One Night

This sexy story from One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive by Ainslie Paton, published with permission.

Erotic sexy story excerpt from One Night With the Sexiest Man Alive by Ainslie Paton

Teela looked so comfortable curled in his bed, it was tempting not to wake her. That would be the cooler thing to do. Let her sleep, hit the beach, join her later. He sat on the bed and took her in, dark hair in a terrible tangle, her face smooshed in the pillow, one arm, the swell of her breast and one lovely long leg stretched outside the sheet, the other hooked up as if she’d fallen asleep mid hop.

People could look vulnerable in their sleep.

Dad looked lonely, weary. Missing Mom written on his face. Rum looked younger, uncertain. He was a terrible grump first thing in the morning, as if he resented being awake. Rick looked hassled, like he was running schedules in his dreams.

Teela looked careless, strong, calm. As if sleep really did restore her instead of simply lowering her resistance to life and letting her insecurities surface.

He ran a finger down her arm and she twitched. He did it again and she grumbled, words he couldn’t make out. He kicked his shoes off, climbed over her and snugged up behind her, his face in her hair, his arm around her waist.

“If I was a good man, I’d let you sleep. I’d go have that ocean swim alone.” She sighed, but otherwise appeared to sleep on. “But I’m goddamn selfish. I only have you for today, so you don’t get to sleep in.” No movement. He shifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. Nothing. “Impressive.” He skated his hand up her body to cup her breast over the sheet. She sighed and pushed into his hand. “Teela?”

Not even an eyelash flutter. But her breathing had changed.

He’d made her nipple harden by thumbing over it before she stirred. He got his lips to her neck as her lashes fluttered. “Good morning,” he said.


“Time to wake up. We have an appointment with the beach.”

“Hmmm. What time is it? Why are you already dressed?”

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“Secret actor business.” He kissed her neck again, right where he knew she felt it everywhere and her eye flashed open.

“Ohh. Birdcage,” she said.

He kissed her jaw and she rolled to face him. “My mouth will taste like I’ve sucked on the newspaper at the bottom of a budgie’s cage.”

“Who says I want your mouth?”

She put a hand straight to his sun-saluting cock. She wasn’t asleep now. He could leave her be. He could bring her a glass of water, let her up to brush her teeth. He got the words, “Budgie. My favorite Australian flavor,” out before he licked over her lips and sealed them with a kiss. She resisted, complaining behind a closed mouth, but rubbing her hand over him with considerable enthusiasm.

He needed breakfast before he could deal with such mixed messages. As he went to pull away, she threw her leg over him and held him in place. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get you a glass of water?”

Her hand went straight under the waist of his sweats. “I don’t think so.”


And then under his briefs. “There are other things I can do with a mouth that needs freshening.”

He flexed into her hot little hand. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Not that he had legitimate thoughts. All he had was a vision of wrapping her hair around his hand as she teased his dick with her lips and starting the morning with a bang.

“If you’re thinking I make you come in my mouth, we’re on the same page.”

Same page, same chapter, same book, same movie adaptation from the bestseller.

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Teela went to work on him, putting her mouth all the places that weren’t his mouth. He focused on getting his hoody off, getting rid of his sweats, socks and briefs and even that level of organization was a strain. She barely took her hand off his cock and that robbed him of a considerable number of IQ points as well as effective hand-eye coordination.

By the time she sat across his legs in all her naked, flushed, wild-haired glory, he was reduced to squirms and twitches from her nips and licks and sucks. He might well have leaked out everything he had before her mouth went anywhere near the money shot. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t so turned on.

“I like you, Teela Carpenter.”

“You’d say anything to get in my mouth.”

Not wrong. I like you far more than is comfortable. I want to see you again. Safe word. “Birdcage.”

She licked her lips. They were already pink.

Her nipples were rosy and raised, her hips under his hands were exactly the grip he wanted on the world. “You are fucking hot.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

He had to let go of her when she moved down his body, but he pushed up on his elbows to watch as she put the tip of her tongue to his slit. A lick, a swirl, a kiss and then her mouth closed over the head and his hips left the bed, not enough to dislodge her and she had a firm hold of him, but enough to make her stop.

“Is there going to be any more of that nonsense?”

He gasped. Three nights ago, she’d wanted him to play the dominant.

“Because if you’re going to buck about all over the place, I’d rather have breakfast.”

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Now she was the one in control and mean with it. He groaned. He shouldn’t even be in this desperate position. He should be halfway to salt and sand. “I’ll be still.”

She raised her brows. They both knew that was a damn lie.

He didn’t break when she licked him sack to slit. He didn’t shift when she used that tongue swirl around his cockhead, or when she closed over him and flicked her tongue against him, gave him a light touch of her teeth. He was vocal though. More swearing than either of their mothers would’ve liked and he did grip her hair, first to smooth it away from her face so he could see better, and when she took more of him inside, her lips meeting her fist, he held on to keep her right where she was.

When his hips did jerk, she quit and so did his breath.

“Fuck, please don’t stop.” He dropped back to the bed because watching her and feeling her was system overload.

His ears took over then, listening to the rude wet slurp they made together before electric sparks showered over his pelvis.

“I’m close.”

She didn’t back off. She took him deep enough to bump the back of her throat and he came with a strangled moan, before sitting to pull her up beside him, taking her mouth finally for the denied kiss that started all this.

“If you’d have kissed me in the first place you could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble,” he said, when they’d finished devouring each other’s mouths.

She pushed her fingers through his hair. “Where would the fun have been in that? Have I made us late?”

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He squinted at the bedside clock. It was hard to care. But if they didn’t move now, it would be too risky to hit a public beach. He put his fingers to her pussy. “How quick can you come?” She was wet and her flesh felt swollen. He could smell her arousal and he wanted to taste it.

She groaned in complaint when he moved his hand; she’d started to grind against him. She did it again when he spread her legs and looked down at her.

“How quick can you make me come?” she said with a look that was enough to give him razor burn. It sizzled on his skin. That part where he’d thought he could play it cool with her. Monumentally bad casting.

He got her arching off the bed in a minute with slow licks through her labia and quick sucks of her engorged clitoris. And then he backed off to draw her pleasure out. It earned him a, “Bastard,” growled between clenched teeth as she drummed her heels on his ass.

The sound he wanted from her would only come when he got the wishbone of her whole clit to pulse deep inside her. He needed a combination of mouth and fingers to stimulate her vulva for that to happen. He made her thrash on the bed and right before he got what he wanted she went stiff and pushed out an exhale of shocked delight, shuddering under his hands.

Best sound in the world. Beat applause any day.

When he flopped down beside her she curled into him, her forehead on his bicep, her knees against his thigh. “You know I’m never going to be able to watch you on film again.”

“Because I made you come out of your skin?”

She rubbed her forehead on his arm. “Because you love doing it.”

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“Guilty as charged.”

She came up on her elbow, face tilted in her hand. “I’m going to see you on screen and think, there’s that bastard who can make my insides ring better than I can do it myself.”

He laughed. “For a second, I thought you were going to say something mushy.”

“That’s about as mushy as I get.”


Begging for more? You can buy One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive here.

Ainslie Paton always wanted to write stories to make people smile, but the need to eat, accumulate books, and have bedclothes to read under was ever present. She sold out, and worked as a flack, a suit, and a creative, ghosting for business leaders, rabble-rousers, and politicians, and making words happen for companies, governments, causes, conditions, high-profile CEOs, low-profile celebs, and the occasional misguided royal. She still does that. She also writes for love and so she can buy shoes, and the good cat food.

You can find her on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook or leave her a review on Goodreads.