One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One Book 1)

by Ainslie Paton

  “In, um, the usual manner.” Not that there was anything usual about this one-night stand.

  “You mean a little awkwardly since we’re sober, or do you want more champagne?”

  “You think sex is awkward?” Fascinating.

  “I think a lot of things are awkward if you don’t agree on expectations. What are your desires here?”

  She groaned. “You’re going to make me talk about having sex.” If she saw forearms she might start babbling, but otherwise any other topic would be easier to deal with. She could go on about her balance sheet, her debt to equity ratio for hours.

  “I’m impossibly cruel.”

  “I’d like it with, um, a bed. And protection. Do you have protection?”

  “Naturally. A bed and a rubber are your high point. That’s like accepting an unsolicited dick pic as foreplay. Teela, even your mother would be ashamed of you.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to just masterfully make me come and put me in a sex coma?” What was the point in being a Hollywood legend otherwise.

  “Oh the pressure.” He put the back of his wrist against his forehead in mock distress and then pinned her wide-open with narrowed eyes, a laser-like focus. “But if that’s what you’d like, I’m sure I can rise to it.”

  She blinked at his po-faced pun, stunned he was persisting on knowing the details of what she wanted when he could surely see all the way through every sexual thought she’d ever had.

  “What I’d like?” How about not to have to talk about this. How about a telepathic understanding of how we best get each other off? “What I’d like is for us to make each other feel good.” Oh, yes, that was really giving him something he could never have guessed.

  “How do I make you feel good?”

  “Certainly not by talking me to death.” If he so much as breathed on her skin she might orgasm, but she couldn’t tell him that.

  He shook his head, but he didn’t try to smother his smile. “Now, now, Teela. Use your words. I know you can. How the fuck do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Thoroughly.” There, that was almost an instruction.

  “Cute. Noted. Not an answer. I’m asking how to please you.”

  More fascinating. “What makes you think you won’t?” And an excellent stall.

  “Good sex is a negotiation. It’s about trust as much as it is about thrill and pleasure. I haven’t had time to win your trust, so I’m asking you to talk about your desires.”

  All very well for him to want to talk about desire. Eight out of ten people into sex with men would do him. The other two had bad taste and no sense of adventure.

  “What do you expect from me, from this?” she asked.

  “More of what we started. You’re unexpected and excite me.”

  A thousand butterflies with gossamer wings were released inside her pelvic cavity. They had their own Calvin Harris-like DJ remixer and he played them into a frenzy. Haydn might be acting but at this point she didn’t care. Face value was pragmatic under the circumstances.

  And he had the most strikingly handsome face.

  “I want you to fuck me while you’re fully dressed and I’m completely naked.” Oh Christ. Did she really just say that? She put both hands to her head in case her hair was on fire because her cheeks were so hot. “But you don’t have to. I was just, it was just. Oh shit.” Any notion he’d had that she was a woman of style, substance and subtlety was like a snowfall on Bondi Beach. Impossible.

  He wasn’t the least bit rattled, if anything his expression was a little cat who got the cream. “You like the idea of a power exchange.”

  Apparently, because now that she’d said it, she wanted it so badly the idea was going to choke her. She’d had plenty of half-dressed sex, the kind where you were too lazy to get all the way undressed, or it was too cold, or you were in a hurry to get it done and do something else. She’d had the kind of half-dressed sex where you were too revved up or tipsy to get all the way undressed and horizontal, but she’d never been entirely naked, vulnerable, while her partner was barely unbuttoned.

  On the sliding scale between my sexual fantasy is Haydn Delany’s forearms to my sexual fantasy is Haydn Delany wanting me so badly he doesn’t even undress before he throws me on the bed and has his way with me, she was way over the red line, ready to strip, crawl into his lap and get the party finally started.

  “Stand up. Drop the robe.”

  Oh, thank God he was Captain Action. He was ice cool, while she was working up to pillar of ash. She was never indecisive like this at work. Never incapable of asking for what she needed or giving instructions to those who needed them, but this, him, it was foreign, bewildering, and turning her inside out so that she was made of the need for sensation.

  She pushed back from the table and stood, dropping the robe and facing him in the ridiculous, wonderful underwear; the G-string completely sheer, the bra pushing her breasts up and making them spill over at the same time. He loved it. Sitting forward, his eyes going dark, busy ranging all over her body.

  “You are built for sin, Teela. I want you to believe me when I say that.”

  He tapped a finger on his mouth. A muscle in his thigh flexed and his eyelids got heavy. Not so cool now.

  “Lose the bra.”

  But totally in command. She teased him by pulling a strap off her shoulder, letting it droop on her arm, dragging the cup of the bra down and exposing her areola.

  He retaliated by unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling his sleeves up his forearms. Since his eyes never left hers, he would’ve seen her breath stall. Oh, forearm porn was underrated and his were so immensely grippable.

  “I’m going to make your nipples ache when I suck them, the best kind of ache. And when they rub against my shirt, you’ll feel that all the way to your sweet clit.”

  His words zinged all the way to her clit, a lovely shock like that first touch from a buzzing vibrator.

  “Now be a good girl and lose the bra.”

  She unhooked it and let it trail down her arms to her hands, then tossed it over a chair. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry, she had goose bumps, but she didn’t feel exposed, helpless. She felt insanely powerful because she had the sexiest man in the world on the edge of his seat.

  Two strides and her knee brushed his. He widened his legs and she moved to stand between them, threading her fingers through his dark hair when he dropped his forehead to her stomach and wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs.

  “Killing me, baby.”

  Evidence for that was the thick bulge in his trousers. She pulled his head back. “I’m sure you’ll live, but if you should feel the need to call for help, dial one for Rick. He’ll be in here before you can kick your shoes off.”

  He laughed and spanked her butt cheek, not hard, but for the effect. “You want my shoes off?”

  He’d be able to move better on the bed without shoes. “Yes please, but nothing else.” She stepped away to give him room and then, realizing he had laces, went to her knee and untied them, slipping first one then the other off his feet.

  He palmed her face. “Why don’t you have someone special in your life?”

  “An infatuation?”

  “A regular lover who understands how to make you feel good.”

  She’d simply not had the energy to find one. Or the heart. “I don’t like complications and I have a drawer full of motorized pleasure providers.” They never complained when she worked late nights and weekends.

  Her life was horribly unbalanced, all work, no play and she only had herself to blame for that. The price of success had seemed easy to pay until now. Then again, she wouldn’t be here now if she’d not decided to risk things out on her own. She stood, stepped back and put her thumbs to the elastic sides of the G-string and then hesitated. She wasn’t quite brazen enough to turn her back on him and show him her arse as she bent to step out of them.

  “No.” He was out of the chair, hands covering hers, stopping
her before she got anywhere. “These are mine.”

  Well, he did pay for them, and the way he moved so quickly, and his voice had come out like it was all frayed around the edges, was a massive thrill.

  His body brushed against hers, the cool cotton of his shirt, the smooth fabric of his trousers. She gave a shiver of excitement and as he nuzzled her neck, hands spanning her ribs. “Do you trust me enough?”

  A stranger, a creation of the media, an icon, a wealthy man who could crush her. A physical man who could hurt her. His word would always carry more weight than hers. He’d done nothing to make her distrust him and given her every chance to end this on her terms.

  “I trust you enough.”

  “Good.” A lingering kiss to the underside of her jaw. “Do you need anything?”

  Toothpaste might be a good idea. Should’ve thought of that earlier. There was a brush, paste and mouthwash in the hotel toiletries kit. He eased her closer, her breasts flattening against his shirt, and took her mouth. A searching kiss, a questing tongue. Never mind. He tasted like warm rum and caramelized sugar. She wanted to bathe in that kiss.

  “Go wait for me on the bed,” he said in that tattered, low voice, making her shiver.

  There’d been a turndown service while they were shopping. She pulled the quilt further towards the foot of the bed and crawled onto the silky sheet, sitting cross-legged and watching him move around the room in his socks. He changed the lighting, making it low and golden. Closed the curtains and made the room cozy. He put his phone on a charger like an ordinary person would. Hung his suit coat in the closet. Took the navy dress and jacket that she’d left on a couch and hung them too. Rubbed his face as if considering whether he should shave. She didn’t expect the little acts of thoughtfulness. It wasn’t the same showy, extravagance as buying her clothing and a meal, it was tiny courtesies that showed she mattered to him.

  The delay could’ve Iowered the temperature, especially as she wasn’t about to watch him undress, instead it made her feel incredibly cared for and insanely turned on.

  The last thing he did was tuck a condom in his pants pocket and take his watch off. “I don’t want it to get caught in your hair.”

  She didn’t know him, but she did trust him. She could almost forget he wasn’t modern royalty and she’d never see him outside of a collection of pixels again.

  “Did I mention I think you’re beautiful?” he said from the foot of the bed. Not a mirage, about to be her fantasy come true. “Let me revise that. You’re stunning. I can’t wait any longer to have you.”

  As he climbed up from the foot of the bed, she uncrossed her legs and opened her arms to receive him, her skin pebbling as their bodies came together and her back hit the mattress. He braced on his elbows, one leg between hers, his erection against her inner thigh a solid presence through layers of fabric, his cologne fresh and green.

  Body heat muffled by tailoring, she surged into his wandering hands, craving their warmth, pressing her face into his neck, and wrapping the leg he didn’t have trapped over his hip where the leather of his belt was a hard, smooth ridge.

  They kissed then. Hungry, deep kisses. Kisses with an urgent agenda. Each one cranking desire tighter. Haydn rocked against her, groaning into her skin, his belt buckle branding her hip bone. Her nipples were upbraided by his shirt, the muscles across his back were taut under her hands and excitement was making her tremble.

  When he pulled away, she yelped with frustration. “Settle, impatient girl. We’ve only just begun,” he said from his hands and knees. His shirt was creased and half untucked and his hair was standing on end from her fingers. He was the most divine man she’d ever gotten naked for.

  She didn’t have time to protest the gap between them, the loss of his lips, because they landed on her throat, making her arch into the touch. Throat became sternum, became the underside of one breast. She stopped breathing when he rubbed his cheek over her nipple and then tongued across it. It was so sensitive, it hurt. He did the same to the other, and the hurt was the good kind he’d promised.

  She died and was reborn a better person when he licked a circle around her nipple and then latched on to suck. “Oh God!”

  Why did that feel so good? Like it had the power to heal wounds, right wrongs and stop time. Why was the vision of him still in most of the suit he’d worn to seduce millions of dollars from fans and donors excite her so much? She knew how celebrity worked, a manipulation, a chimera, and yet this was the most real experience she’d ever had naked. By the time he moved to the other nipple, she’d managed to haul his shirt out of his pants and up his back till she could get her hands on his skin and she was suspended in a haze of need that had its own language of nonsense words.

  When he pulled off, she let go a string of protests that made him laugh. They jammed in her throat when he sat back on his heels and contemplated the G-string. He didn’t have to tell her she was wet. She could feel it, smell it. He told her anyway with something like awe in his voice.

  Eyes down, a hand brushing over her stomach, he followed up with, “These are pretty, but your pussy is prettier. They have to go.”

  He couldn’t rip them off too soon for her liking. She propped herself up on her elbows to watch.

  That’s not what he did. He simply yanked them aside and ran a finger through her folds, and before she could get the appropriate delighted swear word out he did the same with his tongue and rendered her speechless, although she managed to muster a happy squeal when he put his teeth to the sheer fabric and then ripped it apart with his thumbs.

  What she felt when he slid the whole ruined affair down her legs was a kind of savage joy. He was as skilled at sex as his looks promised, and his public image suggested, and they weren’t at the good part yet.

  “Doing okay?” he said with a sly grin and an eyebrow quirk.

  “Preparing to hyperventilate.”

  “In three.” He grabbed her ankles and dragged her down the bed till he had her positioned right where he wanted her. “Two.” He smoothed his hands up her legs from her shins to her inner thighs and lowered his shoulders between them. He might’ve said one, but he had had his mouth full doing something else. All she heard was her own shocked exhalation and the wet click of his tongue.

  He made her come so quickly, it was minor league disappointing for all of two seconds. She could’ve taken a whole lot more of his clever mouth, but the sound of his belt clinking, his zipper lowering, zzt, zzt, zzt, swamped that sense.

  “That was very nice,” he said, hand in his pocket, then teeth to the condom wrapper.

  The polite thing to do was to help out, but she wasn’t sure her limbs were back online with her brain. “Better than nice.” Good to know her language center had clicked into place.

  He wore black briefs and though his shirt was in the way, she got a quick glimpse of his package. It was enough to fire all the right nerve endings and get her sitting so she could take the condom packet from his hand. Both of them watched as he rolled his briefs down and took hold of his cock.

  He grunted when she knocked his hand aside to wrap his length in her fingers and squeeze lightly. “This will get messy quick if you keep doing that. I want to come inside you.”

  An excellent idea. She made quick work of the condom though her hands shook. It was only sensible to anchor them in his hair as he pushed her back into the bed and notched himself in place. So ready, she was so ready, her body ached, but he didn’t push inside even when she tried to encourage him with her hands inside his briefs and a jerk of her hips.

  “Think fast, gorgeous. Where do you want to be? Under, over, on your hands and knees, in my lap?”

  A sex smorgasbord. Choice paralysis.

  “We’re going to get to it all, but after this round, the clothes go. I want my skin sliding over your skin and nothing but precaution and sweat between us.”

  Haydn Delany was made from superlative genes and the best ideas. “Like this. I want to watch you.”


  “If you can keep your eyes open, I’m doing it wrong.”

  He did it so right. Testing her wetness with his fingers, then letting her adjust as he pushed inside, bracketing her body with his forearms and sending her blind with drugging kisses and hot words.

  “You feel fucking good, Teela. The way you smell, the way you want this. Your goddamn sexy fucking legs.”

  Those legs were wrapped over his arse, and her eyes were jammed shut, her sense of touch doing all the heavy lifting, from the shower of pinpricks across her scalp to the tension in her toes. Every time he thrust, she registered a new sensation, from the roughness of his clothes on her skin and the smell of clean cotton, to the pressure of his hands gripping hers, until all the sharp and sweet and widening ripples coalesced inside her and she shook through her release.

  “Fuck, yes,” he said, and after several more thrusts and it was his turn to tremble.

  It was all so amazingly good, it simply had to be imaginary.

  FOUR

  No question about it. Sex with Teela Secret Weapon Carpenter was a thousand times better than surfing. Except in one respect. His fucking clothes.

  She wasn’t a figment of Haydn’s imagination anymore. She was sweat on his shirtfront and a tight silk cocoon for his cock and a compulsion to kiss and lick and suck her skin that he couldn’t indulge thoroughly enough because he was twisted up in suit pants and briefs, shirt and socks.

  He wanted to feel her legs right alongside his, feel her heart beat without a layer of crushed cotton between them. Fold her into his arms and chest while they drifted in the afterglow, which meant he had to move now.

  She gave a little gasp as he pulled out and there were questions in her eyes when she opened them.

  Feet to the floor, he dealt with the condom first and then came back to the bed and stood over her. “That was fucking hot, but I need out of this gear.” His shirt was only holding on by two buttons. He got it off and moved straight to his socks.

  “Do a girl a favor and slow that striptease down, mate.”