Authors: Beth Michele
My mouth drops open in surprise, just as he reaches his thumb out to skim my bottom lip.
“I’m pretty sure I could put this sexy mouth to good use, too.”
I close my mouth and clear my throat, attempting to shoo away the desire unfurling between my legs. I’m visualizing being pinned to the bathroom wall by his hips, his throbbing cock pressed against my heat. Silently, I laugh at myself. This is what happens when you write erotic novels. All your experiences become good material.
He stands back up and I follow his lead, scanning his body along the way. When I notice the obvious bulge in his jeans, I lick my lips. My thoughts run rampant. I haven’t had sex since Sean and I split up, and I feel desperate and very needy.
“Thank you,” I mumble, as his gaze burns into the dip of my cleavage. Sweat builds there, and I’m anxious for him to lick it off. I’m not sure what possesses me, but I raise up on my tippy toes, adding quietly, “I wish I had time to thank you properly, but I’ve got a train to catch.”
His hand darts out to gently grasp my wrist, his brown eyes meeting mine. “Oh sweetheart, I can be patient when I want something badly enough.” Without breaking our stare, he lowers his lips, placing a gentle kiss to my pulse point that makes me shiver, before walking away, leaving me with a gaping mouth and moisture on my panties.
My gaze tags along as he strides off, his swagger exuding confidence. He’s very tall, maybe six feet, with a build that’s trim, yet athletic, and I’m guessing he’s probably in his thirties.
“If you’re not going to order you need to step aside, miss.”
Apparently, the person behind the counter has been calling me and I haven’t heard a word. I’m still gawking at one of the sexiest guys I’ve seen in a long time. Those jeans are form-fitted to his ass like they were made for him. His legs are long and lean, his back muscular—the sight jarring my brain that I need to take some notes.
I will definitely be writing about him in my next novel.
After ordering my latte, I rush past the throng of travelers, checking my watch for the third time. Damn it. My interlude with the hot stranger distracted me to the point of practically missing this train. I’m praying it hasn’t left yet.
I barrel down to track 48, my suitcase in tow, luckily observing a few more passengers still boarding when I get there. Stepping over the threshold, I lift my bag, rolling it down the aisle. Thus begins my agonizing search for the perfect window seat.
When I finally reach a car that is practically empty, I place my suitcase in the upper compartment and sit down, letting out a relaxed sigh. The marathon through the terminal left my feet achy, so I slide my shoes off and massage them before tipping my head back and closing my eyes. The train pulls away from the station, allowing me to bask in the dim lighting, a calm settling over my tired muscles.
“Well, I can’t believe my luck. What are the chances of running into the sexy girl with the vibrator twice in one day? The one I haven’t stopped thinking about since I walked away from her.”
The familiar voice stirs me from sleep, my eyelids fluttering open. For a second, I think I’m dreaming until he plunks down beside me and I catch a whiff of his musky scent. I subtly inhale through my nose while he’s digging through his briefcase. He smells heavenly. Good enough to fuck.
When he finally finds what he’s looking for, he turns around, his elbow leaning on the armrest between us, right next to mine. “So, sweetheart, I guess you’re stuck with me for a bit. And, if I’m not mistaken, I think you mentioned something about thanking me if you had the time.” He looks around the scarce rail car, then back to me. “It seems to me we have all the time in the world.” His gaze drifts to my open blouse, and my skin is suddenly very hot. He runs his index finger over his bottom lip. “What, oh what, shall we do? Hmph… how ‘bout you start by telling me your name?”
“Um, I’m Autumn,” I croak, my tongue twisted in knots, the ability to form a full sentence escaping me. There’s no way I’m telling him my real name.
“Nice to meet you, sweet Autumn,” he conveys, his voice deep. “I’m Hunter.”
“Yes,” is all I can manage as I rub my legs together, hoping the friction will ease the throbbing, in desperate need of relief. His focus is immediately drawn there, goose bumps parading across my arms at the intensity of his stare.
His eyes take a lazy stroll up my body before finally locking on mine again. “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he says huskily, and I suck in a breath at his words. “But I’ll be candid, my fingers and my tongue are itching to have their way with you.”
A tiny noise escapes my throat. I’m so turned on right now that if he put his hand between my legs, he’d see just how much. I’m already wet, and if he keeps this up, I’ll be drenched by the time we arrive in Boston.
He edges closer, my eyes closing when his nose trails up my neck. “Do you want me to touch you,
Autumn
? I can tell you’re turned on,” he whispers against my nape, “I can smell your pussy, and I have to be honest, the scent is making my dick hard.”
My cheeks warm and I’m feeling dizzy. His lips against my neck are intoxicating, drugging me into an altered state of bliss and he hasn’t even touched me yet. But,
God
, I want him to touch me. I haven’t wanted anyone this much in a long time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. But suddenly it’s all I want. I just want his hands on me.
His tongue darts out to lick behind my ear and my breathing picks up. “You smell like peaches,” he hums, “tangy and sweet….”
“Yes,” I pant, my chest rising and falling rapidly, nipples uncomfortably taut against my blouse.
“Yes, what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want,” he breathes out, his tongue warm and wet against my skin.
“I-I want your hands on me,” I admit quietly, “but… I’m not normally like this. I don’t pick up strangers.”
He backs away, his dark eyes burning into mine. “I don’t either.” I’m not sure whether to believe him, even though a flash of sincerity crosses his features. He brings his hand up, slowly fanning it against my cheek. “Unbutton your blouse,” he rasps.
“Here?” I stammer anxiously, the fact that we’re on a train heightening my arousal.
“Just a little bit,” he coaxes, completely fixated on the swells of my breasts. “Just so I can see that lacy bra I imagine you’re wearing. Your nipples are teasing me through your blouse and it’s driving me crazy.”
With a shaky hand, I manage to undo two more buttons, while I watch his irises darken. I glance down at his crotch, my tongue sweeping out to moisten my lower lip.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “when you do that, do you have any idea how badly I want that sweet little mouth wrapped around my cock, licking and sucking me off?”
“I wish I could suck your cock right now,” I murmur, licking my lips again, having no idea where the hell that came from, but noticing the way his lips part on an exhale as the words leave my mouth.
His adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow. “Spread your legs, beautiful,” he demands, and I’m mortified because my panties are beyond wet now.
I uncross my legs, anticipation sending shivers over every inch of my skin, my pussy clenching as his hand nears. He bends over, starting with my ankle, and his fingers do an achingly slow glide up my leg, past my knee to my thigh, as I spread for him. The desire is rolling off of me in waves, my body trembling with need.
“That’s it, nice and wide,” he whispers, his breathing heavier, just as turned on as I am. His thumb reaches the apex of my thighs, leisurely massaging me. I squirm in the seat, trying to bring him closer to where I need him, but he’s taunting me, getting me hotter, wetter. When his finger brushes the silk of my panties, he gasps. “Jesus, Autumn, you’re soaked,” he groans, before pushing my panties aside and finding my clit, circling it over and over again, a strangled moan escaping my throat.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you’re so hot and wet, I wish I could spread you open and taste your sweet pussy, lick you until you come.”
“Ahh,” I whimper, his dirty words pushing me further toward my release.
“You needed this, didn’t you baby?” he croons, as if reading my mind and my body.
“Mmmm,” I murmur because I can’t speak, it just feels too good. And he’s right, I needed this. God, did I need this.
He circles my clit again before sliding his finger inside me, my hips arching against his hand. “That’s it, show me how much you want this.”
I tug on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, parting my lips so he can slip inside. Our tongues tangle and he groans into my mouth, tipping me over the edge, the sensation of his finger and his mouth fucking me at the same time is all it takes, and I explode around him.
He doesn’t pull away, but slowly lets me float back down to earth, his finger doing a gentle massage, dragging out my orgasm. His lips leave my mouth, sailing down the line of my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, forging a trail of warmth in their path. “You are so fucking sexy when you come, do you know that? I can’t wait to do that again, next time with my tongue.”
Next time
?
I’m about to comment when he takes his finger out of my sex and pushes it into his mouth, licking it clean. “You taste… fucking amazing,” he muses, his mouth filled with my arousal, and now all I can think about is him doing that again, and again, and again.
And fucking. I definitely want to fuck him.
My limbs are completely relaxed, a sated smile sitting on my lips as I lean back. From the side, I see a grin tickling his mouth, too. I stretch out, and without realizing it, angle my head in his direction until I’m resting on his shoulder. Immediately, I sit up, wondering what the hell I think I’m doing. That’s a bit too intimate.
He shifts in his seat so he’s facing me and slips his thumb below my chin. “You can put your head on my shoulder, sweetheart. I just had my finger in your pussy.”
My cheeks turn crimson. It’s so unlike me to blush, yet this guy has me turning deep shades of red. I smile sheepishly before taking him up on the offer of his shoulder. He’s right, who am I to be modest now. He just finger-fucked me.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispers, as my eyelids flicker, finally closing to some much-needed rest. But I can’t help thinking his words sound a little too comfortable for me.
Warm lips on my forehead awaken me from a peaceful sleep. “Autumn,” he whispers, my eyes blinking open at the sound of his voice.
“Huh,” I reply, groggy, letting out a wide yawn. “Are we in Boston already?”
“No, sweetheart. I was sitting here thinking I don’t know anything about you.” He shrugs and stares at the seat in front of him. “I thought it would be nice to get to know each other a bit. Any random facts you care to share?”
“You woke me up for
that
?” I tease, nudging his arm, and he chuckles.
“Would you rather I make you come again? I’d take no issue with that, whatsoever,” he confesses, and a blush creeps across my skin once more.
“I-I live in New York City,” I stutter, both thrown off and aroused by his sexual reference. My mind wanders, while my eyes take a walk down his body, landing on his cock. Thankfully, my hair cloaks my perusal.
“I kind of deduced that already. How about your last name?”
“My last name?”
“Yes, what is it?” he questions, lowering his hand, curling a strand of my hair around his finger.
“Oh, it’s Winters. Autumn Winters,” I respond, still thinking about his cock and what he could do to me with it. I’d say I could blame it on reading too many erotic romance novels, but I just write the darn things.
“Well, mine is Grayson, Hunter Grayson. I live in New York also, and, random, uninteresting fact, my favorite movie is Casablanca.” He shrugs. “I’m a huge Humphrey Bogart fan, what can I say? What about you?” he asks, before fishing through his briefcase on an apparent mission. Something crinkles in his hand and I look over to see a Snickers bar. He tears open the wrapper, shoving it in my direction. “Want some?” he offers, his brown eyes sparkling with delight, his excitement rendering him absolutely adorable.
“No, thanks. I actually had a peanut allergy when I was younger. I’ve since grown out of it, but I still try to stay away from them.”
“Really?” he replies, taking a bite of the chewy candy and smiling. “That’s unfortunate. Sorry, I’m not smiling because of that, it’s simply because I’m starving and this hits the spot.”
I giggle, then snatch my purse from the seat, thinking there might be some crackers to munch on. “It’s okay. The only things I feel I’m really missing out on are Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”
“Yeah?” he returns. “I don’t really have any allergies to speak of. Except maybe my mother. I’m
definitely
allergic to my mother.” The way he says that makes me laugh, although I don’t know him well enough to discern if he’s trying to be funny.
“Really, how so?” I inquire, breaking off half of a cracker and stuffing it in my mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until this moment.
“She’s just… annoying, incredibly self-centered, nosy, judgmental. Shall I go on? Plus, she’s a writer,” he continues, rolling his eyes, “and unfortunately she’s not one of the humble ones.”
I cough, nearly choking on the cracker and he pats my back. “She’s a writer? Don’t tell me your mom is Diane Grayson?
The
Diane Grayson. Bestselling romance author?”
“Oh God, not you, too.” His head rolls back against the seat, before he pins me with a sharp glare. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of her followers,” he sneers, finishing off the Snickers bar and tossing the wrapper in his briefcase.
“No, but she’s not a stranger to me,” I pipe back, knowing full well that I now have to divulge my profession for this to make sense to him.
He angles his body to face me, a line of confusion wrinkling his forehead. “What do you mean? You know my
mother
?”
“I’ve met her.” I hesitate, not really wanting him to know my true identity. It’s embarrassing given what just happened between us.