One Time Only by Lauren Blakely

And then, it happens.

One night in a hotel when he fans the flames of my jealousy. Then push comes to shove.

And I have to decide if I’m going to let go of the attraction.

Or if the attraction is going to take hold of me.



I like to indulge. I could say it comes with the territory. As a rock star, excess is a daily item on the menu, and it’s one I love to order du jour.

It’s a course I’m quite fond of.

And my indulgences are highly specific.

I don’t eat meat. I don’t do drugs. And I have zero interest in fast cars.

But I do like one particular thing more than anything else. Or, really, one particular . . . everything.





And what comes with them.


Sex is my jam. It’s my oxygen. It’s life. Sex is my all-time preference, with music being the only thing that’s even in close contention.

My appetite is voracious for both. I’m up for any genre of song. I’m down for any position, and any person, in the bedroom.

I’m an omnivore. There’s an open-door policy at Casa de Stone.

Men, women, men and women, women and women, men and men—all combos are good in my book.

And I aim to make it good for everyone involved.

Like tonight.

This most epic night starts with a killer show at The Extravagant hotel in Las Vegas. One where I play my heart out on my Strat and where I sing like it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

It’s a dope concert. The crowd is magnetic. There’s all sorts of magic in the audience.

And it only gets better with the after-party.

The kind in a penthouse suite as orgasms abound.

There are orgasms for everyone. We hand them out like Oprah tossing out keys to cars.

A good time is indeed had by all.

And a necessary one, since my longtime BFF asked me to do him the solid of playing second banana in a trio with his woman.

Ivy wanted this three’s-a-charm combo. It’s her fantasy—to be serviced by two men at the same damn time. Honestly, it’s a fantasy for a lot of women, and it’s one I’ve been damn lucky to dabble in and deliver on a few times over the years.

At tonight’s fiesta of fucking, no swords cross, and that’s fine by me because I’m there to please her.

That’s what my friend’s woman wants—to be lavished with cocks and tongues all over her beautiful body. We give that to her, and I know she’s falling deeper in love with my buddy for being man enough to serve up all her dirty fantasies on a silver platter of sex and love.

Everyone leaves the suite happy.

Now here I am, the clock ticking close to midnight, stretched out in a swank booth at a plush The Great Gatsby–era speakeasy on the main floor of this luxury hotel smack dab in the middle of Sin City.

With my hot-as-hell bodyguard by my side and the two lovers across from us. Callum and Ivy are googly-eyed and lovey-dovey. They can’t take their eyes off each other.

It’s nauseatingly wonderful, and I love it.

I nudge Jackson with my elbow. “I’m a wizard. I am motherfucking magic,” I say, pleased as punch and proud of my work here tonight. I’m a dirty cupid, firing arrows of true love dipped in fiery sex.

“Yes, I’m sure it was your wand that did it,” Jackson retorts in that deadpan tone of his. He is a master of the deadpan.

I wiggle my brows. “My wand knows all sorts of spells. I mean, just look at them,” I say under my breath as Ivy tangles her fingers in her bodyguard’s hair, tugging Callum closer for a smooch.

“Hard to look elsewhere when they’re literally across from us.”

“C’mon. Even you, Mr. I Don’t Blink, can’t resist the sight of true love. I bet it’s melting your cold black heart.”

He shoots me a chilling stare. We’re talking freezer-burn levels. “Do you want me to blink?”

He makes a fair point.

“Maybe not,” I admit.

“Good. That’s what I thought.”

“But I dare you to admit your heart is turning into a puddle in that steel-encased chest of yours,” I say, goading him.

The tiniest laugh escapes from his lips, but the stoic man shakes his head in denial. Still, I catch the sliver of amusement in the slight lift of his lips.

I’m grinning too, since my peeps are on their path to happily ever after, and they sure look like they need to be alone. Maybe they need permission too—the reminder that the double-dick party is over and that it’s more than okay for them to be by themselves.