furthest reaches of my lungs. My head begins to spin as I lurch forward to the opening of the door.

  “Blue!” He’s lying face down on the floor with his arms sprawled out above his head. I shift to run toward him, but a rough hand wraps around my mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Blue

  My body’s heavy and drenched in sweat as I awake on the warm floor of room twenty-one. I take in my surroundings, briefly wondering how I got here before it all comes flooding back to me. I jump to my feet, catching my reflection in the mirror. I’ve got two black eyes now. One from my cousin and the other from the man with a death wish.

  Can I be that person again? That person I’ve fought so hard not to be. It doesn’t matter, I guess. He’s left me with no other options. The only thing left is to put a bullet through his head, similar to the bullet I’d already shot through his heart when I took the blame for Trey’s death. Quickly, I scramble for my gun on the floor, slip it into the back of my jeans, and bolt out the door.

  Running alongside the rails, I search for Charlie, hoping she found a way to elude Rake. I know the odds that this night ends in any sort of happy ending are slim, but I’ll fight until my last breath, even if it means doing the unthinkable.

  Through the glass door of the office, I see the manager on the phone. The same middle-aged man who I’d convinced to give me a room just a few short hours ago. The phone he holds in his hand is an outdated cordless relic from the nineties.

  I storm through the door and he fumbles in his seat, pulling back from me as I reach the counter. “He’s here,” he says quietly into the phone. His face is sunken, a look of terror. “The police are on their way.”

  “Good,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell them to bring backup.”

  He stutters, having no idea what’s happened. He probably believes I’m the bad guy and maybe he’s right. I spot a cell phone on the counter. It’s a flip phone so my best guess is that it’s the manager’s. I scoop it off the counter, and pivot, rushing out the front door.

  “He said to bring backup,” I hear the man say. “Also, he just took my phone.”

  I flip the phone open and dial 911, prepared to speak to the police on my own, knowing that even if I manage to save Charlie, I could be hauled to jail in the back of a cruiser right after. She’s worth it. She’s worth everything, and I’d do anything to save her, the only good thing to ever happen to me. I’ve let her down, and she probably would’ve been better off without me.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  I spot my keys
lying in the gravel. “My girlfriend has been kidnapped.” I pop the Jeep door open and hop in, turning the ignition and slamming the gas all in one beat. The tires kick rocks into the sky as I race toward the road. The operator begins to speak, but I cut her off. “Can you track this phone?”

  “Yes we can, but, sir—”

  “Track it. I’ll call you back.” I flip the phone shut then open it again, dialing Cookie’s number from memory. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s answered his phone in less than three rings. Whether he’s working or not, he’s got one palm pressed to that damn iPhone at any time. So when the first call goes to his voicemail after just one ring, I grow concerned.

  I slam the phone shut. My jaw tenses, my teeth digging into my tongue. “Fuck,” I scream and punch the dashboard. There’s only one other person I could call–other than Charlie, but I don’t have her number memorized. I dial my dad’s number, remembering that Charlie said something about sneaking into his camper. Maybe in some fucked-up way he knows what Rake plans to do.

  I call about four times before realizing I’m not going to reach him and that I’m out here on my own. The speedometer rises, the pointed line speeding above eighty.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Charlie

  I’m about eight years old. It’s a sunny morning, closer to the end of the school year than the beginning. I sit at a table in the breakfast nook, my head barely hovering over the top as I play with the letters in my cereal.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” my dad asks, folding his newspaper against the table.

  I just shrug, far more interested in spelling the name of my favorite imaginary friend against the canvas of milk in my bowl.

  “Charlie,” my mom presses on. “It’s When I’m Grown Up day at school today.”

  My head rises. “I just wanna be happy,” I say with a wide, innocent smile. I’m missing my two front teeth, but I’m too young to care.