One Night Stand

by Brooks, Sarah J.

  She beckoned the “me” out of me, and I brought walls down for her that were tall and thick, just so I could bare my soul. We were in love, and it was terrifying. Lauren continued to work, and so did I. She was an East Coast girl, and I was a West Coast boy. Not wanting to claim too much of her independence, we managed to negotiate the long-distance thing pretty well. I trusted her, and in turn, she was trustworthy. I even considered marriage until I got the phone call. I can still remember every word, even though it was nearly five years ago.

  “Hello, may I speak to Xavier Dean please?” an officious voice asked.

  It was a somber voice, one that sent a shock of dread through your body without even knowing the reason for his call.

  “I’m sorry to inform you, sir, that Lauren McClure was on a small commuter jet that crashed just after takeoff this morning. She named you as her next of kin,” the grave voice said.

  She was coming to San Francisco as she did every weekend. I’d bought the ticket for her as I’d bought all of her weekend tickets. We used a private jet service because I didn’t want her on commercial flights. It wasn’t my jet, but one commissioned by my company. There was pilot error on takeoff, and all the people aboard the plane died, including Lauren, the most beautiful, kind, and loving woman I’d ever met. I made sure from that day forward that I never dated a “Lauren” again. Instead, I went for sexy, shallow one-night stands. Sex and only sex was going to be my game. If there was even a hint of friendship involved, I ran. So after paying the bartender for my top grade liquid hangover, I walked straight past the bouffant-haired seniors and the Hawaiian shirt-clad day trippers all hanging their hopes on a one-armed bandit and went straight to the ass calling my name.

  This woman with the perfect behind had swagger, I could say that much for her. She was probably just a little drunker than I was, leaning herself deeply over the craps table and giggling with another gambler who stood beside her. I don’t believe she was trying to flaunt that perfectly sumptuous body because it was doing a fine job without her. Adding to the attraction was an effervescent, gregarious, nature, gorgeous emerald green eyes, and cascades of golden hair. Around her neck was a curious necklace in the shape of an ankh made into a butterfly.

  As I approached, I noticed she was also the current winner, as she had many bets behind her roll. When I joined the table, she was talking about how Vegas messed with the body’s circadian rhythm and that was why people gambled so desperately. All the men and even the one woman stared at her in varying degrees of disbelief, as she continued to talk about how important our bodies’ natural rhythms are to our mental health.

  Who talks like that at a craps table in Vegas? I fucking loved her. It was hard to see in the dim light, but as I watched, she seemed to have an amber glow; a healthy tan. While Vegas was hot most of the time, her whole demeanor had such a windswept quality to it; I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d spent most of her life on the beach. She was too breezy and grounded to be a city girl and too sophisticated to be from the country, my guess was she was a mix of some kind. Whatever her reason for being here, I was going to make it my mission to find out more. Tonight, she would be my jackpot.

  She was laughing with the gambler on her right, her hair bouncing softly as her shoulders pulsed with a tittering that almost sounded genuine. She turned her head, and her eyes glanced at mine. There was fire. I knew I was a handsome man, one who needed nothing more than my mere presence to stir interest. Perhaps she recognized me; there was that billboard, and I was in a few commercials. My face was on all of our marketing, and so if you knew Xavier Dean Designs, you knew Xavier Dean.

  I was used to being in control and was naturally dominant. She sensed this immediately, but again, being her, she didn’t linger to consider me. Instead, her slender fingers plucked the two dice she wanted for her roll and sensuously let the white cubes tumble in her delicate grasp.

  Her bangles clanked gently as she massaged the dice, considering her roll perhaps or more likely employing an oddly effective means of seduction. While her eyes never strayed to mine, she was there with me, her body heat radiated, and I could smell the faint lavender in her perfume. Everything about her was poetry. While she may have been drunk, it only made her more fluid, more lyrical. She wasn’t slurring and sloppy but soft and sedated. Everyone at the table was mesmerized with her in an ethereal way. I wasn’t. I was a raging bull, my cock hardening with her nearness, her scent driving me mad.

  I wanted to take the palm of my hand, force her over the table, and let the dice tumble out of her beguiling hand. I’d take her fast and hard from behind, breaking her mystifying seduction as she panted and screamed out in ecstasy. I did everything in my power to keep from acting on my fantasy. I placed the maximum bid on the pass line, and this got me some curious looks, but not from her. She tipped a tiny bit farther over the table as her dress rose up her thigh. Her hand then lilted out in front of her sending the dice flying.

  “Seven!” the dealer yelled, and each of us won on her throw.

  A smile crossed her lips, and it was then she turned to regard me, her eyes making direct contact with mine. My cock nearly shot through my zipper.

  “Seven,” I rasped, confident and seductive as I angled towards her.

  She chucked her chin up toward the table, gesturing for me to place another bet, but never said a word. Again, I put down the maximum as she rolled an eight and side-eyed me with a snide grin as she rolled another eight. A bolt of electricity shot through the table as everyone gathered up their winnings. I took half my chips and left another maximum bid on the line. She placed a modest bid and turned to answer a question the man next to her had asked. He was in his late forties, past his age of attractiveness as evidenced by the pot belly barely concealed by his ill-fitting clothes. His smile was kind, though, and the shooter didn’t seem the kind to be rude.

  “Nice win, little lady,” he oozed. “You think I can buy you a drink? Sure like to say thanks,” he added as justification.

  It was all such utter bullshit. He wanted in her pants just as badly as I did. I laughed, not one to be rivaled. “I’ll buy you a Ferrari,” I boasted with a quiet seduction.

  I wasn’t sure she heard me until her emerald green eyes stabbed me again.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” she said. Her voice was rich and deep, unexpected.

  Although she was carefree, she was an expert at seduction. She could not give a shit about anyone in the room, even me; that’s what made her so remarkable. After we’d all placed our bets, I cast out the dice. While Craps was a game of chance, I put way too much into the throw. Both dice slammed against the walls of the table and tumbled to snake eyes.

  “Snakes, craps out!” the dealer yelled.

  Everyone at the table lost. I couldn’t care less; the money was nothing. She didn’t seem to care either, but her energy had shifted with lighting fast speed from nonchalant sex siren to bored craps player. She took her winning money and turned away from the table ready to move elsewhere.

  “Are you leaving?” I asked trying to halt her without grabbing her arm.

  “I’m thirsty,” she said with a smile.

  “Let me buy you a drink, it’s the least I can do for losing your money.” I was gregarious and playful. It was somewhat painful, but I thought matching her style might work.

  “I lost five dollars,” she said. “A drink is never going to be enough to heal the pain.” She executed this sentence with a perfectly straight face.

  “Oh, that’s tragic,” I said. “I only lost five thousand, the least you could do is let a poor loser like me buy you a ten-dollar drink.” I flashed a seductive smile, lest she was missing my meaning.

  I didn’t want to be her buddy tonight unless it was her fuck buddy. I fully intended on our ten-dollar drink having some very thick strings attached. She must have sensed this as she shied away from me some.

  “Thanks, but I think you should save your money.” She was still playing with me, but cautiously.
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  I could see the attraction in her eyes. There was no mistaking the way they’d misted over and her plump rosy lips parted. I presumed, however, her subconscious was being volleyed between the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, with one noting I was the sexiest thing in the room and the other thoroughly convinced I was an enchanting serial killer.

  “I have quite a lot of it, I should be fine.” I smiled and extended my hand to her. “I’m Xavier Dean, and you are?”

  I instantly regretted introducing myself in that way. As I played the moment back in my head, there was no way of escaping how juvenile the approach was; like saying, “I have lots of money, and I’m famous”

  Perhaps she hadn’t heard of me. Seeing her eyes brighten and then recover confirmed she did know who I was.

  “Hi,” she sparkled. “I’m Arcadia Jones. I love your boxers; I wear them to bed.”

  Fuck me she was everything!

  “Well, not mine, surely,” I temped with a dark seductive domination. “Not yet at least.”

  “No, not yours,” she returned with a dry seduction. “I have my own.”

  Do you want to know how the story continues? Click here to read the whole story!

  About the Author

  Sarah has been writing since she was 16 years old and has published multiple Amazon bestselling books. No matter if her heroes are Billionaires, Bad Boys or both - she loves to write about hot and sexy alpha males, who are protective and sometimes bossy, as well as the women they crave. Her exciting stories are always steamy, with a lot of twists and turns and a guaranteed HEA that leaves you satisfied after a wild ride - just like it should be in the bedroom, you know?

  Sarah loves to travel the world, because new places always inspire her. Right now she enjoys time in Europe while writing new books.

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