The Morning Ride (an erotic short story with exhibitionism, light BDSM) by Delilah Devlin Page A

nudged her pussy. When he thrust straight toward her womb, her back arched and her breasts grew hard. A long thin moan ripped from her throat. It took only three strong thrusts before she came.
    “Fuck,” he muttered, then followed her, giving a muffled shout as he hammered between her legs. Even when his arousal waned, he circled inside her, hips rolling and rolling, dragging on her heated walls until she groaned and rocked against him, and he was hard again.
    It was her dream after all.
    This time, he let his weight pin her to the mattress. He bracketed her face between his large palms and held her while he rubbed his lips over hers then thrust his tongue inside.
    She sucked on it the way she wanted to suck on his cock. He must have read her mind because he groaned into her mouth, and then pulled away, backing onto his knees. His cock pulsed, tapping his belly. He stared down at it, then aimed a hot glance her way.
    Sophie placed two pillows under her head. “Fuck my mouth.”
    He stepped over her until his knees were braced apart on either side of her chest, then he leaned over her, a hand against the wall as he guided his cock into her mouth.
    Her tongue lapped at the smooth head. Her lips closed around the shaft, just beneath the glans and suctioned hard while he began to move in and out. Past her teeth, along her tongue, against the back of her throat. She swallowed, caressing the head.
    A hand cupped the back of her head, giving her support, and his strokes quickened. “Swallow, baby. Take it,” he whispered.
    Her muffled, mewling cries vibrated around him, and he cried out, thick surges of come splashing at the back of her throat.
    When he pulled away, he scooted down until he could kiss her mouth. “Baby, that was so goddamn hot.”
    The dream had ended there with his wet cock digging into her belly—before they’d shared names, before they’d agreed to see each other again. Not the sort of dream she’d ever had before—or at least not so long and detailed. Like a scene from a smutty romance novel, rose petals and all.
    Still, she’d been left wet, aching, and the dildo hadn’t filled the empty space inside her. If only she had the courage to approach him. Maybe he’d be as sexy, well-endowed, and skilled as her dream-lover—or maybe he’d be a complete dick.
    Either way, she’d bring an end to this wanting.
    Daniel settled onto his seat in the subway car and raked a hand through his wet hair. He’d woken late and flown through his morning routine, skipping breakfast because he hadn’t wanted to wait on the next train. He’d have missed her, and for some strange reason, seeing the sexy little redhead in her plain dark skirts, button-down blouses, and running shoes ensured a pleasant start to his mornings.
    He flipped open the newspaper he’d swiped from in front of his apartment door before he’d run down the stairs and pretended to read the headlines while his gaze followed the length of her pale, sturdy legs.
    They weren’t the longest or the sleekest, and that hint of muscle at the back of her calf wasn’t all that noteworthy, but they drew his gaze up to her thighs. Her miniskirts were modest and her thighs were rounded—not fat, but feminine. And just like he did every morning, he wondered how soft the skin cloaking those luscious thighs would be.
    That thought was all it took to send him straight into arousal so strong he had to place both feet on the floor and spread his legs slightly, the newspaper the only thing shielding his interest from the other passengers crowding into the car.
    The woman was an obsession, his daily good-luck charm. If her gaze fanned him once and lingered for even a moment, his whole body warmed. He hadn’t approached her yet, hadn’t wanted to let his anticipation tarnish these morning moments, because she’d fed every wet dream he’d had the past few weeks. Since he’d broken up with Jen, “subway girl” was the closest thing he’d had to a date. Every