One Night Only

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  It’s your hopes and dreams finally being realised and claimed.

  My Stacey.

  Made for me.

  Sent.

  Predetermined.

  ‘I feel like you’re untangling me and all my complications,’ I rasped against her.

  ‘Not untangling,’ she replied, dragging her hand down my chest, the one tied with the red string. She scraped a knuckle across my nipples and they pebbled under my t-shirt, before she pulled the string, tight and firm, as we lifted our joined hands on the motion. ‘Tying together.’

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later - Stacey

  ‘Thanks, Vanessa. You’ve done an amazing job,’ I said as she beamed back at me. ‘Just tidy up the first hook and add the couple of lines I suggested, and it will be good to go.’

  ‘You’re signing off on it?’ she asked, wide-eyed and questioning. ‘Without needing to see it again?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, laughing at her obvious shock. ‘Van, I know Anna knocked your confidence but from everything you’ve shown me so far, I think you’re an excellent journalist.’

  Her mouth dropped open comically before she started to smile. ‘That means a lot coming from you.’

  I still couldn’t believe what had happened during the last three months, I almost didn’t have time to unpick it. After I confronted Anna about lying to me, she resigned the next day, effective immediately, and was admitted to Merryweather for alcohol abuse and emotional exhaustion. She’d left detailed instructions on her desk of what needed to happen to meet the deadlines for the next edition of Upfront and recommended that I take over as Acting Editorial Director, which helped heal the bite she left on me, the sting she’d caused.

  Two months later, after proving myself in the role, I was interviewed to take it on permanently and appointed the same afternoon. At her request, I visited Anna at Merryweather soon after. She apologised again, blaming her mental state on the breakdown of her marriage. She was doing well and when she left, she intended to live in her Spanish holiday home, enjoying early retirement and building the relationship with her children she was starting to piece back together. Her quickie divorce was finalised during her stay. Neil had already left the county when a criminal investigation began after two women came forward claiming he’d sexually harassed them when he visited Anna at the office. I made a statement about my experience and hoped I’d never have to see him again.

  Three loud raps on my office door drew our attention and the man who held my heart stood there, in all his gorgeous arm and shoulder glory.

  ‘You’re not working late tonight. I won’t have it,’ Matt said as Vanessa smirked at me.

  ‘You tell her,’ she replied. ‘She deserves a relaxing weekend.’

  ‘Well, Vanessa, I’m afraid that rarely happens in our household. She’s volunteering for the mobile night shelter tomorrow, and on Sunday, she’ll be at the care home, playing an eclectic mix of U2 and Doris Day classics on the accordion.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t want me any other way,’ I said, knowing he loved my social conscience, even if it meant sharing me for a few hours every week. ‘Van, I’ll see you Monday morning.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, shooing her out the door. ‘Go home. Enjoy your weekend.’

  ‘Night, Van,’ Matt said, as she waved awkwardly whilst carrying her MacBook pressed to her chest.

  I perched on the edge of my desk, waiting for him to close the door and become mine—only mine—again.

  ‘Hey, you,’ he said.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘You’re a vision, Miss Clifton.’ I twisted my bottom lip under my teeth. His tone travelled directly between my thighs, coarse and raspy, low and rough. I swear, it went down an octave when he was fighting an erection in public, and another one when it was just the two of us. I smiled as he folded his arms across the great expanse of chest. He was in professional mode. The white shirt rolled up to his elbows, dark hair, and those veins were a potent libido sweller. Not to mention, the smart trousers, bum to die for, and a pen sticking out of his pocket.

  Take me now.

  ‘Has everyone left?’ I asked, my voice a whisper. He often did that to me. Stealing my words, my ability to speak.

  ‘About ten minutes ago, sweetness.’ Throw in a term of endearment, and I was a goner. ‘Van’s the last member of staff to go.’

  ‘Good session?’

  ‘Thirty spaces sold out,’ he replied, a grin assaulting his beautiful face. ‘I had to turn people away at the door. Will was highly disappointed that he was too late.’

  I laughed, imagining Will’s face falling as he clutched a pad and pen to take notes. They’d become good friends over the last few weeks, Matt never questioning our friendship like other boyfriends had. He wasn’t intimidated by our friendship, and I found it endearing and refreshing he didn’t see Will as a threat, just a positive person in my life.

  ‘One of the receptionists had the bright idea of putting together a waiting list. At this rate, I’ll be doing classes three times a week.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. I’m chuffed for you.’

  My bright idea of Matt being a love, sex, and relationship coach, offering classes at the office, had turned into a reality shortly after I took over from Anna. He’d started his job as a waiter and loved it because he still got to interact with people. In a way, it was escorting, but without the dating and sex aspect I struggled with. The money wasn’t great and the hours didn’t sit well with his studying commitments.

  We agreed to offer a taster session on Upfront’s website, advertising it mainly through our social media accounts. The response to the original article, ‘One night Only,’ and the follow-up with Sarah had been phenomenal, the response to the taster session tenfold. We had to employ another receptionist just to filter the enquiry calls. The session was such a success, we immediately set up a weekly programme, and Matt was very quickly able to leave his part-time job as a waiter behind. Although Matt still had another three years of his degree left, he was already talking about using the research from his sessions towards his dissertation. I’d never seen him so enthused and content.

  ‘Did Penny come?’ I’d kept in touch with Tim’s girlfriend, the one he casually forgot to mention to me when we were dating, and was now his ex. She was very interested in attending, disappointed she’d missed the first taster session because, in her words, she needed all the relationship advice she could get.

  ‘Yeah, she said hi. Had to leave…I guess it was a date.’

  ‘Good for her,’ I replied, smiling. ‘So, what was today’s topic?’

  ‘Sexual intimacy and how to be a conscious partner,’ he said, before kicking the door shut with his foot and closing the blinds. He took three steps forward and boom, he was there. Being in close proximity to Matt was a problem because I seemed to lose the ability to keep on any clothing, particularly underwear.

  ‘What does…that…entail?’ I said, my voice shaking, quaking with anticipation.

  ‘Well,’ he replied, slowly wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and bringing my mouth closer, tipping me to him, bringing me to life. ‘Just like love works on compatibility and strong’—a kiss—‘Fucking’—and another—‘chemistry…’

  Swoon.

  ‘A fantastic sex life also combines all of that, plus…logic.’ His fingertip trailed along my jawbone to my lips. He parted them with his thumb, and I bit down lightly, making his breath hitch. ‘And feeling.’

  ‘Isn’t good sex just about communication?’ I gasped out as he placed his hands under my bum cheeks and pulled me forward with one whoosh. He nodded against my neck, devouring it, scraping his teeth along my skin as I squirmed underneath him.

  ‘Sexy-as-fuck accents help,’ he replied with a smirk.

  ‘You’re biased,’ I cried out as he pulled on my bottom lip with his mouth.

  ‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Now, Stacey Clifton, tell me what you like.’

&n
bsp; ‘You know already,’ I gasped. ‘Know intuitively.’

  ‘Aren’t we talking about good communication?’ he asked, pulling back and cocking his head. ‘I need to know your…preferences.’

  I felt his hand on my hips as he gently leant me back on my desk, which was hard and uncomfortable against my back. I didn’t care, and didn’t want to move, because Matt was above me and his strong hands were between my breasts.

  ‘Your fantasies,’ he continued, as he started popping the buttons of my dress. One, two, three…more…until he spread the fabric open, displaying my body for his eyes only, pushing the material out of his way. ‘Your fetishes.’ He pressed a kiss to my stomach. ‘Foreplay…positions…frequency.’

  I giggled, turning my head. ‘Twice a day…four, if we can get away with it.’

  ‘Come back to me, sweetheart,’ he said, turning my head with his fingers pressed under my chin and, Christ, we connected. Our eyes locked, our breathing mimicking each other’s, fast and thundering. ‘I want to know everything. I want to know it all.’

  ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘What you’re thinking right now,’ he rasped. ‘No…I already know.’ He placed his hands on either side my panties, inching them down slowly until they pooled on the floor. ‘You want me to fuck you on your desk, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘On the powerhouse, the place you excel, in the room you command.’

  He kissed his way down my thighs, along the sensitive spot he’d claimed as his behind my knee, working his way slowly to my ankle bone. Sweet scattered with sexy. He went to remove my heels but hesitated, thinking twice, instead keeping them on as he pushed my feet onto the edge of the desk. They balanced precariously until his weight anchored me into place.

  ‘I fucking love you, Stace,’ he said, his voice breaking slightly as he hurriedly pushed down his trousers. That tiny piece of vulnerability was soon replaced with a whole chunk of lust as he sank into me. ‘I love our life together, the life we’ve made.’

  He was dividing his time between the Brighton flat I shared with Skye and the flat he shared with his father, with hotel rooms in the city and weekends away in between. We were together as much as we could. I felt deprived when he wasn’t with me, robbed of him, of his time, his adoration.

  ‘I want more,’ he muttered as he continued loving me, soft strokes as he caught himself, our hands clasped always. ‘I want so much more.’

  My stomach started to fizz as my orgasm took shape. With Matt, it always started in the tips of my toes, a burning that shouldn’t feel as good as it did. It rushed under the soles of my feet, pressure pushing towards the tiny nerve endings everywhere until that thunderous gallop, the roaring strength that caused the spike of compression you had no way of holding back.

  My breath was held, my senses heightened, and as he continued his pace—the delicious, perfect pace—I fell from the edge, plummeting from the surface. Freefalling, rolling, lurching, flowing, until he joined me, his shouted roar signaling his own plunge into bedlam. I clasped my hands against his face, watching as he moaned out his breaths, controlling them as I came back to him. Sex was always freeing with Matt but there was a sexual double edge. Feeling free but being claimed at the same time. Ownership. Sweet, sexy ownership.

  He kissed me, once, twice, three times. On the final kiss, I felt his mouth curve into a smile. He pulled me up and inspected my back and my skin, cursing as he traced the red marks he knew would be there.

  ‘Kiss them better,’ I said, as I saw the look on his face. He was battling between congratulating himself and hating that I’d been uncomfortable under his hands. ‘I’m fine…more than fine.’

  ‘You’re sure? I went pretty hard there, lost myself in you.’

  ‘We always do that,’ I replied. ‘Lose ourselves in each other.’

  He dressed me before putting himself back into place, buttoning up my dress but keeping my panties in his back pocket. I was always first in whatever we did—a cup of tea in the morning, choice of movie, music in the car…orgasms. I watched as he poured me a glass of water, handing it to me as he stroked my back.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, moving my hair behind my shoulder, studying my face. ‘Marry me.’

  I set the glass down on my desk, the one he’d just liquidised me on. ‘What?’

  ‘I love you. Have from the very first snort, Miss Clifton.’ I smiled somehow, through the sobs. ‘Everyone loves you, baby,’ he said softly. ‘But not as much me.’

  ‘Who loves me?’

  ‘My dad, for one,’ he replied. ‘Your Wednesday night card games and fish and chip suppers are all he lives for.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ I laughed. ‘He loves West Ham more than anything.’

  We’d hit it off hugely. Matt took me to meet him and a friendship ignited. He was doing well, heart repaired, only a flicker when I walked in the room…according to him anyway. He was charming, just like his son—the man standing between my legs, pulling me closer, kissing me hard.

  ‘Answer my question, sweetheart.’

  I kissed him back.

  ‘Yes, I’ll marry you,’ I replied, smiling. Delirious, deliriously happy. ‘But only because you’re a fitty, Matt Shaw. An absolute sort.’

  * * *

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  32

  Chapter 1 of Stripped Bare

  If you loved One Night Only, you will love Stripped Bare. If male stripper shenanigans are your thing…read on!

  I wasn’t sure how I found myself here. I didn’t even know the bride-to-be. I was sitting next to the maid of honour because of a misunderstanding. It was silly really. Ridiculous. Yet, here I was, drink in hand, a neon-pink badge pinned to my boob, and a shot glass on a beaded necklace nestling between my cleavage. I had only started working at Humphrey and Bracks ten days ago. I’d seen the ad in our local paper and on a whim I applied for the position of receptionist. I’ve always been a talker. I love phones. My mum jokes that my mobile needs to be surgically extracted from my hand. I’m always texting or updating my social media accounts. I like meeting people and I make a cracking cup of tea. The job seemed like a great fit. But it turned out that there was so much more to it than getting the morning coffee orders right and picking up a ringing phone. My flatmate called it a steep learning curve. I didn’t like to admit that the curve was so steep I needed rope and an ice axe just to get through the first week.

  ‘So how do you know the bride-to-be?’ Oh fuck. Here it was. The questions and digging into our back-stories that had no interconnection at all. AT ALL. Nothing. I turned to find Gail, the office manager, smiling back at me, nodding her head with repetitive dips, encouraging me to answer her question when all my brain seemed to be doing was scrambling through my thoughts for a shred of truth I could hang on in that moment.

  ‘Oh. Erm…well. I…It’s a funny story actually,’ I replied as Gail released her teeth to me in a fixed this girl’s a nutter smile.

  ‘I love funny stories!’ she replied. ‘You’re going to end up in the best man’s speech.’ Her singsong tone made me grind my teeth together.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ I did. I knew I wouldn’t be inserted into the speech because this story wasn’t funny or memorable and there was the small fact that I didn’t even know the bloody groom.

  ‘Sarah, come here.’ Gail wafted a woman over from the other side of the bar. ‘You need to hear this. She has a funny story. This is going to be hilarious.’ Ground, swallow me now. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Amy.’

  ‘You’re new, aren’t you? You work with Helen on reception.’ Yeah. Helen was the one who got me into this mess.
/>   Actually. No. It was all me.

  ‘I’m new,’ I replied, trying to summon up the courage to give her full eye contact. Liars generally found that hard. This wasn’t usual behaviour for me. I didn’t make a habit of making up stories. I didn’t like drawing attention to myself, but I had to admit my life was a train wreck most of the time. I half expected a British television station to email me just to get permission to use my latest fuckup as the next big storyline for their soap opera.

  ‘Helen said you’re adorable, even though you get the coffee orders wrong every morning and you’re still finding it tricky to redirect a call,’ Sarah said, wrinkling her nose in a way that was supposed to be soothing and kind, but came across as patronising and downright shifty.

  ‘I liken redirecting a call to changing a car tyre. If you do it often enough it will come to you. Eventually. But how often do you change a tyre in a lifetime? Unless you’re a mechanic, which I’m not, so…yeah. Finding it tricky.’

  ‘What a sweetie.’ Ah, I’d just worked it out. Sarah was the lady they all said had a heart of gold, but the heart in question hid a plethora of nastiness beneath the surface. ‘You’ll get there. Perhaps write everything down on a notepad and if you get stuck with…telephone numbers and pressing the little star key, it will help you remember.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice. It’s been really helpful,’ I replied, pulling at my tights. I found distraction was a good way to stop myself from strangling her with my beaded shot-glass necklace.

  ‘Anyway. You had a funny story,’ Gail said, trying to dissipate the air of tension that Sarah must often find herself choking on.

  ‘I’m not sure I did, actually. No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry.’

  ‘Yes, you do! I called Sarah over specifically for your funny story.’