One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  “We should do this again sometime.” Edward is oblivious to the pain he’s caused.

  “I’d like to do you again sometime.” Chelsea giggles.

  Smoke grunts. I give Edward a queen-like wave and walk away, unable to do the polite thing and say, ‘Yes, we should’ when I really mean, ‘We’ll have dinner again when hell freezes over.’

  Smoke catches up to me and places his hand on my hip, his form hard, warm, masculine, the air scented with his cologne. “Chelsea would have slapped him, making a scene.”

  “Being Chelsea must be tiring.” I summon a polite smile for the doorman and slip through the doors.

  “Being around Chelsea is tiring.” Smoke follows me into the evening. “Spending time alone with you tonight was refreshingly peaceful.” He lobs his chip to the waiting valet.

  I scowl at a crack in the sidewalk. Peaceful is another word for boring.

  “You didn’t have to pay for dinner,” I murmur. “You were my guest.”

  “I’m your date.” Smoke’s brown eyes sparkle with gold flecks. “It’s been a while since I dated. But, if I remember correctly, the guy pays.”

  His grin lights a fire inside me, easing my hurt.

  I’m not boring. I can’t be. This sexy sophisticated man wants me. He could date any woman and he chooses to be with me.

  I stand straighter. “The paying rule hasn’t changed.” It hasn’t for me. I like for the man to pick up the tab, even if he expects sex in return.

  Or a titty fuck. I wiggle with anticipation, eager to fulfill my end of our agreement. Smoke’s cock would slide perfectly along the hollow between my breasts. His weight would press me downward and—

  The squealing of tires returns me to reality. The Lamborghini skids to a stop in front of us. His pretty car remains in one piece. Barely. Two valets exit the vehicle, grins on their boyish faces.

  Chapter Eleven

  Smoke helps me into the torture device others call a car seat. As he drives, he plays a remix by a local DJ, sharing all of the reasons why he believes the artist is the next big thing.

  Smoke’s passion is exhilarating…and frustrating.

  Because I want a piece of it. I owe him a titty fuck. He owes me one more fingering.

  I don’t know when either of these is coming. This is making me a bit antsy.

  It shouldn’t. I’ve already come once today, twice if I count my morning shower escapades, and I shouldn’t need another round so quickly.

  But I do.

  Smoke doesn’t turn the Lambo onto University Avenue, doesn’t circle back east as I expect him to. We continue heading west, away from my apartment building.

  “You’re not dropping me home?” Where are we going?

  “I didn’t lie to Eddy.” Smoke glances at me and then back at the road. “I do have to prep my staff. Then, if I’m lucky and you wait around for me, I plan to fuck the most magnificent pair of tits I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’ll wait.” My nipples tighten. “I can help you prepare for the night.”

  “That would be gr—” Smoke abruptly stops speaking. His lips twist and then flatten. “That won’t be necessary. We have a system in place. Everyone knows his or her job. You’ll be at the club for one night only. It doesn’t make sense to rearrange things.”

  “Oh, I see.” This rationalization sounds like it is for him, not me.

  “And you should save your strength.” Smoke’s grin returns. “You’ll need it.”

  I’m a one-night stand for him and that’s it.

  This is what I want, I remind myself. I want a collection of no-strings-attached relationships, a variety of men to give me the sexual experience I lack.

  I study Smoke’s strong profile. He will simply be one of these players. He’ll teach me to please him and I’ll use those skills when I finally meet a man I can love.

  My keeper man will be so smitten, so enthralled by my knowledge; he’ll stay with me forever. He won’t see me as boring or fat or old. He’ll consider me to be his.

  Permanently.

  We’ll have a family, build a fortress of caring and support around us. It will be so strong; the winds of fate, of change won’t penetrate it.

  We’ll be safe and happy and loved.

  I watch Smoke drive, wonder if my keeper man will be as handsome as he is, as intelligent, as full of joy.

  My date for the evening parks the Lamborghini in a well-lit, on-display spot in the club’s immaculately maintained lot. After prying me out of my seat, huffing with the effort this takes, he lobs his keys to a scrawny suit-clad boy pushing a broom.

  “No one touches it,” Smoke says gruffly.

  “They wouldn’t dare, sir.” The kid straightens, his gaze fixed on the car.

  “Wouldn’t it be safer parked somewhere less visible?” I lower my voice so only Smoke can hear me. The Lambo can be seen from the street.

  “Then it wouldn’t serve its purpose.” He holds a side door open and we enter the building. “A car like that attracts eyeballs. It projects the type of guests a club has, the type of guests others want to be. Any guy in the place could be the driver. Any girl could be his date.”

  “You’re selling fantasies.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Smoke blatantly ogles my chest. “You wanna hear one of mine, baby? It involves whipped cream and my tongue.”

  “I bet it does.” I laugh.

  Heads appear in the hallway. Eyes, wide with curiosity, peer our way. Most of the faces belong to beautiful, young women.

  The club isn’t yet open. These must be Smoke’s employees.

  He hires thin, gorgeous girls. A couple of days ago, I might have found that intimidating. I would have questioned my right to be by his side.

  But that’s exactly who they are—girls, not women. And they don’t have my magnificent tits. He didn’t take them to dinner.

  I straighten my shoulders, stick my chest out, and put some extra sway into my walk. As we approach them, the girls pull their heads back into alcoves, disappearing into the shadows.

  Whispers and giggles break the silence.

  “We’re being watched.” I echo his words from earlier tonight. “I’d offer to give them a show but I’m not yet ready for that item on my sexual to-do list.” The fingering in the car pushed my limits.

  “As long as I’m on your sexual to-do list, we can postpone the show.” Smoke squeezes my hip. “They’re gawking at us ‘cause of the tie.” He loosens the knot. “My views on them are well known.”

  I tug on the offending neckpiece, slipping the silk from around his neck. “Ties are a requirement at Paros.” I flick open the top button of his shirt and spread the fabric, revealing more of his tanned skin. “Is that better?”

  “It’s much better.” Smoke grins and the giggling around us intensifies. He shakes his head. “I don’t work them hard enough.” He opens another door.

  I step into a brightly illuminated office. Gray couches are arranged in a U-shape in front of a massive screen. The end tables are set with ice buckets and glassware. A turntable and other musical equipment I can’t name are positioned in the corner.

  The other side of the room is dominated by a huge glass desk covered with papers and tablets, a gray, leather, captain’s chair and two guest chairs.

  Behind the desk is a wall display of illuminated liquor bottles. There must be hundreds of them, all different shapes, sizes and colors. It’s strangely decorative, beautiful almost.

  “Someone has a drinking problem.” I gaze up at them.

  “If I had a drinking problem, they’d be empty.” Smoke tidies the papers on his desk, stacking them into a pile. “This is a guest tablet.” He hands me the device. “There are movies, TV shows, video games loaded on it. You have access to the internet and—”

  “I’ll be fine.” I pat his arm, stopping his flow of words. “Go. Prep your staff. I can entertain myself.”

  “Can you?” Smoke lifts one eyebrow. “Because many women can’t.”

 
; The dramatic divas he sleeps with must require constant supervision. “I’m not many women.” I’m boring by comparison.

  “Thank God for that.” He clasps my waist and brushes his lips against mine, his flesh hot and tantalizingly firm. “I’ll see you.” His gaze drops to my chest. “Both of you, soon.” He addresses my breasts.

  “You’re such a pig.” I smile.

  He laughs, walks out the door, leaving me alone.

  I circle the room a couple of times. There aren’t any photos on the walls or on his desks, no images of family or loved ones or even his staff.

  I grab a bottle of water from a small fridge and settle on the comfy couch. Smoke forms attachments. I click on an episode of my favorite serial killer show. He has people, a grandmother—Nana Zaire. My player has family to lean on if times get tough.

  He isn’t completely hopeless in the relationship department.

  Not that I should be thinking about him and relationships. We’ll have sex, a titty fuck and a fingering, to be exact. That’s it.

  I push off my shoes and watch TV.

  Time passes. Innocent victims die. Serial killers fuck up. The BAU catches them. The star of the show is his usual hunky self, all ripped abs and gorgeous skin.

  Smoke’s body rivals the actor’s.

  I glance at the clock. It’s past eight o’clock. The club must have opened. The music would be pumping. Yet the office is quiet. The space must be soundproof.

  Some of his women must be fellow screamers. I squirm on the leather cushions.

  The night’s planned activities make me nervous, which is silly. A titty fuck isn’t that different from a hand job and it’s not like I’m a virgin, far from it.

  But Smoke is my first casual fling. I’ve never been with a man I had no intention of having a future with. Am I a bad person for wanting this?

  I gaze at the tablet, at the overall-wearing unsub cheerfully breaking his victim’s kneecaps. No, I’m not a bad person, not compared to the serial killers the team hunts on this show. I’m not slicing and dicing folks, hanging them like marionettes from the ceiling. I’m enjoying myself.

  Casual sex is not a crime.

  ***

  Midway through the fourth scary-assed episode, the door swings open, the space fills with sound, and I jump half a foot into the air.

  “Holy shit.” The tablet pings off a corner of an end table, bounces twice, before coming to a rest on the floor, the screen now shattered and the case scratched.

  Smoke frowns. His black hair is slicked back. He has unfastened another button on his shirt, revealing more of the black ink clawing up his neck. He’s looking Fine with a capital ‘F’. “Those tablets are supposed to be indestructible.”

  “They weren’t tested on me.” I sit upright, tugging my skirt down to knee level. “I’ll replace it.” Due to my clumsiness, I’m a frequent shopper at electronics stores.

  “Don’t worry about the tablet, baby.” The cushion dips as he joins me on the couch. “Worry about this.” He leans over me and places my hands on his groin. His dress pants are tented around his erection. “I’ve been thinking about you and your glorious tits all night.”

  “Have you?” I stroke him once, twice, three times, sliding my body under his.

  “Yeah.” His voice lowers even more. His lips skim over mine.

  “I hope you plan to do more than think about them.” I unfasten the halter neck of my dress and tug the fabric down. Cool air sweeps over my skin, tightening my nipples.

  “Fuck me.” Smoke gazes at them, his eyes darkening to the blackest black. “They’re even better than I imagined.” He burrows his face between my curves and squeezes my breasts around him, his breath hot and ragged.

  I bend my knees, cradling his hips between my thighs and I hold him to my chest, threading my fingers through his soft, silky hair. Smoke seems content to rest there, nearly smothered by my voluptuousness, his fully dressed form relaxed, still.

  This isn’t how I expect a player to operate, his need to be comforted unspoken yet unmistakable. I pet his hair, his neck, his broad shoulders, inhaling his woodsy scent. It’s stronger than when I previously saw him. He must have reapplied his cologne, wanting to impress me.

  “Your curves are endless.” Smoke braces himself upward and presses his lips to my skin. “I’ve never seen a woman as stacked as you are.”

  He outlines my right breast with the flat of his tongue, his flesh hot, wet, rough. I tremble, feeling his adoration to the tips of my toes.

  His circles slowly decrease, too slowly, his leisurely pace driving me insane. I arch under him, pushing my chest upward, toward him, trying to speed his progress.

  Smoke won’t be rushed, exploring every inch of my right breast, savoring me with his tongue and lips and mouth. Sensations flood my mind, moistening my bare pussy. I rub against him, against the bulge in his pants.

  “There’s no hurry, baby.” Smoke moves to the side and slides one of his hands along my body. “We want to make our one night together last.” He cups my mons as he covers my nipple with his lips.

  “Smoke.” I wiggle while he sucks, drawing me into his mouth. He can talk about making the night last. His body isn’t on fire, set ablaze by his touch.

  He strums my pussy, dancing his fingers over my wet folds, grazing my clit. His hands move to the rhythm of his lips, the tug and pull on my breast divine. I run my hands up and down his suit-clad shoulder blades, his back, his ass, matching his tempo.

  My passion rises quickly, his caresses too sure, his mouth too hot, and I shake, needing a little more, a little—

  The bastard releases my nipple, stops his ravishment, and gazes at me, his brown eyes gleaming with humor and lust, his black hair mussed.

  “Smoke.” I growl, frustrated as hell. “I need that second fingering you promised me.”

  “It’s coming and so will you.” He chuckles, unable to deliver this line with a straight face.

  “As long as I come soon.” I’m past the point of laughter. “Hit it and quit it implies speed.” I slap his back. “Pick up the pace, slowpoke.” I buck against him.

  “Don’t be impatient with me, baby.” He slides two fingers into my hot entrance, filling my pussy. “You’re too much woman to fuck quickly.” He pumps me with sure, hard strokes. “It takes time to do you right.”

  “Fuck doing me right.” I lift into his hand. “Do me right now.” My desire builds once more. “That’s it.” My curves jiggle, attracting his attention.

  “You described your tits perfectly.” Smoke nuzzles against my neglected left breast, the hint of stubble on his chin grazing my skin, warming all of me. “Your nipples are the color of cranberries.” He extends his tongue, flicks the taut tip, and I jerk, pleasure radiating from this point. “But they’re sweet, not tart.” He laves this part of me again and again, bathing me in heat. “I didn’t expect that.”

  My response to him is equally unexpected. “Oh, oh, oh.” I hump his hand, smacking my clit against him again and again. Sparks fly in my brain. The room fills with my monosyllables, the sounds of our efforts echoing off the walls.

  His hardness presses against my thigh and I should reach for him, should pleasure Smoke as he’s pleasuring me but I don’t have the mental bandwidth, my focus on his tongue, his fingers. A current of arousal rushes from my breasts to my pussy and back again.

  “Please.” I squirm, my ass sticking to the leather couch cushion, my form pulled unbearably tight. “Please.” I can’t stand it. The man has to do something. He has to ease this sexual tension within me.

  “I know what you need, baby.” Smoke seals his lips around my nipple and inhales, drawing more and more breast into his hot mouth.

  “Smoke.” I scream, throwing myself upward, impaling myself on his fingers. This is too good, too much. I twist and turn, trying to escape him.

  Smoke doesn’t let me go. He rides my wild release, sucks my breast, and pushes deeper, pressing his fingertips against my inner walls. This f
ullness extends my orgasm, draining the energy from my body and the thoughts from my brain.

  I slump, sated, almost naked, the fabric of my dress gathered around my waist. He’s fully dressed and erect, his cock straining against his dress pants.

  “It’s your turn.” My words are slurred, my vision blurry.

  “It’s always my turn.” Smoke removes his fingers and licks them one by one, sucking every last drop of pussy juice. “That’s a benefit of having one-night stands. There’s no reason to do anything or anyone you don’t want to do.”

  “You live only for yourself.” I can’t remember the last time I lived only for myself. Edward had been a consideration with every choice I made.

  “Yeah.” Smoke unbuckles his belt, unzips, removes his pants and boxer shorts.

  I gaze at his silk-shirt-covered chest, experiencing a tiny tinge of regret. This is our first and only time together and he isn’t undressing completely.

  I won’t ever see the entire tattoo on his neck, won’t know what he looks like under his blazer and shirt. How many other tattoos does he have and where are they situated? Does he have hair on his chest or is his skin bare? Is his golden tan even or does it lighten?

  He opens a compartment hidden in the armrest of the couch, extracts a box of tissues and a tube of lube.

  What type of man has lube in his office? I frown.

  The kind of man who fucks anyone once, who has the experience a semi-sheltered woman like myself needs.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Jenella.” Smoke places the box of tissues within arm’s reach. “You knew who I was when you agreed to this.” He straddles my waist, his ass resting on my stomach. “I didn’t hide that from you.”

  “You didn’t.” I summon a smile. “Think you can handle these tits, player?” I grasp my breasts, squeezing them. “They might be too much for you.”

  “Your tits are too much for any man.” He squirts lube onto his palms and runs his hands over his cock. His skin glistens. I watch him, noting how he touches himself, learning what he likes. “Tweak your nipples for me.”

  I obey him. My breasts are sensitive, humming from the adoration he lavished upon them. The hint of pain excites me.