One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  Chapter Seventeen

  At two o’clock, I call Smoke, feeling proud of myself for waiting until our designated time.

  “What are you wearing, baby?” His voice curls my toes.

  I look down at my clothes. “Mostly flour, a little bit of sugar.”

  “Hmmm…you’ll taste so sweet.” Skin slaps against skin. “I like that.”

  “What are you doing?” Do I truly want to know?

  “I’m jacking off.” Smoke has no shame. “I told you I’d wait for your call.”

  I didn’t think he was serious. “Do you always do that when you wake up?”

  “When I’m alone. Gotta get rid of the morning wood somehow.”

  “You’re a pig.” I wonder how Edward got rid of his morning wood. He rarely slept over, preferring his own bed and his regular routine.

  “Tell me about your tits.”

  “They’re still there.” I cup my right breast. “Still magnificent.” What does he want me to say? They haven’t changed much since the last time I described them.

  “Some day soon but not today, I’ll take them shopping.” The tempo of the slapping increases. “Dress them up in little scraps of lace, maybe some red silk.”

  “Little scraps of lace won’t contain them. They’re too large and lush.” I tease him. “Can the rest of me come shopping too? I’m quite attached to my breasts.”

  “I’ll take all of you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I lower my voice suggestively, practicing my phone sex skills. “Where will you take me, player—in my mouth, between my breasts, in my pussy?”

  Smoke groans.

  “Not in my ass.” I wiggle, brushing the inside of my thighs together. This is easy to do. I don’t have any of that pesky thigh gap supermodels have to contend with. “I’m too tight for your big cock. I’d squeeze your shaft and—”

  “Fuck.” He roars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  I laugh, feeling powerful. He’s a jaded player and I’ve made him come with my voice alone. “You’re putty in my hands.”

  “I’m hot spunk on your palms, baby.” He sounds drowsy. “You busy?”

  “Nope. I was invited to an orgy but I turned that down.”

  Smoke chuckles. “You’re not yet ready for an orgy.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He doesn’t think I’m serious. He doesn’t know Azure.

  “I’ll pick you up in an hour. It’s field-trip time, my hot little student. The lingerie shop will be a future excursion, if you’re good. We’re visiting a sex shop today. Wear something easy access.”

  “I’m not trying on anything at a sex shop, Professor.” I’ve been in a couple of stores with Azure. There’s nothing there I’d like to share with others, not even for a minute.

  “The easy access is for me.” I hear the leer in his voice. “Over these next few weeks, I plan to fuck you hard and often.”

  He ends the call with this promise.

  I run to my closet and peruse the offerings. Smoke is accustomed to twenty-something women in sequined, skimpy tops and skintight, black miniskirts. I have business suits, yoga pants and T-shirts, and fun, flirty sundresses that might have been considered sexy in the 1950’s.

  I choose a yellow sundress and paint my toenails to match, hoping this will increase the cool factor.

  ***

  At a quarter to three, the doorbell rings. It can’t be him. It’s not yet time.

  I swing the door open. It is my player.

  Smoke stands in the hallway, clad in his usual gray silk shirt, black pants, his hair perfect, not a gray hair amidst the strands. A smile curls his lips.

  “You’re early.” My voice is husky.

  “You’re beautiful.” He pulls me into his arms and captures my lips with his, the force of his kiss driving my head back.

  This is how much he’s missed me, this truth thrilling me.

  Our tongues tumble, my flesh pressing against his, our breaths mingling, shared, one. Smoke glides his hands down my back, curves his fingers over my ass.

  The man is feeling me up. My lips twitch.

  He rumbles with need and tugs me closer to him. I rub my breasts along his chest, grind my mons against the ridge in his dress pants, taunting, teasing him.

  Smoke walks me backward until my ass hits the arm of the couch. He lifts me onto the soft leather. I spread my legs, allowing him to move closer to me.

  He fills the space with his hips. “You’re bare for me, baby.” He pushes my skirt to my waist.

  “You said you wanted easy access.” I unbutton his shirt, determined to look at him, at this man I’ve pleasured multiple times and never seen naked. “You also promised to fuck me hard and often.” I push the silk over his broad shoulders.

  He grabs his shirt, holding it in place, not allowing it to fall.

  “Smoke?” I gaze up at him.

  He stares down at the silk bunched in his hands. His lips move but they don’t make a sound. His face is pale, his eyes bleak.

  Is this a change for him? Does he normally stay partially dressed, a reminder to himself and to the woman that the fucking is casual?

  I touch his fingers. “I want to see all of you.”

  He doesn’t loosen his grip.

  “Please, Smoke.”

  He meets my gaze. The pain in his dark eyes claws at my heart.

  I almost take back my request, almost tell him he can keep his shirt on, but part of me knows this would be a mistake. He needs this as much as I do.

  “I trust you, Jenella.” Smoke releases the garment.

  The silk floats to the floor, as graceful as he is.

  I don’t know what he was worried about. The man is ripped, his muscles defined, his abs cascading like a waterfall, his hips narrow, trim.

  The black tattoo on his neck flows over his left shoulder, the sharp points directed toward his heart. There are a couple of silver nicks in his golden skin.

  “You’re super fit.” And I’m not. Conscious of my chub, I tug on my skirt, trying to cover my gleaming white thighs.

  “Don’t ever conceal your curves from me.” Smoke yanks the fabric higher. “I spend hours at the gym to look like this so I can have a shot at banging women who look like you.”

  He means this. His voice rings with sincerity.

  “Player, you can talk.” When he’s not spewing cheesy pick-up lines. I run my fingers over his chest. His stomach flutters under my palms. “This woman wants you to bang her.” I rub my wet pussy against his cloth-covered cock, swirl my fingers over his flat male nipples, mouth the space between his pecs.

  “Suck on me, baby.” He presses my face against his chest. With Smoke, there’s no guessing about what he wants. He tells me, shows me.

  I lick the circle of pink, enjoying the salty taste of him. He unbuckles his belt, unzips, pushes his pants and his boxer shorts to his knees.

  Soon he’ll be inside me. My pussy drips with anticipation.

  “The more I touch you, the more I want you,” I confide. This has never happened with any of my previous lovers, not even Edward.

  “You make me just as crazy, Jenella.” Smoke rips a condom package open with his teeth and rolls the latex over his shaft. “I can’t wait. I need to be inside you.”

  He brushes against my pussy lips, slicking his cock with my juices. The scent of me wafts upward and my body hums with happiness. I lift my hips, offering him my empty entrance.

  Smoke pushes into me, stretching me open. His girth is decadently familiar, reshaping my form. He was my stranger, fucking me last night in the darkened room.

  “Look at us, Jenella.” His voice deepens. “See how my big dick fills your sweet cunt, how those cranberry-colored lips of yours cling to my skin? You’re so horny for me, baby.”

  “And you’re hard for me.” I feel his veins pulsing through the condom.

  “I’m always hard for you.” He seats himself completely inside me.

  Moments pass. He doesn’t move, his stillness frustrating. />
  “Smoke.” I shift and he slides deeper, causing us to groan in unison.

  “Contract your cunt muscles around me.”

  I clench down on his shaft.

  He jerks. “Too tight.” He smacks my ass and I release him. “Fuck, you’ll make me come.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “There’s a time and place for quickies.” Smoke brushes my curls away from my face, his touch achingly tender. “This isn’t it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t look so disappointed, baby.” He presses his lips against my forehead. “The longer you delay my release, the better it will be for both of us. Anticipation is always the best aphrodisiac.”

  He has clichés for every situation. I grin. “Okay, professor.”

  “Ripple your tight little cunt over me,” Smoke instructs. “Slowly. Control it, baby.”

  I make a valiant attempt. The pressure against my inner walls is divine.

  “Yeah, that’s better.” His jaw clenches. “Try again.”

  I massage his cock with my pussy muscles, varying the snugness, the tempo. Smoke stands still, allowing me to play with him, to experiment. I read his expressions, the passion in his eyes, the set of his lips, using them to guide me, to differentiate between success and failure.

  This testing, this teaching, is one of the most intimate experiences I’ve ever shared with a man. He’s trusting me with his body. I’m counting on him not to shatter my confidence. We have the same two purposes—to make me a better lover and to find fulfillment together.

  “Shit, baby, I have to move. You feel too good.” Smoke rocks into me.

  I stop for a couple of seconds, temporarily knocked off my game, and then I continue my erotic massage, his movement adding another dimension to our fucking.

  “I’m getting the hang of this.” I rest my hands on his chest. “You’re a great teacher.”

  “You’re a quick study.” He drags his hot lips over my forehead back and forth, back and forth.

  “Have you had many students?”

  “You’re my first.” Smoke nuzzles against my hair. “There’s not much teaching a man can do in one night and I’ve never had the inclination to tutor those lays. I fucked and chucked.”

  I’m his first. This makes our encounter even more special to me.

  “Tilting your hips changes the sensation.” He grips my hips, demonstrating, and I moan, my arousal building.

  “It’s a totally different position.”

  “Yeah.” Smoke grins, appearing adorably boyish. “And you’re in control of this, baby. This hardness—” he drives his cock into me “—is all for you.”

  I’m in control. The tightness, the angle is my responsibility, a responsibility I’ve been neglecting. I’ve been a lazy lay, relying on my partners to do most of the work.

  Smoke moves in and out of me, his rhythm steady, while I test angles, mixing it up, determining what I like, what he likes. Sweat beads on his forehead. His grip on my hips intensifies. I fight my own desire, wishing to learn as much as possible.

  “What else should I do?” I caress his torso, following the dip near his spine, the indent under his shoulder blades, the interesting ridges down his back that I’ve never noticed on any other man.

  Smoke is the fittest man I’ve ever fucked. He would have ridges where other men wouldn’t.

  “Touch my ass,” he instructs.

  Edward never wanted me to touch him there, squawking that he wasn’t gay. “Azure thinks you’re bisexual.” Am I not enough for yet another man?

  “Azure is wrong.” Smoke chuckles. “I’m all about hot, wet cunt.” He thrusts harder. “Wide hips and big tits.” He dips his head to my chest, motor-boating, and I laugh, humor meshing with my desire. “Ass play doesn’t make me gay any more than having your cunt licked makes you a lesbian.”

  I do enjoy tongue in pussy. “How do you want your ass touched? Like this?” I squeeze his clenched ass cheeks. “Like this?” I skim my fingers up and down the crevice between them. “Or like this?” I circle his puckered hole.

  “All of it. Fuck.” He humps me faster. “Your hands are soft.”

  Smoke enjoys softness and he enjoys me. I toy with his ass, pushing into him as he pushes into me, emboldened by my newfound knowledge. Lust flushes my skin, heats my soul, making me smolder.

  “Fuck, baby.” He grunts, holding me in place, his fucking growing frenzied. “Lessons. Over. For. Now.”

  “Good.” I can concentrate completely on my desire. My breasts jiggle as I lift into him. My legs quiver. My moist ass sticks to the leather couch. “Can’t. Think.”

  “Feel.” Smoke’s lips tickle my earlobe, this command skittering over my neck, down my chest, settling in my womb.

  “Yes.” I grip his ass, riding the turbulence of his desire, my arousal tied to his.

  “Yeah.” He ravishes me harder and harder, his control as shredded as mine. I whimper, my body pulling unbearably tight, the need to come dominating my every thought, every action.

  “Smoke.” I won’t last.

  “Make me come.” He slides his cheek along mine. “You know how.”

  I do know how. He’s taught me. I constrict my inner walls around his shaft.

  “Fuck.” Smoke lunges forward. Our hips, chest, everything collides, and I break, screaming my release, writhing, wiggling against him.

  Waves of hot and cold sweep over me. Tremors shake my form. Smoke thrusts once, twice more and collapses, toppling me onto the couch.

  He lies on top of me, his chest heaving and his shoulders shuddering. I pet his skin, cooing comforting nonsense into his damp hair. He’s right. The longer I delay our release, the better it is for both of us.

  “Fuck, baby.” Smoke lifts his head and grins at me. “I have to rethink this training business. If you get any hotter, you’ll set me on fire.

  “I can’t take all of the credit,” I murmur, smug that I pleased him. “I have a great teacher.”

  “You do.” He’s as cocky as I am, high on good loving. Smoke straightens, his cock slips from my pussy and he turns to take care of the condom.

  I see his back and suck in my breath.

  Three long silver scars streak down his golden body from his shoulders to the small of his back. They’re an inch wide and painfully deep.

  Someone hurt him. Badly.

  “What happened to your back?” My voice is harsh, my horror unable to be contained.

  Smoke stiffens, the color draining from his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, staring at the far wall.

  I jump off the couch’s armrest. “Tell me.” I pad over to him, place my palms on these dreadful marks. He flinches, then becomes scarily still. “Who hurt you?” I touch him, my caresses light.

  He remains silent, leaning back into me.

  “Talk to me.” I kiss one deep indent.

  He says nothing.

  Which, for Smoke, speaks volumes. I tongue the groove, trying to ease his hurt. He’s a chatty guy. That he can’t talk about this… Oh God. Whatever happened must have been really bad. “You can share this with me.”

  “No, I can’t.” Smoke twists away from me. “This was a mistake.” He bends and grabs his shirt off the floor. “Forget that you saw them.”

  “That’s not possible.” I need to know what happened. “You can’t show them to me and not explain.”

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want to do.” He yanks the silk over his skin. “Clean yourself up. We’re late.”

  How can we be late for shopping? “Smoke—”

  “Say another word about my back and I’m leaving.”

  “You said you trusted me.” I remember the words he said when he allowed me to take off his shirt. “Trust me with everything.”

  “I mean it.” His eyes blaze with rage, pain, a heated mixture of emotions. “I’ll walk out the door and never come back.”

  “Okay, okay.” I won’t say another word about his scars.

  Now.
<
br />   ***

  A half hour later, I can’t stop thinking about his back. I study Smoke’s profile as he drives. My ass is once again wedged into the passenger seat of his Lambo. If I need one more incentive to lose weight, it would be to fit into his gorgeous sports car.

  “Master V says some people like to be flogged.” Are his scars remnants of a BDSM lifestyle? “I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

  “I don’t get off on pain.” Smoke doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the road. “I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

  “Me too.” I reach over and clasp his fingers.

  He moves his hand away from mine.

  I shrink into the seat, sucking back my own hurt, focusing on his. He needs patience and understanding, not more drama.

  I chatter about nonsense—my job, my childhood, my adventures with Azure. Smoke says nothing, driving stone-faced.

  But he doesn’t turn on the radio, doesn’t try to drown me out.

  And he leans slightly toward me.

  He’s like Woofer. Both of them say more with their actions than their words. Both of them have been hurt badly.

  Both of them need love.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Smoke finds street parking. We walk along Queen Street West, one of Azure’s favorite neighborhoods in Toronto. I reach out and grip his fingers. He pulls his hand away, rejecting me yet again.

  This hurts but doesn’t dissuade me.

  “Did you know there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of serial killers operating in North America at this exact moment?” I make not-so-casual conversation.

  “I wasn’t targeted by a serial killer. I’m still alive.” Smoke isn’t fooled by my verbal prodding. “Give it up, Jenella. You won’t like the answers you find.”

  Now, I’m even more determined to uncover them. “I don’t scare easily.”

  He holds the door to a small boutique store open. The window display is tasteful, subtle, yet fun, a celebration of sexuality. “This discussion is over.”

  It’s far from over. I flounce into the store, the hem of my skirt kicking upward. Smoke follows me, grumbling about stubborn pain-in-the-ass women.

  The saleswoman looks up and smiles. “Smoke, it has been a long time, handsome.”

  “It’s been too long, gorgeous.” The endearment I thought was mine alone slips easily off his tongue.