After gently setting me down, he yanked the shower curtains apart and turned on the water. A forceful steamy spray poured down from the showerhead. The one thing this apartment had was good water pressure.
“Take off my shirt,” he ordered.
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 bronzed chest against mine. A shudder ran through me, all the way down my spine.
“Now pull down my shorts.”
Nervously, I fumbled to undo the button and the fly. His monstrous cock shot through the fly even before I could finish unzipping it. It was aimed at me like it was a rifle and I was the target. As I stood there wordlessly, his white shorts fell to the tiled floor.
“Saarah, get undressed.”
I couldn’t move. I was shocked into paralysis by the spectacular 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 and that perfect pelvic-V. My eyes traveled up his lean torso, lingering on his rippled abs, sculpted chest, and manly broad shoulders. And then, they closed in on 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 lush lips tightening and his eyes narrowing as if they were scrutinizing every fine detail. While it was hot as hell in my un-air-conditioned apartment, a chill ran through me as his eyes roamed up and down my body. Maybe he didn’t like what he saw. The impassive expression on his face was unreadable. Then, that dazzling, dimpled smile broke loose.
“Saarah, you are even more beautiful than I imagined.”
Another shiver shot through me. Had he been fantasizing about what I looked like without my clothes on?
Before I could I build up the courage to ask him, he grabbed my hand and led me into the shower. The hot water poured down forcefully on both of us, soaking us to the bone. Facing me, he yanked the elastic off my ponytail, allowing my wavy chestnut hair to cascade down to the middle of my back. Finding my shampoo, he squirted a few drops on my head and started lathering my scalp as he flutter kissed my face. I closed my eyes and moaned. It felt good. So good. He let the pounding water wash off all the suds before applying the conditioner.
“Mmm, baby, you smell so good.” He nuzzled the side of my neck while his hands cupped my buttocks. “And you’ve got a great ass too.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as a hand moved between my inner thighs.
I was soaking wet there too, though from more than the shower. He began to caress the tender folds with long even strokes. Breathy pants escaped my chest as the slit tucked between them ached for his entry.
With his other hand, he led my hand to his enormous erection, spreading my fingers around the hot, wet column of flesh. He moved my fist up and down, letting go once he knew I knew what to do. As I pumped with vigor, he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Oh baby, you’re doing it just right. It feels so fucking good,” he hissed. My reward was the insane pleasure that pulsed between my legs as he began to rub my clit.
“Princess, your extraordinary clit is like a rosebud,” he murmured, his voice breathy and filled with lust.
I moaned at his words. A beautiful orgasm was blossoming. I threw my head back, channeling my ecstasy into the pleasure I was giving him.
“Now wash my cock, baby. All over,” he ordered, slipping a bar of soap into my free hand.
Another command. Holding his heavy balls in my right 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 blissfully hiss again.
“Now, just use your hand.”
Letting the soap fall to my feet, I did again as he asked and slid my hand along the slick, soapy shaft, surprised how easily it glided across his length. I picked up my pace, applying more pressure. I could feel his cock expanding in my palm, growing harder and bigger with each vigorous stroke. Below between my thighs, his fingers pressed firmly against my bud, coaxing it to explode in full bloom.
As the shower stall steamed up, 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 my cock inside that tight little pussy of yours?” He rolled his tongue inside my ear, the strangely erotic sound bringing even more pleasure to where I felt it most.
“Please!” It was a cry of desperation. I wanted him terribly.
Expecting him to lift me up against the tiled back wall and plunge his huge cock inside me, I was surprised when he yanked the shower curtain open and stepped out. Turning off the water, he scooped me into his strong arms and carried me, dripping wet with water and desire, to my bedroom. He threw me on the bed and then crawled onto it.
“You need to know I’m clean,” he mumbled under his breath.
Well, I’d certainly given him a good scrubbing. He continued, shifting so that he was facing me.
“What I mean is that I’ve been tested. I need you to trust me. I don’t have a condom with me. Are you okay with that?”
A condom was honestly the last thing on my mind. So hungry for him, I nodded feverishly. And perhaps foolishly.
“Good. Now, spread your legs,” he ordered, his eyes ablaze, his magnificent face and body glistening from the shower.
Without wasting a second, I parted my legs and as I did, he threw them over his shoulders. Meeting my hungry gaze, he anchored himself between my splayed legs and thrust his hard, glorious cock inside me, inch by thick inch. Oh God! He filled me! My fingers raked through his soaking wet hair as his still soaped-up shaft moved effortlessly inside me, each thrust coming harder and faster than the one before. His cock was barreling inside me, like a high-speed bullet train. The friction along my tracks was sending sparks flying everywhere. There was no getting off, no stopping. Digging my nails into his upper back, I screamed with pleasure from this erotic thrill ride. And then he lurched forward, slamming into me, consuming that fiery spot where all hell broke loose. I exploded with a fireworks display and heard him cry out my name as his own massive orgasm crashed through me.
Holy shit! I had just fucked Trainman in my railroad apartment.
For several minutes, he just lay splayed on my body, his head nuzzled in the crook of my neck. “Oh Saarah, Saarah, Saarah,” he rasped between breaths.
He was a trainwreck, and I was pretty damaged too. But in a good way. A very good way.
Finally, he rolled off me and slid off the bed. My eyes stayed fixed on his chiseled body, still wet and shimmering from the shower and our sex. I was surprised that his dick was still erect.
“I’m starving,” he rumbled. “Do you have anything to eat?”
Jesus. My mind, still in a fog from my orgasm, tried to think. Other than my pussy (not Jo-Jo), the only thing I could offer him was ramen noodles. I wasn’t even sure if I still had any since I hadn’t been to Gristedes since last Sunday. I chewed on my lip, my face silently saying uh-oh.
He caught my expression and winked. “Don’t worry. I’m not that picky.”
Ha! From the man who ate lobster and drank fine French wine.
Wrapping the zebra print sheet around me like a toga, I headed to my tiny kitchen. There were still a few packs of the noodles left. I tore one open and then filled a cup with water. Pouring it into a small pot on t
he stove to boil, my phone rang. I thought about letting it go to my voicemail, but was stopped by an unsettling thought. The one that always freaked me out. Maybe something was wrong with my mother. I dropped what I was doing and hurried to the phone, picking it up on the next ring.
“Sarah.”
I recognized the sharp, haughty voice right away and was immediately regretful that I had picked up the phone. It was my demanding boss, Catherine Sinclair. Had she nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than to call me? I’d worked for her for just over a month, having landed the executive assistant position through a job search newsletter I subscribed to. My qualifications nailed it for me: I had no boyfriend or social life and could work late and on weekends. Little did I know what I’d signed up for.
“Hi, Catherine,” I murmured, trying to stay as professional as possible and mask my annoyance. I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
She huffed. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Both your cell phone and home phone voicemail boxes were full. Don’t you ever erase your messages? And why don’t you pay attention to your texts or emails? You will see I’ve sent a dozen.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was out and about.” And too busy getting fucked by the most gorgeous man in the world. “What’s up?”
“I have an emergency.”
Internally, I sighed. She always had an emergency. And I’d quickly learned that they ran the gamut from scheduling an emergency appointment with her manicurist on account of a chipped nail to running all the way uptown to Bergdorf’s to buy her a new tube of her favorite Chanel lipstick. Add to this her total lack of organization, and I was forever resending her important emails and reports as well as covering up her tardiness, ineptitude, and inexcusable lack of preparation when it came to important meetings with the head of the company, Ike Abrams.
“What is it?” I asked, my eyes darting to the pot on the stove. Shit. The water was boiling and getting low.
“I need you to let Ike know that I can’t make it to the four o’clock staff meeting on Tuesday. I have an appointment with my hair colorist, and this is the only time she can fit me in all week. Just tell him I have an emergency doctor’s appointment or something like that.”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Good.” CLICK
Hanging up the phone, I felt my blood simmer. Not once had the lazy entitled bitch ever thanked me for anything I’d done. I worked my butt off, but she made me feel like I was a worthless piece of shit. On the positive side, I suppose I should be grateful that she wasn’t making me do stupid errands for her on my weekend off. And then the phone rang again. Shit. Maybe I jumped to a conclusion too fast. Reluctantly, I answered on the first ring.
“Yes?” I couldn’t help barking the word, dreading another fucked up Saturday like last week when I had to schlep all over Manhattan hunting for the special blender she wanted for making her kale smoothies.
“Saarah—”
I gulped so loud I’m sure he heard me. He was calling me from the living room.
“I’m hungry. What’s taking so long?”
“Um…uh…I had to take an important (yeah, right!) call from my boss, Catherine. She’s very demanding.”
“I am too.”
I could actually see the smirk on his bronzed face in my mind’s eye.
“Please hurry.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Oh, by the way, I’ve made friends with your cat. You have a very sweet pussy.” CLICK
Aflutter, I slammed the receiver back on the hook, and ran over to the stove. Phew! There was still enough water left in the pot to cook the noodles. Without wasting a second, I emptied the package into the bubbling water.
Five minutes later, I carried a steaming bowl of the noodle mix with a pair of chopsticks into the living room.
“Hi,” I chirped, already aroused at the sight of him.
Jo-Jo by his feet, he was staring at the large poster above the couch. His back was to me. God, what a great ass he had! Perfectly shaped buns of steel. And then as my eyes traveled from his narrow waist up his spine, something else captured my attention. For the first time, I noticed a grisly six-inch scar that ran down his right shoulder blade. The one imperfection on his otherwise perfect body. I wondered how he’d gotten it, but this wasn’t the time to ask.
“So you’re into Josephine Baker,” he said, not turning around.
“Not really. I sublet this place from a Broadway dancer. He’s away on tour.”
“Josephine was a great beauty. Like you.”
The bowl of soup almost slipped from my hands as I lowered it to the vintage trunk that also served as a dining table. Me, a great beauty? In the eyes of this god?
He moved a few feet and studied another portrait. A small oil painting of a little girl with long pigtails and big soulful brown eyes. The only object in this apartment that was mine.
“Is that a portrait of you?”
“Yes. My mother painted it when I was five years old. She’s an artist.”
“There’s deepness and determination in those eyes.”
I didn’t quite know what to say as he turned to face me.
“Are you an artist too? I’ve seen you sketching several times while waiting for the train.”
A shiver skittered down my spine. How long had he been watching me? More than six months?
“You were often weeping. What were you sketching?”
“Mostly images of my mom when she was younger so that I can remember her healthy and beautiful.”
Sadness swept over me knowing that she might never be that way again. And that she might not be around next year at this time if she didn’t receive more of her treatments. As much as I wanted to share my mother’s plight with this devastating billionaire standing next to me, I refrained. He’d probably think I was after his money, which I wasn’t.
“You’re talented. They’re very good.”
Unknowingly or not, he’d just revealed that he had leafed through my sketchpad while I slept on the train. I wanted to be mad at him but couldn’t. He sounded so sincere.
“What were those other weird things in your sketchpad?”
“Ideas for toys.”
Ari arched his thick flaxen eyebrows. “Toys?”
I smiled. “I want to be a toy designer when I ‘grow up.’ I’ve always been into toys.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he replied with a sheepish smile.
Not quite sure what he meant by that, I reminded him that I had brought him something to eat. My eyes stayed on him as he strode over to the trunk. Looming above it, he cast his eyes down at the steaming bowl of soup.
“So, Saarah, what do we have here?”
“Ramen noodles,” I said, putting on my best Suzy-homemaker face.
He smirked. “Hmm. I haven’t had these since I was in college.”
Lifting the bowl and chopsticks off the trunk, he sank into the couch, his back against an armrest and his long legs crisscrossed. His mega-sized dick along with his balls now rested on his folded limbs.
I surveyed the room, wondering where I should sit. In addition to the couch, there were two funky armchairs facing the trunk.
“Sit here,” Ari insisted, gesturing to the cushion next to him. “I want to look at you while I eat.”
Hesitantly, I joined him, mimicking his cross-legged position. With his free hand, he yanked down my makeshift toga, exposing my breasts.
“Much better,” he smiled as he dug into the ramen.
I watched as he dipped his chopsticks into the bowl and expertly lifted the noodles to his parted mouth. Obviously, he had mastered eating them in college. As he slurped them off the wooden sticks, I was very aware of the tingling inside me. How could a man eating ramen noodles be turning me on?
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
God, he was bossy, but I again did as he asked. Using his chopsticks, he lifted another portion of the ramen and dangled them above my mouth.
“Eat.”
I tilted my head back and slurped the worm-like noodles. As they disappeared into my mouth, he ran his deft fingers along my neck, stroking that one sensitive spot right below my chin that drove me crazy and added to the pleasure I was feeling between my thighs.
“Saarah, your neck is so long and graceful,” he said, his voice deep and sexy. “Like a ballerina’s.”
I swallowed hard. It was hard to eat when this gorgeous beast was still turning me on.
We continued this little feeding game until the bowl was emptied. Ari placed the bowl back on the trunk, then placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. A sudden somber expression fell over his face. His intense blue eyes held me fiercely while his jaw tightened.
“Listen, Sarah, we need to talk.”
There was seriousness in his tone. Even in the way he said my name. His mercurial behavior unnerved me. My heartbeat sped up. One minute he was hot; one minute he was cold. I didn’t know what to make of him. With hesitancy, I muttered one word: “Sure.” The last word I’d use to describe how I felt about him or how I thought he felt about me. His eyes stayed on me, holding me captive.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
He paused. Now what? He was bi? He had some kind of STD? He had lied to me about his ex? All of the above? Oh shit! My heart thudded in my chest as I held my breath and he sucked in a gulp of air.
“Sarah, I haven’t fucked a woman in a bed for over three years.”
Huh? I blinked hard. His words shocked me. I was sure he was someone who jumped from one supermodel’s bed to another.
“I don’t believe you,” I countered, the image of the beautiful redhead filling my head.
“It’s true. While I’m certainly not lacking for sex, it’s been that long since I’ve come in any woman’s bed. Or mine—at least with a woman.” He paused. “You are the first.”
“Why?” I gazed at him, wide-eyed with curiosity, more intrigued with the fact that he didn’t sleep in women’s beds than with the fact he came in mine.
Trainwreck 1 (Trainwreck #1) Page 8
