One And Done

One And Done

Cynthia Sax

He wants one night. I want forever.

* * *

Hit it and quit it—that’s Smoke Sheridan’s relationship philosophy. The tall, dark, and dangerous club owner never spends more than one night with any woman. He seduces the broken-hearted, leaving them with smiles on their faces and a sexual confidence other men can’t resist.

I need his services.

My boyfriend of four years dumped me because I’m a lousy lay. Smoke can help me win him back, teach me how to make my man writhe in ecstasy. I’ll show him such bliss, he’ll bellow my name in the dark of the night, want me with an all-consuming desire.

This sounds like a great plan. Except I see the loneliness in Smoke’s eyes, feel the wistfulness in his touch, experience the wanting in his embrace. The player isn’t as shallow as he appears.

And I’ve never been good at letting go.

One And Done contains inappropriate humor, very bad pickup lines, a BBW heroine who doesn’t know what she’s doing and a player who thinks he does.

One And Done

Published by Cynthia Sax at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 Cynthia Sax

Ebook design by Mark's Ebook Formatting

Discover more books by Cynthia Sax at her website

www.CynthiaSax.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First edition: July 2016

For more information contact Cynthia Sax at

www.CynthiaSax.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

About The Author

Chapter One

Yes, yes, yes, Azure, my roommate and best friend chants, her pitch rising, rising, rising. Her bedroom door is closed yet I hear every word, every pant, every moan. Yes, she screams.

I press my lips together, sucking back my envy, the taste of it acidic on my tongue. That’s the third time this evening she’s come.

I’m happy for my friend. I am. We’ve lived together since our first year of university, got jobs at the same company, have each other’s backs. Azure is my sister in every way except blood. She’s chosen family, the best kind, and her joy usually feeds mine.

Usually.

But not tonight. Listening to her find release over and over again reminds me of what I’ve been missing. It has been almost two weeks since I’ve seen Edward, my lawyer boyfriend, twelve days and twenty-two hours since I’ve had sex.

Sex with another person, that is. I pleasure myself in the shower every morning. That takes the edge off but is never enough to completely satisfy me.

I need a man’s hands on my body, more specifically, my boyfriend’s hands.

Which is why I’m baking cookies on a Thursday night.

I open the oven and a wave of chocolate-and-vanilla-infused air sweeps upward, heating my arms and face. This last tray of chocolate chip cookies is almost ready. The previous batches are cooling on the laminate-topped island separating the tiny kitchen from the equally tiny living room.

I’ll package these cookies up, bring them to Edward, and, once I’ve satisfied that hunger, I’ll appease his sexual appetites.

That’s the plan.

Azure’s bedroom door opens. You boys entertain yourselves. She closes the door. I’m taking a break.

My best friend dances toward me, her lush body swathed in a colorful robe made from hemp and natural dyes. A smile lights her makeup-free face. She’s been banged silly by her two men of the moment.

I grin at her. Do you want me to make you a sandwich?

There’s no need for a sandwich. She spins, almost losing her robe in the process. The soles of her bare feet smack against the hardwood floor. She smells like sex and marijuana. We have chocolate chip cookies.

These cookies aren’t organic. I didn’t expect her to emerge from her bedroom tonight. Sorry.

Don’t be sorry. It’s my cheat day. Azure pulls a barstool out from under the kitchen island and plops her curvy ass on the vinyl. I ate white bread at lunch.

No. I gasp. My friend considers white flour to be the work of evil corporations hell-bent on destroying the world.

That’s my truth. She dips her head. I’m not proud of it. There were leftover sandwiches in the fourth floor lunchroom and I was weak, so very weak.

Since Azure is confessing, I decide to make one of my own. I made these for Edward. I remove the last sheet from the oven and turn it off. He’s working late again tonight.

"He’s working? Azure’s lips twist. Is that what he told you?"

That’s his truth. I set the sheet on a cooling rack. He wouldn’t lie to me.

I didn’t say he was lying. She grabs one of the ready-to-be-eaten cookies and breaks it into pieces.

I watch her, waiting. My friend has more to say. She always does.

You haven’t seen Steady Eddy in…how long? Azure tilts her head.

It’ll be two weeks tomorrow. I’ve missed him, desperately. And you know he doesn’t like that nickname.

She shrugs. It suits him.

My friend says this as though it’s a bad thing. It isn’t. Edward is forty-three, thirteen years older than I am. His steadiness and his maturity are two of the many things I love about him.

And I do love him. My boyfriend might not look like a movie star. His blond hair is thinning and some unkind people might call him scrawny.

But he eats whatever he wants, is able to devour a tin of my cookies and not gain weight. And his hair, the few strands he still has, is baby fine, soft to the touch.

He’s also kind and intelligent, his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, a couple of hues lighter than mine, and he treats me like a princess. He doesn’t care that I’m two dress sizes larger than I was when we first met; that I’m an accountant, a career many people find boring; that I’m not trendy or fashionable. He loves me the way I am.

I share none of this with Azure. My best friend isn’t as lucky as I am. She doesn’t yet have a permanent guy. The two men in her bedroom are casual lays.

Azure claims that’s because she doesn’t believe in monogamy. I think it’s because she hasn’t found ‘the one.’

It’s been almost two weeks, huh? She arches one of her eyebrows.

We’ve both been busy. We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other. This frustrates me sexually but it doesn’t worry me. I know why we’ve been apart. Edward is hustling for clients, trying to make partner. I had month-end.

Those are excuses. Azure waves her right hand dismissively. If he wanted to see you, he would.

He’s busy. Securing our future, ensuring we never have to struggle for money like my parents did.

No man is too busy for sex. She destroys another cookie.

Her bedroom door opens before I think of a reply. Rohaan, one of her meditation buddies, struts out, wearing absolutely nothing. The man is short and round and hairy, his chest covered by a thick mat of fur, but he has a reason to be confident.

He’s packing. I’ve never seen a cock as long or as thick as the one he’s been blessed with. It’s semi-erect and bobs as he walks. It’s impossible to gaze away from it.

Azure turns her head and frowns at him. What did I say about leaving Evan unsupervised?

Oh fuck. Rohaan changes course without another word and strides back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

I blink, trying to purge images of his humongous cock from my brain. Do I want to know why Evan can’t be left unsupervised? I look at Azure.

No.

I wait. The expression on her face says she wants to tell me.

Last time he was here, he stuck a curling iron up his ass. She pauses. While it was heated.

Ouch. I wince. Then I think about this a little bit more. Wait a minute. Azure always allows her hair to dry naturally. "Do you own a curling iron?"

No.

"Did he stick my curling iron up his ass?"

Don’t worry. She avoids my gaze. He replaced it.

I open my mouth and then close it again. With Azure, it’s sometimes best not to know the details.

She picks up a piece of cookie and contemplates it for a moment. I really thought you and Steady Eddy would last.

God. Are we back to that again?

We’re lasting. I pack cookies into an empty candy tin, choosing the best-looking specimens. Three of the cookies have already been enclosed in plastic wrap and placed in the care package I’ve put together for Woofer, the street kid stationed downstairs. Couples can’t spend every minute together. Life happens.

Breakups happen.

We’re not breaking up. I love him. He loves me. If anything, we’ll be stronger for this. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.

Absence makes the heart go yonder, as they also say. Azure smacks the cookie I’m reaching for, rendering it unacceptable for Edward’s consumption. Love the one you’re with and all that.

I quickly fill the tin. You don’t understand. Azure’s longest relationship lasted a whole five days.

I understand that your lover-boy lawyer is a twice-a-week type of guy. He’s been that way since the day the two of you met. Now, after three years…

Four years. I correct her, proud of this accomplishment.

After four years, Azure amends. He has gone almost two weeks without getting any. Phone sex is good in a pinch but even Steady Eddy has to be wanting the real thing.

We haven’t been having phone sex. We talk every day, exchanging multiple calls and messages, but our conversations have been short and businesslike. Edward has been busy at the firm, feeling the pressure to perform, to bring in the big deals and prove his worth.

And I’m the one in our relationship most likely to want the real thing. I’ve always had a greater need for sex. Twice a week isn’t enough for me.

It’s rare that couples are completely compatible in the bedroom. I read that on the internet. Someone often needs to take care of her or himself. I’d rather be that person and not put even more stress on Edward’s suit-clad shoulders.

I’m seeing him tonight. I place the lid on the tin. I’m dropping by the firm, surprising him. If I call, he’ll tell me he’s too busy to see me, that he has to concentrate on his cases. I’ll give him the real thing.

Wearing that? Azure surveys my outfit. I haven’t changed out of the black skirt suit I’d worn to my office. You should ditch the corporate slave gear and show him your inner sex goddess. Then you might see him more often.

He’s at the office and I don’t have an inner sex goddess. I love sex, but compared to my inhibitions-free friend, my experience has been limited. Edward is a missionary-position-every-time kind of man and the two boyfriends I’d had in university were as bungling as I was, coming after a couple awkward thrusts.

You could wear a long coat. Azure’s eyes gleam. And nothing else.

No.

Yes. She grasps my wrist and pulls me into my bedroom. If you’re not brave enough to go nude under the coat—

I’m not. Knowing my luck, a button would pop off the coat and everyone in Edward’s stuffy law firm would get an eyeful, embarrassing me, but even worse, humiliating the man I love.

You could leave your underwear on. Azure, having no boundaries, unbuttons my blazer and gazes at my plain white bra. Or not.

Dismay is written all over her expressive face.

My bra is practical. I snatch my blazer away from her and wrap my plus-sized body in fabric.

It’s ugly. My friend rummages through my drawers, tossing my clean clothes on the floor. Here. Put this on. She lobs a ball of black silk at me.

I smooth it out and gaze at it with trepidation. This is lingerie. It isn’t meant to be worn outside the bedroom.

You’ll be wearing a coat over it. Azure’s tone is dry. Some young girl working in a hot, overcrowded sweatshop sacrificed her eyesight to craft that garment for you. My friend continues to ravage my neatly organized dresser. The least you can do is wear it.

It won’t hurt me to try it on. I discard my ugly bra and the rest of my clothes and I slip the babydoll over my head. The hem of the skirt skims the bare skin above my knees and the triangle cups struggle to contain my large breasts.

I look like a hooker. If the fabric shifts an inch to the right or to the left, I’ll show nipple.

Steady Eddy is a lawyer; he’s the white, middle-aged, male version of a hooker. Azure grins at her own joke. He’s going to lose his shit when he sees you.

My jaw clenches. "Edward will lose his shit and not in a good way. He works at a conservative law firm. I won’t jeopardize his job to give our sex life a boost."

I know how difficult it can be to find a replacement job. He could be out of work for months, years, losing his home, his car, everything.

Except me. He wouldn’t lose me. I’d stand by his side as my mom stood by my dad’s side. I love Edward and love means sticking with a person through the good times and the bad.

Put these on. Azure holds up a pair of silk boy shorts. They’ll cover everything. She snaps the tags, removing them, and hands the boy shorts to me.

They only cover half of my huge ass. I’m not showing up at his office, dressed in lingerie, a coat and heels.

Find your center and breathe. She presses on my chest. Only Eddy will know what you’re wearing under your coat. This will be your little secret.

The coat is long. I nibble on my bottom lip. It would conceal everything.

Think of this as skipping a step in undressing, she adds. You’ll reach this state eventually. You’re simply doing it faster.

Edward does like fast. We’d get to the sex quicker, allowing him to return to work sooner, saving his valuable billable time. He wouldn’t be upset with me for interrupting him. My visit wouldn’t cause him to lose his job.

There’s still an element of risk. If this goes wrong—

It won’t. Azure plugs the brand new, never-been-in-a-man’s-ass curling iron into a socket, preparing to fix my hair. Trust the universe, ‘Nella. Let it guide you.

But—

It’s been almost two weeks.

It has been almost two weeks. I miss Edward, want him, need him.

Okay. I sit in the chair positioned before her. But if I end up in jail for indecent exposure, I expect you to bail me out.

***

It takes Azure an hour to fix my hair and another thirty minutes to push me out the door. I hold the coat closed with one hand as I walk along the hallway. Although it’s fully buttoned, I don’t trust the garment.

The elevator is empty.

There’s no security guard at the entrance of the building. That’s normal. The station positioned there is purely for show. I’ve never seen anyone sit in that chair.

I exit.

Woofer is waiting outside the doors.

It doesn’t matter when I leave or when I return. The kid is always lurking around the front doors, handing out the free daily papers. I feed him as often as I can and give him my spare change. It isn’t enough but I don’t know what else to do.

I’m achingly aware that, if it weren’t for family, for people who loved me, I could have been Woofer. I could have been homeless.

When I was seven years old, the biggest paper mill in Thunder Bay, my hometown, closed. My dad, along with thousands of other people, was laid off. He swallowed his pride and applied for every job available—minimum wage positions at fast-food restaurants, night shifts at telemarketing companies.

No one hired him.

Months passed. My dad’s car disappeared. Weeks later, the minivan vanished. A stranger picked up the TV. Another man took my dad’s tools.

My parents tried to hide their concern, making our precarious situation seem like an adventure, but I felt their fear, their stress. I saw the slump of my dad’s shoulders as he returned from another long day of job hunting.

My mom, after working an equally grueling double shift at her low-paying cashier position, would patiently rebuild his confidence, caring for him, her belief in her husband, my dad, unshakable.

Then, one day, we returned home to find the front door of our bungalow padlocked, a huge foreclosure notice plastered to the wood.

We’ve lost everything. The anguish in my mom’s voice shocked me. She was normally so strong, so calm. I’d never seen her break down.

Her reaction made the situation even more real. We were homeless, without a place to stay, to sleep, our clothes, my toys, books, trapped behind that locked door.

I shook, more scared than I’d ever been in my short life.

We didn’t lose everything, love. My dad hooked his right arm around my mom’s waist, drawing her to him. He rested his left hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his palm permeated my thin cotton shirt, soothing my terror. We have each other. He paused, forcing a smile, a bleakness in his eyes. And we have family. We’ll always have a place to stay.

He was right. When we showed up on Grandma Whyte’s doorstep, she took one look at my dad’s face, muttered something about proud fools, and ushered us into her four-bedroom home, telling us we could stay as long as we needed.

We’d have to earn our keep, she stressed as she mixed a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, my dad’s favorite treat. He would be responsible for maintaining the yard, clearing the driveway of snow in the winter and for completing repairs around the house. My mom would be in charge of the cleaning and the laundry. I’d help Grandma Whyte with the baking.

My dad eventually found a job but we never moved out. We lived with my grandma until she died. She’d become my confidant, my best friend, and I howled for a week after the funeral.

Grandma Whyte left the house to my parents. I inherited her recipe box, the papers inside stained brown with the vanilla extract she made herself.

The recipe I used to make the chocolate chip cookies for Edward and for Woofer had been written on one of those papers, in her familiar scrawl.

You just missed a Ferrari, Miss ‘Nella. The car-crazy kid shakes with excitement. A 488 GTB, red, mint-condition, 3.9-liter V8 engine, two turbochargers.

That sounds powerful. Knowing nothing about cars, I try to look suitably impressed. Don’t wait here all night for it to drive past again. I muss the boy’s unruly mop of black hair. Get to a shelter before they fill up.

Shelters are for old people, he grumbles, bumping against me.

Shelters are for all people. I hand him a paper bag stuffed with two turkey sandwiches, heavy on the vegetable fixings, a bottle of orange juice, and the cookies. What do I get for this? Woofer doesn’t accept charity. He has his pride also.

Since you got your paper already, I guess it’ll have to be a hug, but I don’t like it.

He lies. He loves it. The kid is starved for touch.

Then give it to me. I open my arms. He squeezes me, thumping the bag against my back. I hug him to me. He allows this embrace for a couple of heartwarming moments before wriggling away from me.

Did you make oatmeal raisin? He looks in the bag.

Chocolate chip.

"You made these cookies for him." Woofer scowls. When the kid first appeared at his post, about a year ago, he mouthed off to me, in typical teenager style. Being protective of me, Edward took offense. He threatened to call the cops and have the kid arrested. Woofer hasn’t forgiven him.

I made the sandwiches especially for you. I give him one more quick hug, which earns me a grimace and some under-the-breath cussing. I don’t want to see lettuce and tomatoes on the sidewalk when I get back.

I ignore his grumbles and walk toward the subway station.

There’s the usual collection of homeless people gathered around the entrance. Some of them are the same age as my dad was when he lost his job.

I say hi to them, addressing the men and women I know by name, and enter the underground.

The train arrives almost immediately. I select a seat near the door and I gaze around me. It’s a hot summer night. The air conditioning in the car is under strain, whirring loudly.

I’m the only person in the subway car wearing a coat. Many of the women are wearing short skirts and sleeveless shirts. A couple of the men are in shorts.

Why am I doing this?

Edward loves me, wants me, needs me. We haven’t seen each other during these past two weeks because his work has been crazy. I don’t have to dress like an actress in a very bad porno film to garner his attention. I’ve had it since the very first moment we met.

Edward and I had both been attending a fancy charity gala. I wasn’t supposed to be there. My billionaire boss had been called out of town at the last minute. There had been an emergency involving one of the company’s low-income housing projects.

Mr. Powers had sent me to the gala in his stead, entrusting me with the task of relaying his very generous donation to the hostess. Edward had been given a ticket by Mr. Barron, one of the partners at his firm.

I knew very few of the guests. Edward knew no one. Arianna, our hostess, introduced us. Edward looked dashing in a black tuxedo, the lights shining on his blond hair, his eyes the lightest shade of blue.

He took my hand, bent his head, and gallantly kissed my fingertips. My heart skipped a beat.