by Cynthia Sax
“Nice.” Smoke slides his cock into the hollow between my curves. “Cover me, baby.”
I squeeze my breasts around him. A hurting sound escapes his lips.
“Fuck. That’s beautiful.” Smoke rocks, gliding his hard shaft along my chest.
His skin is slicked by the lube, warming with the friction.
“You’re like silk.” His lips flatten, his expression growing more and more strained. “Silk wrapped around my dick.”
I play with my breasts as he fucks them, increasing and decreasing the pressure, varying the sensation, watching his face, reading his reactions.
There’s no guessing with Smoke. If he likes something, he shows it, groaning, closing his eyes. If he doesn’t, he frowns, shifting over me, expressing his discomfort.
“You must have fucked larger tits.” I’ve seen women with massive breasts.
“Yours are real.” Smoke quickens his pace, thrusting harder. His tip appears and disappears between my breasts. “Fucking fake breasts isn’t the same thing.”
I have to trust him on that. He has the experience. I round my back, increasing the connection of his hard shaft against my skin.
This feels almost too easy, too passive. I need to do more. I bend my neck, wait for his cock head to appear, and then swipe my tongue over his flesh.
“Fuck.” He jerks, pulling back. “What the hell, baby? That was a bitch move.”
“Was it?” I frown. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I liked it.” Smoke finds his groove once more, sliding his cock between my breasts. “Fuck. Did I. But I wasn’t prepared for it. I almost blew my wad all over your pretty face.”
“And you don’t want to do that?” In the few pornos I’ve watched, the man always comes in the woman’s face.
Smoke stares down at me, his expression a mixture of frustration and need. “I want to do that.” He smacks his balls against my curves. “But we agreed that I would come on your chest.”
“You could come there next time.” I shrug. This action jiggles my breasts.
Smoke groans. “There’s no next time and, if you continue to do that, this first and last time will be over before we know it.”
“Continue to do—what?” I gaze up at him, striving for a look of innocence. “This?” I shake my breasts. “Or this?” I lick his tip.
“Fuck.” Smoke’s hips thrust forward. Hard spurts of cum arc from his cock head, covering my lips, chin, neck, breasts with liquid heat. He drives between my breasts once, twice, frothing his essence. “Fuck.” His face twists in despair, and he falls forward, pushing me into the couch cushions.
“I’ve got you.” I hug him to me as he shudders and shakes, mumbling words I’m glad I can’t decipher, his tone dark. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“How? By driving me insane?” Smoke raises his head and glowers at me. His hair is adorably mussed. “You have the most magnificent tits I’ve ever seen and I barely got to fuck them.” He’s angry with me.
Because he came. What type of logic is that? “You’re a player.” I wiggle under him. “How was I supposed to know you had no control?”
“I had control until you messed with it.” He peels his body away from mine, our skin a sticky mess and kneels beside me. “Look at my clothes.” He’s covered with cum, the white stains vivid against the black and gray fabric. “How can I return to work looking like this?”
“Sit down.” I reach for the bottle of water I’d located earlier in the evening and the box of tissues. “I’ll fix this.”
“You should,” he grumbles. “You’re responsible for it.”
I don’t know why he’s in such a bad mood. “I’m partially responsible for it.” I pour the water on a tissue and dab it against his shirt. I do this slowly, carefully so I don’t shred the tissue and leave more of a mess on the silk. “You should undress fully when you’re with your women. Or store a spare set of clothes here.” I think of other possible solutions. “Or use a con—”
“I. Don’t. Normally. Lose. Control.” Smoke’s jaw juts.
He lost control with me. I don’t point this out, not wishing to anger him more. My very first one-and-done watches me as I tend to his clothes.
I work. Smoke’s breathing levels out and his shoulders lower, the tension easing from his fit form. I go through three bottles of water and half the box of tissues but I remove most of the cum.
He’ll smell of sex. I can’t help that.
“There.” I gaze at his shirt and suit jacket. “You’re good.”
“I’m far from good.” Smoke gazes longingly at my bare breasts. “I’m disappointed, Jenella.”
“I’m not surprised.” I sigh, turning my attention to cleaning myself. “I didn’t please Edward either.”
“Eddy is a jackass.” Smoke dresses quickly, donning his boxer shorts and pants, tucking in his shirt. “I’m disappointed with myself. I wasn’t on my game tonight and you deserved better.”
“We could try this again.” I had a nice evening. I wouldn’t mind a repeat.
His eyes flash with fierce emotion. “I’d li—” He stops. His face darkens. “No, we couldn’t. I fuck it and chuck it, remember?”
“Yes.” I remember. He won’t allow me to forget this.
“I enjoyed meeting you, Jenella.” Smoke takes my hand. For a moment, I think he plans to shake it, offering an ice cold ending to an otherwise steamy evening. Instead, he rubs his lips and cheeks over the delicate flesh on the inside of my wrist. His nostrils flare as though he’s savoring the scent of my skin. “When you’re ready to leave, Bruiser will be waiting outside the office to take you home.”
“Thank you, Smoke.” I touch his beautiful face. “For everything.”
Sadness wells up inside me, which is silly because I knew who he was, what little time we’d have together. He’s a player and did me a favor with the dinner. I needed sexual experience. That’s the extent of our relationship.
Smoke turns his head and presses a fervent kiss in my palm. I close my fingers, trying to trap the sensation, make it last.
He gazes down at my hands, yearning in his eyes, a heart-wrenching wanting. The moment stretches. I wait, expecting him to say something, to ask me to stay.
He doesn’t. Smoke turns and walks out the door, not uttering one more word, not looking back at me.
We’re done.
The ache inside me intensifies. I’m not designed for this type of fleeting relationship. His departure causes me pain.
Chapter Twelve
Bruiser is waiting for me when I exit the office. I’ve restored my appearance as best as I can but this best must not be good enough. The man avoids my gaze
“This way, miss.”
I follow him through the club. The music is blasting, the bass felt through my chest. Skinny, beautiful girls, clad in skimpy tops and short skirts, lean against walls, drinks in their hands.
Some of them wrinkle their noses as I pass. Most of them ignore me, their gazes shifting from left to right, as though they’re looking for someone.
Is that someone Smoke? Will he fuck them next?
Did I mean nothing to the club owner?
My shoulders slump. Bruiser leads me into the night and opens the rear limo door.
I don’t want to be treated like a guest, like one of Smoke’s many women. Clinging to the illusion that I meant more to him, I move to the front passenger side and let myself in, filling that seat.
Bruiser doesn’t argue with me. He drives, his blunt face solemn.
“Are you angry with me?” He finally breaks the silence.
“Why would I be angry with you?” I blink, that unexpected question dragging me from my rejection stupor.
“Mr. Sheridan decided to be your date tonight.” The big man glances at me and then back at the road. “I had to tell him, miss. I needed his permission to get the time off. Then he took over and what could I do? He’s the boss.”
I force a smile. “No, I’m not mad at you.” I pat his
arm. His muscles are firm under my fingers. Smoke’s body is leaner but as unrelenting. “I enjoyed having dinner with Mr. Sheridan.”
“He doesn’t do that often.” Bruiser’s gaze flicks to my face once more. “Have dinner with the women he’s interested in. He also doesn’t see them twice.”
I’m special but not special enough. “I left a tote in his Lamborghini. There’s a tin of cookies inside it.”
“Do you want the tote and cookies returned?”
“No, he can keep both.” I like that he’ll have something of mine. “Consider them my parting gifts.” They’ll be souvenirs of the one night we had together.
Bruiser talks about cookies, about the Blue Jays and their winning streak, about Toronto traffic. My answers are short. Smoke is all I can think about.
I’m a fool. He was open about what he wanted and what he didn’t want.
He doesn’t want me. Not permanently.
Bruiser stops the limo in front of the apartment building. I thank him, exit, look around me.
Woofer is nowhere to be seen. I try not to worry about him. He’s likely bunked down at a shelter, getting a full night’s sleep, preparing for his first day at the club.
He’ll see Smoke again.
I won’t.
***
I sleep terribly, tossing and turning. When I wake, I go through my morning routine in a haze. Breakfast is a glass of orange juice. I’m determined to fit into the next Lamborghini I ride in.
That Lamborghini won’t belong to Smoke. We’re done. I have to move on.
This proves to be impossible.
Woofer pounces on me as soon as I exit the building. “Is Mr. Sheridan’s offer for real, Miss ‘Nella?”
“It’s for real.” I pass the kid the breakfast I bagged for him. “He told me he always has positions for hard workers.”
“I’ll work the hardest he’s ever seen.” Woofer dances around the sidewalk. “And then, someday, I’ll have a Lamborghini too.”
“Yes, you’ll have a Lamborghini too.” I smile, hiding my sadness. Will this be the last time I’ll see the boy? Will his coworkers at the club become his new family? Will he forget all about me?
“Where’s my payment?” I need this final hug.
He throws himself at me, shaking with excitement. “A Lamborghini—can you imagine?”
“I can.” I squeeze him tightly. “You deserve happiness, Woofer.” I kiss the top of his head. “Be good for Mr. Sheridan.”
***
My doldrums last all morning. I process paper, analyze numbers, research real estate prices in the entertainment district.
By eleven o’clock, I’m fully in the depths of despair.
Smoke hasn’t called, hasn’t shared with me if his team liked the cookies. It’s early in the day…by his standards. Any sane person has been awake for hours. The club owner could still be asleep.
Or he might not have found the cookies. Bruiser could have forgotten to remind him. It’s July. The temperatures are through the roof, melting pavement. The chocolate chips will liquefy. The Lamborghini, his gorgeous pimp-mobile, will smell like baked goods.
I have to call him. I press Smoke’s number. It rings three times.
“Ugh.”
His grunt fills me with an inexplicable joy. “I left the chocolate chip cookies in your car. Did you find them?”
“Bruiser retrieved them.” Fabric rustles. “He and Tyrice devoured every fuckin’ one, not leaving a single crumb for me.”
They must have liked my cookies. I beam. “I’ll make you another batch and I’ll ensure you get some this time.”
Smoke makes an aggravated sound. “Baby, we can’t see each other again. That’s not how fuck it and chuck it works.”
He’s upset because I’m breaking his precious rules. “Relax, player.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to see me. I’ll drop them at the door.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrug away the pain of his rejection. “If you don’t want my cookies—”
“I want your cookies, Jenella.” Smoke’s voice lowers, emphasizing this sexual innuendo. “I’m sporting a huge hard-on just thinking about them. This isn’t about what I want or need or wish I could give you. I don’t do relationships. Period.”
“Bruiser has worked for you for years. That’s a relationship.” I call him on his bullshit.
“I don’t do romantic relationships.”
“Yes, and water is wet. Tell me more things I already know.” Does he think I’m an idiot? “You told me you liked my tits, Romeo,” I whisper, aware that I’m surrounded by curious co-workers. “That wasn’t romantic at all.”
“It might not have been romantic but it’s the truth. You have great tits.”
Smoke’s open admiration of my breasts eases some of the sting of his rebuff. “Our relationship doesn’t have to be romantic. We could be friends.”
“No, we could not be friends,” he snaps and I frown. He’s very moody today. “My friends don’t make my dick hard.”
He wants me. That’s his problem. And he doesn’t think he can resist me. This realization buoys my self-confidence. “Then how about friends with benefits?”
“That doesn’t work. Someone always gets hurt.”
He doesn’t allow himself to have relationships. Doesn’t that hurt him? “Smoke, I—”
“It’s best this way, Jenella.”
He ends our call and our relationship with one press of a button.
That’s how easy it is for him.
It isn’t easy for me. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.
My issue is I’ve only had this single one-and-done. I have to stop putting so much emphasis on sex, equating it with love.
The solution is having more sex with more men.
***
Tarun is my next candidate for casual sex. I’m not quite sure how to make this happen. I’m counting on Azure’s help and she isn’t answering her phone. On the off chance she’s meditating over lunch hour, I change into my new workout clothes and head to Old City Hall.
Tarun, the man I truly wish to see, waits on the front lawn, the sun shining on his black hair and lean, tanned face. Two yoga mats are set on the grass.
“Hi Tarun.” I avoid his gaze, acutely aware of my dirty thoughts about him. “Where is Azure?” There’s no sign of my friend.
“She rushed by here moments ago.” Tarun takes my hand and leads me to one of the mats. “A trail of negative energy followed her.”
That sounds ominous. “Does she need our help?”
“We can help her by meditating, goddess.” Tarun waves his long fingers at the cushion. Those fingers would feel good inside me. I wiggle. “We’ll replace the darkness with light.”
“Okay.” I plop my ass on the soft fabric, forgoing any attempt at being graceful. He’ll learn soon enough that I’m a klutz.
I cross my legs, my muscles straining with the effort, and I rest my arms on my thighs. This pose is…not at all comfortable. I’m twisted like a pretzel. But it feels a little more natural than it did on Monday.
Tarun sits behind me, his herbal scent engulfing me, his body very close to mine. We’re alone. Azure isn’t here, cock blocking either of us. Will he take advantage of this semi-private time with me, touch me all over, whisper words of seduction into my ear?
I’m game for that. Edward is having wild sex with the annoyingly adventurous Chelsea. Smoke will soon be moving on to his next hit-it-and-quit-it chick, if he hasn’t already replaced me.
Did he replace me with one of the club kids last night?
No, I won’t think about the club owner.
I’ll think about Tarun. He places one of his hands over my spine, the warmth of his palm felt through the fabric of my shirt. I lean back, falling into him.
He pushes me forward. “Sit straight, Jenella. Remember what we talked about last time.”
“I’m to stack my vertebrae as though they’re books.” I cover my frustrati
on with feigned chirpiness. “I thought we could sit closer together, since it’s only the two of us today.”
He smells of marijuana. He might be too high to have noticed this.
“Sitting closer will disturb the flow of energy.” Tarun is taking this meditation business very seriously. “There must be space between us, goddess.”
Must there be? I press my lips together.
“Everything we do has a reason.” He nudges my lower back and I adjust my position. “Every object has its place.”
Does that mean I’m not getting laid?
The process is the same. He guides me through the steps. I drift away, leaving the world temporarily. Tarun doesn’t grope me once, doesn’t brush those long fingers of his against my breasts or ass.
As we wrap up the deliciously sensual and relaxing meditation session, I’m hopeful this will soon change.
“I don’t have to return to work for another half an hour.” I hand him a cushion. “My apartment is two subway stops and a short bus ride away.” I’m loose and happy and ready for sex. “If you want to continue our spiritual journey there.”
Lines etch between Tarun’s eyebrows. “Are you suggesting we have sex?”
My face heats, his bluntness embarrassing me. “Yes.” I’ve never propositioned a man before.
Tarun cradles one of my hands in both of his. “I’m honored, goddess.” He skims his thumbs over my palm, back and forth, back and forth. “But having cleansed our minds with meditation, we shouldn’t sully its purity.”
I blink. “What?” I couldn’t have heard him properly. He shares Azure’s policy of loving the one you’re with.
“Sex will upset the balance within us.”
“You’re turning me down?” I’m offering him, a healthy man in his prime, sex and he’s saying no.
“There’s a time for every action.” Tarun’s voice is soft. “This is not our time.”
That would be a ‘yes, he’s turning me down.’ I want to melt into the sidewalk. “Oh.” I pull my hand away from his, feeling unattractive and unwanted. “Okay. Thank you for the session.”
He says something about cosmic powers and the alignment of stars.