TEXT ME, CUPID // Episode 1, Scene 3
ONE NIGHT STAND GONE WRONG
Wednesday, December 6
She was gorgeous. Much better looking than her photos, which were typical online tease—half-profile, sunglasses, hat. They had made it clear that she had a lot of a red hair—fuck, a lot of red hair—and a very triangular chin. But they didn’t make it clear that she was… outrageously, ridiculously hot.
Will tried not to drool. He allowed himself to feel a twinge of regret that she was already in the cafe, sitting down, so that he wouldn’t get to see her walk, move towards… flow towards him? Dance? She sat as if she knew how to move. How could a woman convey that much promise in the way she crouched on the edge of a chair?
He smiled again. Tonight was going to be a good night.
“Hi,” he said. “Will.” He extended a hand and she took it while standing up in a graceful, fluid motion. In his head, she was already naked. Was she going to be covered with freckles? Fuck, yes—freckles everywhere. He would find every single one.
Best thing—she looked nothing like his ex-wife. The first four or five women he went out with—the first women he attempted to date since Amanda asked him to move out—were his ex’s clones. The worst thing was, he didn’t realize he had dated Clone Number One until he found himself sitting across a coffee shop table from Clone Number Two. They could have been sisters.
And then, he hooked up with Clone Number Three. And Four. And then Five…
“You have a type.” Niko, his sponsor, laughed when Will told him. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Everything wrong with that when that type’s your ex-wife, right?
Anyway—Florence. Red-haired. Gorgeous. Not Amanda’s clone. Fuck, yes. And she was probably covered with freckles, everywhere. He was going to kiss every single one.
Maybe bite a few too…
She was standing and shaking his hand and he was getting hard.
“Florence,” she said, letting go of his hand but not of his eyes. He liked them too, and her gaze. Her eyes were a delicious shade of hazel. She smiled. Her bottom front teeth were a little crooked. He felt his cock twitch again.
Thank you, God, for this December present.
“You’re sitting in the guy’s spot, you know,” he said, sitting opposite her.
It was delicious.
She was delicious.
“It’s the spot of control,” she said. “Nothing to do with gender. Back to the back to the room, eyes to the front—you see who’s coming and going—it’s the place of control.” She paused, tilted her head a bit.
“And safety,” she added, just as Will said, “That’s why it should be the guy’s spot.”
Will fought the impulse to put his hand on her hand. Or his cock. He was already putting her tongue places. Imagining his in others…
“Is that where you usually sit?” he said instead.
“Are you going to get a drink?” she asked. “This is a very fancy cafe. As I suppose you know if you live upstairs. They serve beer and wine. Ooh-la-la.”
Will paused for a split second. He didn’t want to think, or talk, about drinks.
Where were they?
“See, I’ve only known you for five minutes, and I already know you like to be in control,” he said. “We’re going to change that.”
She laughed. That fucking tongue. Will leaned forward and saw freckles on her throat.
“You’re fun,” she said. “But you know what this means? Even though I desperately need to pee, I now cannot go to the washroom, because you’re going to take my spot when I’m gone.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” he said. “Can you hold it until we get to my place?”
But he wouldn’t let her pee right away. He would make her squirm and beg and then maybe explode all over the hallway floor, half a foot away from the bathroom door, because his hand would be…
His eyes closed and he was suddenly aware of how he wasn’t looking towards the cafe’s small selection of drinks. He opened his eyes to look at Florence again, and started to smile.
She had been smiling, he was sure, but suddenly, her face looked frozen. As he tried to catch them, her eyes went left. Right. Down to her hands—so pale, fingers so very lightly freckled—and then slowly back up to Will’s face.
She shook her head and her entire body changed shape and expression.
“This is not going to work out,” she said.
“What?” Will flinched. “What did you say?”
“This is not going to work out,” she said. “Don’t you think?”
Will stared. What the fuck? Had it even been five minutes? He had just come in—chemistry. Teasing. Banter. That pink tongue and those hands and the hair, and his apartment right upstairs, December sex with no obligations, no need to explain the ex-wife and the kids and why did you get divorced and what are you looking for—and now this? What? How?
“I thought it was going rather well,” he said. Felt stupid, awkward. Sitting in the girl’s fucking spot, playing her game. She was, after all, just a tease.
Her freckled fingers moved across the table and grasped his hands.
Fucking thunderbolt. What was she doing?
“Oh, you’re very sweet,” she said. Smiled. Fuck. Beautiful smile—he loved her smile. Those crooked teeth. “And cute,” she added. Leaned closer towards him across the wobbly table. Dove into his eyes and he wanted her to stay there. “Totally as advertised. Fit. Hair. Also, as tall as your profile said, which is a bonus. Do you know that almost all men on dating sites lie about their height? They add two inches. And not just to their cocks. Seriously.”
She laughed, and he laughed with her.
“To be fair, women lie too. Mostly about their weight, though,” she said.
He laughed again. The clones he went out with were both shorter and… curvier, the kind word was curvier, than advertised.
Not that he minded curvy. Amanda had not been… well, never mind that. He looked at Florence again. She was wearing a very loose sweater. What she had under there had to be left entirely up to his imagination.
He imagined. His cock approved.
“But it’s not going to work out,” Florence said. Smiling still, or again. And looking into his eyes.
What the fuck?
“Say it,” she invited him.
“You just thought something angry. Obscene?” she asked. Eyebrows up. “Did you call me a bitch? Or something worse?”
“I just thought… ‘what the fuck,’” Will said. “I thought… I thought it was going quite well. This.”
“It is,” she smiled. “You’re sweet. But it’s not going to work out. I already know.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because,” she smiled—fuck, why did she keep on smiling? He needed her to stop smiling so that he could hate her. He would go home alone, and masturbate to the fantasy of hating this teasing redhead and doing nasty things to her, things that she hated, because… “Because,” she smiled again, “you’re sweet. And I’m not.”
“I’m not that sweet,” he said.
“Why?” she laughed. The next time she laughed, he was going to jump across the table and kiss—no, slap her. “Because you’re imagining me tied to your kitchen chair with… what? Nipple clamps on, or a mouth bit? While you whip me? Or suspended from a beam in a garage and you’re fucking me ruthlessly while I scream and beg you to let me go?”
“Handcuffed in the shower,” he muttered.
“Nice,” she smiled. He half-rose. “Oh, Will. You’re a darling. And this is not going to work out, however much I’d enjoy being handcuffed in your shower. If you managed to get handcuffs on me. I like to fight.” And she laughed again and his hands fell on hers and clamped around them. Hard. She pulled hers away—he thought about clamping down harder so she couldn’t, but what sort of ass would do that?—and put them in her lap.
“You’re too freshly divorced,” she said.
“What the fuck?” Will said. “I haven’t said boo about my wife.”
“You don’t have to.” She shrugged her shoulders. The motion of the bones under the bulky sweater was intoxicating. “I’ve been around.” She tilted her head again. The triangular chin pointed at him. “Tell me. What are we going to do on our second date?”
“I was thinking skating at the Olympic Plaza,” he said. Fuck. She laughed.
“See? This is supposed to be a one night stand,” she said. “And you’re totally falling in love with me. And you know nothing about me, so I don’t even take it as a compliment. You’re—you’re this uber nice guy. And your last relationship… how long were you married for?”
“Fifteen years,” Will said mechanically. He brushed a hand against his pant leg and crotch. Invited a thought of Amanda, at the moment she was saying to him, “His name is Ranveer—we didn’t plan it, Will, it just happened,” into his mind, the ultimate anti-aphrodisiac. His cock obeyed, fell.
“See, you only know how to do one kind of relationship. Long-term, loving, committed,” she said. “Which is wonderful. And what most women want.”
“And you’re not most women,” he finished her sentence.
“Sorry,” she said. “I am entirely as advertised. And you’re a liar, because you said you wanted a casual encounter, but you are so shopping for Mrs. Will Number Two.”
And this time he wanted to slap her not out of lust and desire but out of sheer anger. His fingers curled and he took a deep breath.
She looked at her watch.
“I had high hopes too,” she said. “I have hours to go on the babysitter.”
He nodded woodenly.
“Do you want to go… dancing?” she asked.
“Well, we don’t have to waste the night,” she said. “We agreed it’s not going to work out as we had planned. But we could go dancing. I love to dance. Do you?”
He stared at her.
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he said. Got up. Turned around. Walked out of the cafe alone.
Had absolutely no idea why or how he was pressing Florence’s half-naked body, the sweater shoved up to her shoulders, her tiny breasts cupped in his hands, against the hood of a parked car.
“What the fuck?”
“I’m willing,” she gurgled.
“I mean, how the fuck did we end up here?”
He really had no idea.
He was leaving. Pissed. And?
“I followed you out of the cafe to apologize. You… well, you kissed me,” she whispered. “And… here we are.”
She smelled like heaven.
He sunk his teeth into the thin line of flesh between her sweater and her hairline.
“But Will? This is a one night stand.”
“Would you, for fuck’s sake, stop talking?”
“Are you going to fuck me, sans foreplay, on the hood of someone else’s car parked in front of the cafe that’s apparently on the ground floor of your apartment building?”
He pressed her into the car hood. Stroked her almost bare back. Unsnapped the bra strap.
The light was insufficient to see if she was covered with freckles. A police or fire truck siren mewled in the background.
“No,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They didn’t quite make it. She unbuttoned his shirt in the vestibule, and he tore off her sweater in the elevator, and by the time the elevator door opened, she had soaked the outside of his pants, and he had covered her belly with cum without feeling her hand around his cock, never mind her cunt.
He shouldn’t call it a cunt.
He wanted to. Call it, possess it, lick it, inhale it. He fell to his knees as soon as they made it across the threshold of his apartment, but she pushed him away.
“Not that,” she said.
“I told you not to talk,” he said. But he got up and met her mouth with his. “To the bedroom.”
Clone Number One and Clone Number Two both ended up in his bed and bedroom. So did, um, the others. The sex was… well. It was sex so it was good. It was with real women and not his hand, so it was better than good. It was with women who looked and moved and tasted just like Amanda so it was both good and awful.
He and Florence didn’t make it to the bed. He fumbled for condoms while they rolled on the floor, managing to reach the nightstand drawer without really looking at it, knocking the pack to the floor. He pushed her face down into the hardwood floor, belly down—fuck, her legs went on forever, freckles on the backs of her thighs, calves, behind her knees—and managed to get the condom on almost as quickly as he wanted to.
And then he paused.
He flicked on the bedside lamp, and its light was sufficient. She was covered in freckles everywhere and he needed to kiss every single one. So he did. And she moaned and howled as though every kiss was giving her a mind-blowing orgasm, and this time, when, after rolling her onto her back he moved his head between her legs and disappeared between them, she did not push him away.
Face soaked, he kissed his way up her torso to her neck. Mouth. Slid his cock in. She wiggled off it and, curling underneath him, rolled onto her belly again.
He rolled her over again.
“I want your eyes and lips too,” he said.
“You’re too greedy,” she said, wiggling.
“You’re too contrary,” he said.
“I like to fight,” she agreed and arched her back hard, and fought, and her strength was quite incredible, but he kept her on her back and his cock inside her and relished every bite and claw mark. When she paused for breath and he felt her body melt, exhausted, he dove into her mouth.
“We did.” She laughed. He let the weight of his body rest on her completely and felt her stillness.
“Will?” Her voice was muffled. “I can’t breathe.”
He lifted himself slightly onto his elbows.
“Can we move to the bed now?”
He nodded and got up off her. Pulled her to her knees, then onto the bed.
“And look, we kept the sheets clean for your next one night stand,” she laughed again.
“Could you fucking stop talking?” he said.
“No,” she said. “Because this is important. Will? Come here.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him, tight.
“Best sex ever?” she asked.
He didn’t, wouldn’t answer.
“It sure felt incredible to me,” she answered herself. “Fucking amazing. You know what that is, Will? Chemistry, and restlessness. And lust. And desire. And perfect timing, and stressful December. It’s not destiny or meant to be. It’s just sex. Fucking fabulous sex. But just sex.”
“Me thinketh the lady doth protest too much,” he butchered Shakespeare.
“I’ve been around,” she said. Kissed his shoulder. Neck. Ear.
“One night stand,” she said, unwrapping herself from around him and moving off the bed in search of her clothes. Will closed his eyes, exhausted. When he opened them, she was dressed and at the bedroom door.
“Florence,” he said. Stopped. What was he going to say?
“You should say, ‘Thank you for coming,’” she instructed. He laughed and she joined him. “Will? I had a really great time. But if you text me, I won’t answer. That’s what a one night stand is. Ok?”
His cock seemed to sigh with happiness. So Will nodded.
“I’ll let myself out,” she said.
Blew him a kiss. Walked out.
Before he fell asleep, Will saw her bra and panties on the floor, beside the nightstand.
Like a teenage boy, he fell asleep with the panties grasped in his hand, the bra under his pillow.
MERRY MESSY CHRISTMAS TO YOU!
- Scene 1: The Challenge – Friday, December 1 (releasing Sat., Nov 10, 2018)
- Scene 2: The Challenger – Sunday, December 3 (releasing Wed, Nov 14, 2018)
- Scene 3: One Night Stand Gone Wrong – Wednesday, December 6 (releasing Sat, Nov 17, 2018)
- Scene 4: Panties, Penises & Bank Vaults – Thursday, December 7 (releasing Wed, Nov 21, 2018)
- Scene 5: The Negotiation – Monday, December 11 (releasing Sat, Nov 24, 2018)
- Scene 6: Cute, Fab in The Sack, Not Interested, Also, Psychic – Friday, December 15 (releasing Wed, Nov 28, 2018)
- Scene 7: Routine To The Rescue, Sort of – Monday, December 18 (releasing Sat, Dec 1, 2018)
- Scene 8: Methadone Fail – Monday, December 18, continued (releasing Wed, Dec 5, 2018)
- Scene 9: In Case You Missed It The First Time- Christmas Sucks When You’re Divorced – Tuesday, December 19 (releasing Sat, Dec 8, 2018)
- Scene 10: Lies, Groceries & Plans: Thursday, December 21 (releasing Wed, Dec 12, 2018)
- Scene 11: Fake Christmas Eve Fails & Victories – Saturday, December 23 + Sunday, December 24 (releasing Sat, Dec 15, 2018)
- Scene 12: Sex, Stick & Carrot – Sunday, December 24, continued (releasing Wed, Dec 19, 2018)
- Scene 13: Dry – Monday, December 25 (releasing Sat, Dec 22, 2018)
Of course, if at any point, you can’t take it any more and want to read ahead, one-click Messy Christmas or pre-order the full Text Me, Cupid series. In this case, I thoroughly approve of your desire for instant gratification. 😉
(And if you’re on-track and devouring all the novellas as they realize–five more days until Saving Christmas is live!)
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