Strangers on a Train I (7 page)

I stopped for a moment to bend down and re-tie a loose shoelace.

“Watch out!” screamed a voice ahead of me.

I looked up and coming downhill toward me at hell-bent speed was a young man on a racing bike.

Before I could even blink an eye, two strong arms scooped me up.

“Saarah.”

My name. That voice. It was him!

My brown eyes gazed up and met his sparkling sapphire eyes. His lush lips were curled into a cocky grin. His golden hair, more carefree and tousled than yesterday, glistened in the sun.

Embarrassment washed over me like a sudden downpour. Here I was all hot and sweaty in his bare, sculpted arms. In fact, I was melting at the sight of him.
Don’t let him do this to you.
“You can put me down. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own two legs.”

He gently set me down and sighed. “ You really must be more careful.”

He had come to my rescue once again. I hung my head in shame, my eyes roaming down his gorgeous body. He was dressed in all white. White tennis shorts, one of those expensive cotton polo shirts with the alligator on the pocket, and white tennis shoes. His long legs were lean, tan, and muscular, laced with a layer of gold threads.

“So you’re a runner,” he said, eyeing me from head to toe. Fuck. I was a hot, sweaty, disheveled mess.

“Yeah,” I said daring to lift my head. Oh God! Was he gorgeous. Heart-stopping gorgeous. My already heated-up body was close to being on fire.

“You have great legs.”

I humbly shrugged my shoulders. “Thanks.” The truth was, my legs were my best feature. Like his… long, lean, and toned from having been a tomboy my whole life. I was especially proud of the ripple that ran down the side of my thighs, almost to my knees, thanks to running.

“I see you’re not wearing a bra.” A bemused expression accompanied his words.

I glanced down at my chest. Shit! In my haste to get of my apartment, I had forgotten to put on my sports bra, the only kind of bra I wore. My pert nipples popped through the thin, soaked layer of my cotton tank top. Mortification raced through me.

“What else aren’t you wearing?” he asked, his eyes gazing at my crotch as if they had x-ray vision.

“My running shorts have attached panties,” I smirked back at him. Flipping up the edge of one side of the shorts to prove it to him, I could feel my crotch getting hotter and wetter. Oh God, this man was turning me on. I had the burning desire to tear off his clothes and mine and fuck him right here, right now in the park. Why was I still talking to this womanizer? And lusting for him? Shame on me. He was bad news.

He shot me that breathtaking smile. “We should run sometime together.”

“I don’t think you could keep up with me.”

“I think I would do just fine.” He paused. “Hey, what happened to you last night? I looked for you—”

Before he had a chance to continue or I, a chance to reply, a little boy on a scooter rushed up to us. He had big brown puppy eyes, sandy hair, and a handful of freckles scattered on his face. He was, in a word, adorable.

“Daddy, I want some ice cream.”

Daddy?
The word numbed me.

Ari nervously ran his hand through his golden blond hair and knitted his brows together. “Saarah, this is Ben. My son.”

His son?
Trainman had a son? I felt the ground open beneath me, and I was sinking though a dark abyss. Fucking Trainman was fucking married! From the corner of my eye, I saw the beautiful redhead jogging our way. She was waving. Holy shit! His wife?

“I’ve got to go.” I hurried the words as I fought back tears.

“Saa—”

The second syllable of my name faded into the fragrant spring air as I took off like a bolt of lightning. I raced through the park, tears streaming down my face. The married fucker fucked me on a train? And called me
his
princess? I didn’t know whom I hated more—my Trainman or myself. I felt sick to my stomach.

When I reached the corner of Forty-Fifth and Sixth, I finally slowed down. My heart was still racing, and I was drenched with a combination of sweat and tears. Never had I felt so dirty, so humiliated, so regretful in my whole twenty-five years. And so hurt.

With tears still spilling down my cheeks, I speed-walked the remainder of the way home. When I got to the landing of my brownstone, I mounted it two steps at a time. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and wash myself off. The sweat. The grime. The memories. I unfastened the safety pin that attached my keys to my shorts, and jiggled the largest of them into the front door lock. The door would not unbolt. Damn that lock!

“Can I help?”

I spun around. Fuck. It was him. His face was flush, beads of sweat glistening on his bronzed skin like fairy dust. He breathing was heavy, his eyes hooded.

“Get away from me!” I yelled. “I never want to see you again.”

“Saarah, I ran halfway across this city to see you, and trust me, I never have to chase after women.” His voice was breathy, the look on his face a cross between rage and desire. A look that made me want him even though I had no right to want him.

A horde of emotions swarmed me. Guilt, confusion, hurt, and desire. I began to sob and pound his rock-hard chest with my fists. “Get away from me! You’re married!”

With one hand, he clasped his long fingers around both my hands, so tight I couldn’t move them or strike him again. The other hand cupped my tear-soaked chin and tilted my head back slightly. Too drained to resist, my gaze met his. His eyes were intense and did not blink.

“Saarah, I’m not married. I’ve been divorced for three years.” He loosened his grip.

My lips parted but I was speechless. I could only taste my salty tears.

And then the next thing I knew, his lips were consuming mine, my head still locked in his graceful but ample hand. My eyes closed, I could hear him softly moaning, as he pressed harder, deepening the kiss. My parted lips made an easy entry for his tongue; it instantly found mine and I couldn’t say no to the warm velvety suitor. I had wanted his kiss ever since we’d met. Our tongues swirled together, his dancing across my palate and the hollows of my cheeks. Oh God, he tasted delicious. Sweet and minty and just a little salty. And, oh what a kisser! Melting, I moaned into his mouth.

Still holding my keys, I wrapped my arms around his neck and raked the unencumbered fingers of my other hand through his thick damp hair. His hands slithered down my neck to my chest, until they landed on my breasts. Squeezing and massaging them, he brushed his thumbs across my nipples. Desire was pooling between my legs at the speed of a locomotive.

With one arm, he squeezed me closer to him. I could feel my hard, erect nipples rub against his damp cotton shirt. I folded my arms around his taut torso, pressing my body even tighter against his.

Moving his hands to the crook on each side of my waist, he forcefully shoved me against the hard wooden door, pinning me against it with his equally hard body. My groin ached as the hard wedge between his legs pressed against it. I dug my fingers into his narrow hips, clutching the tail of his soaked tennis shirt. He was still kissing me passionately. The wildfire inside me kept spreading. I couldn’t believe this scene—straight out of a movie—was actually happening to me. With this gorgeous, gorgeous creature.

Slowly, he pulled his tongue out of my mouth. His breathing was ragged, his beautiful face with its hooded blue eyes only a palm’s width away from mine. His tongue flicked my neck and then his warm breath blew in my ear. Clasping a hand over mine, he expertly transferred my house keys into his possession.

“Saarah,” he whispered. “I need a shower.”

That made two of us. I was dripping wet. Soaked with his sweat and mine. I don’t know whose was whose. Our mists mingled.

With two simple twists, he managed to unbolt the double lock. After turning the doorknob, he kicked the door open and in one smooth move, scooped me up in his arms. I brushed the sweat off his brow and then wrapped my arms around his neck, inhaling the sweet smell of his manly sweat mixed with mine.

Effortlessly, he carried me up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I ran my fingers through his hair and let myself just enjoy the ride. With every step, the throbbing inside me grew more intense. Along the way, we passed Mrs. Blumberg with her shopping cart. Her eyes grew wide. I simply waved at her, stifling a giggle. I knew what she must have been thinking.
Oy! She’s going to let him touch her there.

Oh yes, I was!

Still holding me in his arms, Ari managed to open the double lock of my apartment, again easily with two clicks. I was beginning to think he had a special talent when it came to inserting things. Be it a key. His tongue. Or his dick. Just like before, he kicked the door open and then kicked it again, slamming it shut behind us.

Embarrassment crept over me. Here was this gorgeous billionaire, who probably lived in some Park Avenue penthouse, in my rinky-dink one-bedroom apartment. At least, it was clean and tidy. Trainman didn’t stop to notice a thing. Not even Jo-Jo who meowed loudly and brushed up against his legs. As if he’d been here a hundred times before, he carried me straight into the tiny bathroom down the hallway. Given that my apartment was only 300 square feet, I guess it wasn’t too hard to find.

After gently setting me down, he twisted both faucet knobs. Water poured down from the showerhead. The one thing this apartment had was good water pressure.

“Take off my shirt,” he growled.

Like a stalwart soldier, I did what he asked, my fingers trembling as I lifted his damp shirt over his head. He brushed his taut golden haired chest against me. A shudder ran through me, landing in my core.

“Now pull down my shorts.”

I nervously fumbled to undo the button and the fly. His hard, lengthy rod shot through the fly even before I could finish unzipping it. It was aimed at me like it was rifle and I was the target. His white shorts fell to the tiled floor.

“Saarah, get undressed.”

I couldn’t move. I was shocked into paralysis by the magnificent body that stood before me. I had taken sculpting classes at RISD and had studied all the great Italian masters, but nothing compared to the Adonis that was standing right here in my bathroom. The serrated muscles of his long legs bulged just the right amount in all the right places and connected seamlessly with those narrow hips that gave way to his lean six-pack torso that broadened as my eyes rose up to his wide shoulders. And then that chiseled face with its parted lips and gemstone eyes that fixated on me. This man, this god, he belonged in a museum for the world to behold, not here in my hole-in-the-wall bathroom. Except there was no fig leaf in the world that would cover the hunk of hard flesh that jutted out between his legs.

He let out a long breathy sigh. “Oh, Princess, must I do everything for you?”

I remained paralyzed as he lifted my tank top over my head and yanked down my running shorts. He stepped back and studied me, his full lips tightening and his eyes narrowing as if they were scrutinizing every fine detail. While it was hot as hell in my unairconditioned apartment, a chill ran through me. Maybe he didn’t like what he saw. The impassive expression on his face was unreadable.

And then that dazzling, dimpled smile broke loose. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Another shiver shot through me. Had he been fantasizing what I looked like without my clothes on?

He grabbed my hand and led me into the shower. Holding me tightly next to him, he yanked the elastic off my ponytail, allowing my wavy chestnut hair to fall to the middle of my back. The water poured forcefully on both of us, soaking us to the bone. Finding my shampoo, he squirted a few drops on my head and started massaging my scalp as he flutter kissed my face. I closed my eyes. It felt good. So good. He let the pounding water wash off all the soap before applying the conditioner.

“Oh, baby, you smell so good.” His face nuzzled the nape of my neck and his hands cupped my buttocks. “And you’ve got a great ass too.”

“Thanks,” I moaned as I felt a hand move between my inner thighs. I was soaking wet there too, though not exactly from the shower. He began to massage the tender folds of my skin, gently then harder. Breathy pants escaped my mouth as the opening tucked inside the folds ached for his entry.

With his other hand, he led my hand down to his erection, spreading my fingers around the hot, wet column of flesh. He moved my hand up and down, letting go once he knew I knew what to do. He arched his back and moaned, “Oh baby, that feels so good.” My reward was the insane pleasure that pulsed between my legs as he began to massage my clit.

“Oh, Saarah, your clit is like a velvety rosebud,” he murmured, his voice all breathy.

I threw my head back, channeling my ecstasy into the ecstasy I was giving him. He slipped a bar of soap into my free hand.

“Now wash my cock, baby. All over.”

Another command. Holding his heavy balls in my palm, I ran the bar of soap up and down his long thick shaft from the root to the crown, instinctively applying pressure. When I got to the bulbous tip, I circled the soap around its circumference and heard him moan again with pleasure.

“Now just use your hand.” Letting the soap fall to my feet, I slid my hand along the soapy, slippery shaft, surprised how easily it glided across its length. I picked up my pace, squeezing harder. I could feel his member growing harder and bigger in my palm. Down below between my thighs, his fingers pressed firmly against my bud, coaxing it to explode in full bloom.

My breathing turned ragged and so did his. The tension between my legs was mounting, rapidly heading toward the unbearable.

“Do you want to come with me inside you?” He rolled his tongue inside my ear, the strangely erotic sound bringing even more pleasure to where I felt it most.

“Yes!” It was a cry of desperation.

Expecting him to press me against the tiled back wall and insert the tip of his cock inside me, I was surprised when he yanked the shower curtain open and stepped out. Turning off the water, he lifted me out and carried me, dripping with desire, to my bedroom. He threw me on the bed and then climbed onto it.