What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9) Page 46

“You didn’t like the photo?” Her shoulders dropped and she let out a sound of discouragement. Her voice sounded more dejected than she intended.

  His finger cut through the air, making a triangle of her private parts. “I think those are mine. That’s what I think!”

  Uncertain if John was seriously unhappy, she blanched, folding her arms over her breasts.

  “That being said, it’s the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen, but I wanted to break that surfboard in two when I read it was a man taking the photo.” John unfolded her arms, holding them open to gaze at her body. He eased her into his embrace. He shook his head slowly, guiding her arms around his neck. “No more naked photo shoots.”

  The heat radiating off his hard-on wedged between her thighs made her squirm. “What? No, you can’t tell me—”

  He raised a brow, rocking his erection between her thighs, daring her to complain.

  “What were you going to say?” He stared straight into her soul. Using skilled accuracy, he maneuvered her panties to the side, pushing further, gliding over her wet flesh. His ridge slipped over her swollen layers, sending a zing of pleasure through her. He made short, deliberate thrusts again, pulling a moan from her throat. “That’s right, baby. These are mine.”

  His bravado reached an all-time high as his fingertips circled a breast teasingly.

  Her breathing wasn’t right, and she couldn’t think right either. She clung to his shoulders as all rational thoughts left her brain. At that precise moment, she might’ve followed him anywhere or done anything he asked. She had fallen prey to his masterful charisma.

  “Do you like this?” He nudged again. His question dripped with sincerity, yet his eyes held a naughty, playful grin.

  “Honestly, I like everything about you,” she panted.

  “Tell me you won’t pose nude in front of another man again.”

  He stopped all movement. John’s thick fingers spread wide, grasping both ass cheeks. He held her firmly with an imposing stare, both brows bent, waiting for her reply.

  Dangling on a pendulum, Shayla was torn between complete irritation and zealous lust. He was pushing her buttons, asking her to make promises she wasn’t ready to say aloud. If she said yes, she feared she would lose all rational thought and bury him deep inside without thinking twice about the consequences.

  She shimmied off him and snagged the condom from the top of his suitcase. Shayla shoved at his chest, pushing him backward onto the lounger at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t sure who looked more stunned, her or John.

  “Oh, shit. I’m—”

  Stifling his apology, she pressed her fingers to his lips, requesting his silence.

  Hands skimming over her hips, Shayla slipped her middle fingers into the sides of her panties and dropped them to the floor. Somehow managing to keep a straight face and her nerve, she lifted her leg and placed her high heel on the lounge outside his thigh. She had never been so assertive in her life.

  Astonishment washed over his stunned expression as if she had just blown his mind. His breathing labored and his eyes dilated. He let his head list to the side, taking in the full view.

  A feeling of power simmered through her as she enjoyed the effect she had on him. Insecurities she’d worn like a sweater all her life were replaced with a calm inner comfort she’d never known.

  “It was for charity and a good cause.” She wiggled the foil.

  John blinked repeatedly, having difficulty removing his gaze from her sexy show of exposure. He swallowed, then glowered. His gaze narrowed to a somber frown. He rested his forehead to the slope between her bare breasts. “I’m a good cause, Shay.”

  Something was happening between them. She could only describe it as energy, a current of magic energy tingling at her core.

  “Okay, I won’t pose for any man but you,” she conceded softly without hesitation, digging her fingers into his dark hair and cradling his head.

  They each moved instinctively.

  Shayla lifted her other knee, straddling his thighs.

  John held her tightly, tugging her onto his lap. He nudged at her opening, breaching the snug barrier.

  She braced herself, lacing her fingers at the back of his neck.

  He cupped her bottom suspending her, and she took him in slowly, yielding to his impalement.

  They stared at each other. She settled lower, giving way to the thick intrusion, engrossed with the sound of his breath coming in rugged groans. Her back arched, and Shayla reached behind her, placing each palm on his knees. Raising her chin to the ceiling, she fluttered her lashes as John filled her with the rest of this lustrous heat. She lost sight of his gaze, as her eyes rolled back into her eyelids.

  His hands held her, strong and secure, allowing her to ride him freely. His thigh muscles strained beneath her as he began to thrust, taking all she had to offer, silently demanding more. A pleasured cry rose in her throat and he brought a hand to her front, his thumb circled her clit until she moaned out his name.

  “You’re not done, baby.” His rough voice heeded a sensual warning while his finger worked her into madness.

  She couldn’t keep quiet, groaning in ecstasy, clenching and pulling at his rigid length.

  John’s other hand threaded through the damp hair at her nape, gripping the base of her neck, compelling her to meet his intense stare. Another set of spasms tumbled through her. He smiled as if in a trance, watching keenly, bringing her to the pinnacle of an unchartered climax. And when she thought he had finished, he took control of her wilting frame, clutched her by the waist, and planted her feet on the lounge. She wriggled at the fullness.

  He licked and ate at her throat, her chest and her breasts. “I want you. Fuck, you feel so good.”

  His rhythm quickened with need and her body responded, giving it to him, riding him hard until he smothered his moan in her neck with a shudder of release.

  Breathless, she buckled, laying her cheek on his shoulder. Her arms curled beneath his, holding to the surface of his back.

  John pressed his mouth to her neck.

  She felt the curve of his smile against her skin, struggling for air.

  John cuddled her close in his lap and she dropped her head, snuggling into the comfortable dip between his shoulder and the prominent bulge of his bicep.

  Staring wordlessly into each other’s faces, they drank in the tenderness of the moment. A thin layer of perspiration covered them. The sweet fragrance of lust and love, heated by passion, wafted through the air between them.

  Her messy hair cascaded to one side and he smiled affectionately, fingering though it, brushing a stray strand from her cheek. Shayla caressed his face with absolute slowness, relishing in the texture. Her finger traced over the small scar on his cheek. “How did you get this?”

  He cupped her bottom and rose to his feet, heading for the shower. “It’s not near as good a story as what you’re expecting.”

  “What? No jail time?”

  “Nope. There was this mountain lion—”

  She burst out laughing.

  He set her feet on the floor and gave her a grin that made her heart stop. “I played baseball in high school. I was on the mound and took a line drive to the face. If you look real close, you can see the thread marks, but most of them have faded.”

  He continued with his story, proudly showing off a few other scars as they showered. They talked and kissed, sharing stories. Shayla loved listening to him talk. Even though he’d been raised in Las Vegas, John wore an old school vibe, an old-fashioned goodness, filled with manners and self-reliance.

  In a blur of conversation they dried off and climbed in bed. She lay on her side, her head resting in the crook of his arm. The sheer masculinity of his features intrigued her, drawing her in.

  John twirled the strands of her sodden hair around his finger, leaving them in a corkscrew curl. A small wondrous smile lit up his face. “You have great hair.”

  “That is the cheesiest line I’ve heard from you yet.
”

  “I haven’t used a line on you yet. With you, everything seems to pour out,” he assured, releasing another coil of blonde hair. “It’s straight but wavy, it’s just so perfect and yet messy.”

  A slight tremor scratched down her back and her brows puckered. Shayla felt the lobes of ears turning hot.

  “Did I say something wrong? That was supposed to be a compliment.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just…I used to get in trouble for having messy hair when I was a little girl.”

  “Seriously? I bet all little girls have messy hair at one point or another.”

  “Not at my house. At my house you got your hair chopped off with a knife.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had time to add a filter.

  He cringed at the idea, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s horrible. Why would your dad do that?”

  “My mother did it. Twice. I used to get high anxiety when I was little, and I would twirl my hair constantly. My house was a war zone. My dad would find any little thing to zero in on and blow up into a huge fight. Instead of sticking up for me, my mom grabbed a chunk of my hair and lobbed it off with a steak knife.”

  John stiffened.

  “I had to wear it that way to school for two weeks before she chopped off the other side. My mother was just trying to save her own hide.” She tilted her head in a nod of confirmation. “If she didn’t react quickly enough to his crazy outbursts, by the end of the day, he’d spiral into this deranged psychopath and beat the hell out of her. She would’ve done just about anything to keep the storm from brewing.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Shay.”

  “It actually feels good to talk about. I usually don’t because it’s so humiliating.”

  “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Shayla. You should be proud you had the guts to get out. You don’t ever talk to anyone about your past?”

  “Other than Tommy and the therapist he made me see for a few years, I’ve only told my best friend Carrie Ann. She runs the Bare Your Soul campaign.”

  John held her with the infinite tenderness of an injured animal, stroking and caressing her fingers. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. I want to know everything about you. I would never judge you, baby.”

  Her toes tucked between his calves, and she snuggled closer, kissing his chin, whispering against his neck, “I know. I trust you.”

  Shayla took comfort in the safety of his arms. She knew he would never ask her to be what he needed her to be. This man would be happy letting her exist exactly how she was.

  Chapter Eleven

  Exhausted and sedated, Shayla lay tucked beside John as the early sun crept through the sliding glass door of the balcony. She let out a happy sigh, savoring the hard muscled surface of his arm beneath the slant of her jaw. As she stretched, long, subtle aches pricked over every inch of her body. She pressed her smile to his skin and curled into his warm morning scent.

  The night had only ended a few short hours before. She’d done things with John Mathews she’d never attempted before, and took mental notes of a few things she wanted to try. Whatever restraints she’d had before dissipated with John. She felt uninhibited and alive in her own skin. He twisted and arranged her in positions she thought were only possible in a Kama sutra. They made love and talked all night long about life, goals, dreams, and places they each hoped to travel. John opened up about his father, Richard, and how his death took a toll on their family. The admiration and respect he held for his father moved Shayla to tears, touched by their bond.

  John stretched with a shiver, yawning above her head, pulling her back closer into the mold of his body.

  Shayla held to his arm tucked between her breast, tracing the muscled chords and dark hair. She couldn’t touch him enough or bring him close enough. They lay slumbered together in silence until she begrudgingly made her way to the bathroom.

  “Hey, baby, your phone is buzzing,” John called from the bed.

  The hairs on her arms rose to daggers and her stomach eddied like a behemoth wave on the coldest day in January. “Umm. It’s okay, just let it ring,” she mumbled through a mouth of foaming toothpaste.

  John’s large frame appeared in the doorway, dark and heated. “It was your fiancé,” he bit out snidely, his typical smile turning to stone.

  Her heart beat in deep throbbing palpitations, pounding in her ears, filling the awkward silence. The anger and pain washing over him in waves pulled streams of tears from her eyes. She rinsed her mouth, and her hands trembled, wiping the residue from her lips.

  “He’s not my fiancé.” Shayla forced herself to meet his glare before peeling away her blurry gaze. She stared blindly through a slick of tears at the shower. All she could think about was just a few hours ago it was the best shower she’d ever had. The place they retreated in the middle of the night to make love under a veil of steam now seemed sterile.

  John stood naked and rigid, his thick fingers creasing white as he held onto the doorjamb.

  She feared he might rip it from the wall.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her heart twisted in sweet pain, bursting with words, big words. Sentiment and emotions danced through her heart, climbing high in her throat, wanting to break free in her voice. Words that previously seemed awkward with Mat wanted fly out of her mouth without a second thought. “I…I…think I—”

  “Don’t,” he warned before turning his back as if he were shielding himself from her words. John aggressively shoved his hands through his sleep mused hair, nearly yanking it from the roots. “Don’t say things to me…if there’s even the slightest chance you might rip them away from me tomorrow.”

  “But I want to. I feel things I’ve never felt before.” Her mouth was so dry it came out raspy and shredded. Dread chilled in her stomach.

  John spun around. He gripped her arms, lowering his face inches from hers. “Don’t you dare tell me you love me unless you plan on leaving Greece and coming home with me to Vegas. I’ll buy a house tomorrow!”

  “I can’t do that, John. I have to be fair to him.”

  His expression sullied as if she’d punched him. He dropped his hands and stepped back, repulsion hanging from his open mouth. “You have to be fair to him?”

  “I owe him that, John.” She tried to touch him, but he pulled further away with every word. He dug into his suitcase and jerked out a pair of jeans, cramming one leg at time into the worn denim, minus the boxers. The sheer masculine sight of him with his zipper undone left her momentarily speechless. “I need to see him in person. I have to take his situation into consideration. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I need you to understand.”

  “Sorry. I can’t really wrap my head around his situation.” Rage and resentment trampled through his words. The punitive tone of his voice pulled old triggers and she trembled.

  “Please don’t,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  John stretched a long sleeve t-shirt over his head. His glare turned unhappy with her lagging silence. “Do you understand how I feel? I don’t want you to go home to him. I don’t want you to kiss him, I don’t want you to…to have sex with him while you’re off in California trying to tell him goodbye.”

  She twitched at his crudeness, coloring with shame. “No. I’m not going to—”

  “Bullshit!” John slammed the table with a harsh thud and she recoiled, drawing in a sharp gasp. “It’s the first thing he’s going to do, Shayla. He’s gonna welcome you with open arms, kiss you hello and take you to bed. It makes me so fucking angry I could—I could rip him in two.”

  A quiet sneer scraped from her tight, dry throat as she shook her head. Mat would never greet her that way.

  John misunderstood her scoff. Color drained from his face. He wasn’t breathing and his eyes turned dark.

  She reached for him. “Wait, that’s not—”

  John backed away, but when she continued toward him, any remaining ca
lmness vanished. He clutched her upper arm securely as if it were a lifeline. “You think this is funny?”

  “That is the farthest scenario from the truth. Mat would never greet me that way. You don’t know him and no, I don’t think any of this if funny! I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  He held his hands out, stiff-arm fashion, a clear gesture of back-off. His face contorted in jealous rage and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. If it were fifteen degrees cooler outside, steam would’ve risen off his skin in a cloud when he walked out the door.

  Shayla got dressed and finished packing, not wanting to wait another minute to get things settled with Mat. She sank to the edge of the bed reading his text, Hope you’re not working too hard. I was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, but I have a meeting in Washington. I’ll be home in a few days.

  She waited twenty minutes before deciding to go look for John. Rounding the corner at the end of the T-shaped hall, Shayla nearly toppled into Tracy and JC. Each held a cup of coffee to go. JC wiped at the hot liquid now dripping down her forearm.

  “Have you seen John?” Breathless, Shayla grabbed Tracy for stability.

  “No, we just came from the lobby. Was he getting coffee?”

  Shayla frowned warily, making her way around them. “Umm, no. He…went for a walk.”

  The girls raised their brows, cringing and simultaneously saying, “Oh,” dragging out the one word syllable.

  Shayla felt like a cartoon character slamming on the brakes. “What does that mean?”

  “Was he upset?” Tracy asked.

  Shayla nodded and JC looped her arm through the bend at her elbow, coaxing her back toward her room. “You should just give him a few minutes. He’ll be back.”

  JC tucked her long, caramel hair behind her ear and patted Shayla’s hand. “Was he barefoot?”

  Shayla nodded incoherently, gaping over her shoulder, wanting to run down the empty hall toward the lobby.

  JC shook her head adamantly. “If he took off and he’s barefoot, you definitely need to give him his space.”

  “Seriously?”