one before. It was far more spacious and deluxe. Roomy pairs of rich brown leather seats lined the aisles, and the well-dressed occupants were sipping cocktails in real glasses and toying with the latest electronic gadgets. This was obviously business-class. I sure as hell did not belong here wearing my T.J. Maxx midi skirt and Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. Oh yeah, and my worn out combat boots, a treasured gift from my mom. This was the cabin where Louis Vuittons, Jimmy Choos, and Chanels mingled with other LVs, Jimmies, and Cocos. No, I didn’t belong here. Not one bit.
Fighting the speed of the train and my embarrassment, I clumsily zigzagged down the aisle, occasionally grabbing onto the corner of a seat for balance. Like the previous cabin, every seat was taken. No one seemed to notice me, but truthfully, I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As I neared the rear end of the car, the train jerked, sending me flying into the lap of a Wall Street Journal -reading commuter to my left.
“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked at my victim whose face was still buried in his WSJ .
He flexed his leg muscles under my muscular butt, signaling me to get up, and then slowly lowered his newspaper. A smirk curled on his lips. Oh tho s e lips!
My heart leaped into my throat. Adonis!
“Sit,” he said, motioning to the empty window seat next to his.
“Um, uh, I’m in economy,” I stuttered, my eyes unable to leave his face no matter how humiliated I felt. Up close, he was even more beautiful than I imagined with his chiseled nose, strong angular jaw line, and piercing eyes, the color of sapphires.
“Don’t worry; I’ll handle it,” he said with a wink.
Holy shit! Adonis had just winked at me!
“Sit,” he growled, this time as if it were an order.
With a powerful heave of his knees, he bounced me to my feet, forcing me to plop down next to him.
Holy shit again! I was going to spend the next hour and a half sitting next to this gorgeous man—a man that existed only in my dreams—and now I had no idea what to say. My heart pounded.
“What’s your name?” he asked, in a coy tone that suggested he was daring me to answer.
“Sarah,” I replied, pulling myself together in time to reply in a very business-like voice.
“Saarah,” he repeated, his voice deep and sexy.
The way he said my name drawing out the first syllable with breathiness—sent a chill down my spine. I could not help thinking of lyrics from my all-time favorite movie, West Side Story . “Say it soft and it’s almost like praying.”
“Ari,” he said next, not giving me time to ask the obvious.
A fitting name. Almost like Ares, the Greek god of war. This man was a warrior. A beautiful warrior. And I was soon to find out that conquest was his middle name.
I held out my slender hand to shake his. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do. His long, tan fingers entwined mine. His grip was strong. Powerful. Slowly, he raised my hand to his lush lips. Blood rushed to my head as they pressed ever so gently against the back of my palm. One by one, he unfolded my fingers, sucking each one as if they were candy sticks. The wetness of his warm saliva glistened on my fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and moisture pooled between my legs. What the hell was he doing? And why the hell was I letting him do it?
My heart was racing as fast as the Amtrak. I needed to stop this. Move to another seat. My eyes darted around the cabin, but there were still none to be had. No one seemed to notice what was going on; they either had their faces buried in newspapers or books or were occupied with their smartphones, iPads, or eReaders.
This was just not right. I was sitting next to a complete stranger and letting him suck my fingers. He could be a total whack job… a molester or serial killer. Who knew? Though my fear was fleeting, I made up a desperate clichéd excuse. “Um, uh excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Actually, I really did.
Fighting the speed of the train and my embarrassment, I clumsily zigzagged down the aisle, occasionally grabbing onto the corner of a seat for balance. Like the previous cabin, every seat was taken. No one seemed to notice me, but truthfully, I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As I neared the rear end of the car, the train jerked, sending me flying into the lap of a Wall Street Journal -reading commuter to my left.
“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked at my victim whose face was still buried in his WSJ .
He flexed his leg muscles under my muscular butt, signaling me to get up, and then slowly lowered his newspaper. A smirk curled on his lips. Oh tho s e lips!
My heart leaped into my throat. Adonis!
“Sit,” he said, motioning to the empty window seat next to his.
“Um, uh, I’m in economy,” I stuttered, my eyes unable to leave his face no matter how humiliated I felt. Up close, he was even more beautiful than I imagined with his chiseled nose, strong angular jaw line, and piercing eyes, the color of sapphires.
“Don’t worry; I’ll handle it,” he said with a wink.
Holy shit! Adonis had just winked at me!
“Sit,” he growled, this time as if it were an order.
With a powerful heave of his knees, he bounced me to my feet, forcing me to plop down next to him.
Holy shit again! I was going to spend the next hour and a half sitting next to this gorgeous man—a man that existed only in my dreams—and now I had no idea what to say. My heart pounded.
“What’s your name?” he asked, in a coy tone that suggested he was daring me to answer.
“Sarah,” I replied, pulling myself together in time to reply in a very business-like voice.
“Saarah,” he repeated, his voice deep and sexy.
The way he said my name drawing out the first syllable with breathiness—sent a chill down my spine. I could not help thinking of lyrics from my all-time favorite movie, West Side Story . “Say it soft and it’s almost like praying.”
“Ari,” he said next, not giving me time to ask the obvious.
A fitting name. Almost like Ares, the Greek god of war. This man was a warrior. A beautiful warrior. And I was soon to find out that conquest was his middle name.
I held out my slender hand to shake his. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do. His long, tan fingers entwined mine. His grip was strong. Powerful. Slowly, he raised my hand to his lush lips. Blood rushed to my head as they pressed ever so gently against the back of my palm. One by one, he unfolded my fingers, sucking each one as if they were candy sticks. The wetness of his warm saliva glistened on my fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and moisture pooled between my legs. What the hell was he doing? And why the hell was I letting him do it?
My heart was racing as fast as the Amtrak. I needed to stop this. Move to another seat. My eyes darted around the cabin, but there were still none to be had. No one seemed to notice what was going on; they either had their faces buried in newspapers or books or were occupied with their smartphones, iPads, or eReaders.
This was just not right. I was sitting next to a complete stranger and letting him suck my fingers. He could be a total whack job… a molester or serial killer. Who knew? Though my fear was fleeting, I made up a desperate clichéd excuse. “Um, uh excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Actually, I really did.
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