They reboarded the train and Rhea excused herself to use the restroom—restrooms being what they were on the Superliner: a toilet not so different from a Porta-Potty, a single sink set into a countertop made of some material which hoped it might be some distant relative of granite—thrice removed—and barely enough standing room between the toilet and the sink to get anything done. There were so many silver railings, Rhea wondered if Amtrak used them to compensate for the lavatory’s lack of room. And the toilet had a flush loud enough she considered taking her headphones to use as earplugs the next time she had the misfortune of needing to relieve herself.
Maybe it’d be worthwhile to dehydrate myself for the remainder of the trip.
Upon her return to Surfer Boy’s roomette, he requested a little more time to work on his self-portrait. Rhea obliged, climbing into the top bunk and settling down with an eBook loaded onto her laptop.
It wasn’t until the train departed Lamar, Colorado over an hour later that Surfer Boy knocked on the bunk again. “I’m done with my drawing for now. I promise I’ll finish it for you before we part ways tomorrow. I do good work way early in the morning. If you stay here tonight, I’ll try not to disturb you.”
“‘K.”
“. . . Wanna join me down here?”
Rhea nodded, reaching to close her laptop.
“Hang on a sec. Let me fold out the bed down here.” He slid the door open for the much-needed space another couple feet of walkway afforded him.
“‘K,” she squeaked again, her hand poised at the top of her laptop screen. It had to be the most ridiculous thing ever that his mention of the word ‘bed’ catapulted her heart into her throat; they’d had sex and she’d given him a hand job, so why did the addition of a bed make things in any way more significant?
Is he going to get romantic with me?
Why was that scarier than saying ‘I do’ to someone she hadn’t loved?
Rhea was a hopeless romantic: she ate, slept, and breathed love. This should have made her overjoyed, not fearful. She shook her head to clear it, closing her laptop. It will be okay. It will all be okay.
She took a steadying breath, reminding herself that regardless of his overtures, she was in this for an anonymous one-night-stand with a hot guy and nobody would change that. Not unless she decided to—and he agreed with her.
Oh God, he just might.
She was resolved she would change nothing.
“All right, it’s ready,” said Surfer Boy. “Join me?”
Rhea dropped from the bunk without a word. All the tiny train pillows—and the normal pillow in its plain blue pillowcase that Surfer Boy, in his experience, must have brought with him—were propped against the wall on one end of the bed.
He was sitting cross-legged, smiling at her as he opened his arms. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you indulging me here. I’m . . .” He lifted his right shoulder in a shrug. “I’m a little starved for affection. And not the euphemistic kind of affection.”
“Euphemistic affection? You mean the word ‘affection’ as a substitute for the word ‘screwing?’”
“Yep.”
She cleared her throat. “Mind if I get out of my jeans? I snuggle best when I’m comfortable.”
“I want you to be comfy. By all means, do what’s necessary.” He nodded in encouragement. When she sat on the bed, he closed the door. The curtain over the door’s window followed it.
Rhea slipped out of her pants and turned to him. Surfer Boy pulled her into his embrace, reclining against the pillows and the wall behind them. He squeezed her with a deep, satisfied sigh and she allowed his warmth to envelop her. For a fellow who smelled of lingering sex—and had a day of train stuck to his skin and clothes—his scent intoxicated.
She stared out the window into the night, putting a hand atop his arm.
“God did I need this.” Surfer Boy rested his chin on Rhea’s crown.
“. . . How long has it been since your last girlfriend?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, Rhea couldn’t decide if that meant it had been a long time or if he’d recently been relieved of a relationship.
Or perhaps he’d lied about not having a current girlfriend.
Or wife. Just because he’s not wearing a ring doesn’t mean he’s not married.
“I’ve . . . had the occasional date but it’s been a year or so since my last actual relationship.”
Rhea bobbed her head. If he wasn’t lying, his story matched one of her assumptions.
“Am I a rebound screw?” he asked her. “It doesn’t matter to me, I’m just curious.”
If it didn’t matter, she thought he wouldn’t have asked. “You’re not,” she assured him. “Yes, my divorce was recent, but I hadn’t been invested in that relationship for years.” If ever, actually.
Surfer Boy shifted his head from Rhea’s crown to her shoulder and nodded.
“Why were you so reluctant to ask me to snuggle? I thought for sure you were gonna ask me to shit on you or maybe masturbate with a broken beer bottle or something.”
“I like this kind of thing. But I never trusted my girlfriends not to laugh at me for asking—especially Sally. Because, you know, real men don’t snuggle. I was supposed to fear commitment and intimacy.”
“So . . . you . . . trusted me?”
“Sure! Why not? I trust you—sometimes strangers are more trustworthy than friends—and I figured with you, I’ve got nothing to lose.”
And everything to gain, Rhea realized. “I think I’ll stay here tonight.” She prayed she wouldn’t regret the decision. “I’m comfy.”
Surfer Boy squeezed her. “Thanks. You still don’t want my name?”
“Nope.”
“And I still can’t get yours?”
“Whore-y or not, I like Sunshine.”
“Okay.” He kissed her cheek.
She drew in a deep breath; he was going to decimate her heart if she allowed it.
And she was allowing it.
Well, fuck.
Rhea was succumbing to the exact same idiocy that scored her a loveless marriage from which she had nothing but regrets. Did she shy away here for fear of history repeating itself and risk what might have become the love affair of a lifetime?
He shifted his arms down and rested his hands on her lower abdomen.
She could defer everything about their future together to him. An eyebrow crooked upward. Actually, that’d work quite well.
It was no longer her decision to make.
For the span of an entire heartbeat, that was a satisfactory solution to her dilemma.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Surfer Boy.
Rhea didn’t skip a beat: “World blights, the economic ceiling. Ebola. Global warming. How I’ll never get to be Pope.”
“Sexy.”
“If I didn’t think unsexy thoughts, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you. And I’m respecting your desire to snuggle.”
“What a considerate sacrifice.”
Rhea smiled.
“Would you tell me about your perfect date?”
Rhea turned slightly and cast a sideways glance at Surfer Boy. “I’m not particular. I’d want to enjoy myself.” She shrugged, her shoulders sliding against his chest. “A quiet, candle-lit dinner at home. Comedy in a movie theater. Bike ride on a boardwalk. Snowboarding followed by hot cocoa. Brunch at a place that knows how to brew a proper cup of coffee. It all boils down to being with someone I actually want to be on a date with. Someone who wants to talk to me and listen to me.”
Surfer Boy was drawing figure-eights with his fingertip through Rhea’s shirt below her navel. There was a laziness to his actions that awakened her desire the way fire wicked along streams of gasoline in movies. She choked on her excitement.
The cabin was getting a little too warm for Rhea’s preferences.
“W-what about you?” she stammered. “What’s your ideal date?”
“Well, I sure like what you d
escribed.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. Really.” He paused. “I’d enjoy a meandering stroll through an arboretum or botanical garden. Go find one of those amazing hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Maybe spend a day sharing a Sea-Doo.”
She thought that sounded incredibly fun. She could have said so but didn’t want to encourage him.
“Of course, going to art museums would be fun for me.”
“You’re just saying that because you think I expect it.” Rhea smiled.
Surfer Boy laughed; it made her want to dissolve into absolute nothingness—but the best kind of dissolving into absolute nothingness.
“Yeah, I did say it for that reason, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Hey . . . y’know what I’ve always wanted to do? One of those single-day beach-to-desert-to-mountain trips. Pack a cooler and have a hell of a time.” He sighed. “Maybe throw some sleeping bags in the trunk and camp out under the stars.”
If he was being honest about that too, they were compatible in more ways than just with sex. Rhea resented him a little for it. She wanted to tell him to knock it off already.
“Not a camper, huh?” he asked.
“Oh I’d love to go camping more in the future. Mark was no fun to camp with.” He was no fun for much of anything.
They were silent for a while.
Rhea broke the silence: “What’s been the best part of train travel for you?”
“It’s always been about the destination. I was more concerned about getting there, getting home.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Buuut . . .” Surfer Boy said. “This time it’s different. I found the best lay I’ve had in . . . a real long time.”
His hesitation pushed Rhea to consider inquiring about it. It made her think maybe she was the best he’d ever had and she could certainly use the boost to her self-esteem. Instead, she smiled. “Does it still count as snuggling if there’s kissing, too?”
“I think, strictly speaking, no.” Surfer Boy kissed her on the shoulder, and again on the side of her neck. “I’m really enjoying this. Thanks for indulging me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Surfer Boy toyed with the elastic waistband of Rhea’s underwear.
She closed her eyes. “You’re a tease—”
“—says the woman who insisted on snuggling in her underwear,” he pointed out.
“I wasn’t teasing. I wanted to be comfortable. Just like I said.”
“So I guess you’re going to hold me responsible for finding you so damn attractive?”
Rhea was going to rebuke him when he slipped his hand down the front of her white cotton panties. Instead of a snappy retort, her breath caught in her throat. A single finger sank into her slit, sending a jolt of arousal through her abdomen. Her thighs snapped together.
“No?” asked Surfer Boy. “I’ll stop.”
Her voice a husky whisper, Rhea said, “I wish you wouldn’t stop.”
“You’re gonna cut off circulation to my hand if you don’t loosen up.”
It was a conscious effort to relax her hips for him.
His slick finger circled her clit, rubbing her tender lips on either side of it. Surfer Boy whispered in her ear, “I get the idea you were never told how sexy you are.”
“No,” Rhea moaned, shaking her head against his chest.
“I get the idea you’ve never been gently teased to the brink of orgasmic bliss, and dangled mercilessly over the precipice of resolution.” His voice was silken arousal flowing over her every peak and valley, wrapping her soul in ruttish seduction.
“When I thought you could be dangerous . . .” She struggled to string the words together. “. . . I worried about my body. I think I should fear for my heart . . .”
“I’m not in the business of breaking hearts, honey.” He slipped a couple fingers into her far enough that she jerked and gasped. “I’m in the business of libidinous pleasure.”
Surfer Boy’s breath warmed her neck and his teasing caress was driving her rapidly to a climax he had, in no uncertain terms, told her he was going to prolong. As her voice rose, he retreated, leaving her gasping for air.
His hands slid along her quivering thighs and beneath her shirt, stopping at her bra band.
“When will you let me come?” she breathed. “When I cry?”
“No,” Surfer Boy replied.
“When I scream? When I can no longer take it?”
“No.” He kissed her ear, taking her lobe between his teeth and tugging. “When I can no longer take it.” His lips traveled down the side of her neck and across her nape. “Can I see you naked?”
“Will you do me then?”
“In good time, Sunshine. Though . . . it might help speed up the process a little.”
That was good enough for Rhea, who was as impatient with her orgasm as the train trip was long.
“Turn to face me, please. I want to watch.”
She repositioned herself on the lower bunk of Surfer Boy’s roomette, checking out his crotch. He managed to restrain himself so well Rhea was worried her relief was nowhere in sight.
“Will you get undressed, too?” she asked.
“If you want me to.”
“Of course I do.”
He nodded at her. “Oh, but ladies first.”
She slipped out of her underwear and lifted her shirt over her head, revealing an unlined white cotton bra which matched her panties.
Surfer Boy’s eyebrows lifted; he was staring at her right breast.
Rhea glanced down. She scarcely thought about the horizontal barbell piercing her right nipple.
He motioned with his left hand to touch it, but hesitated. The piercing seemed to stun him into a brief silence.
She popped open the hooks around the back of her bra and shrugged the straps down her arms.
Surfer Boy couldn’t stop staring. “May I—?”
“Not until you’ve undressed, too.” She smirked. “It’s only fair.”
Rhea never saw anyone undress so quickly. In the time between moving from his embrace and pulling off her bra, his cock had gone from flaccid to full attention. And it was magnificent when he was fully undressed.
He either groomed himself or was naturally fairly hairless, which Rhea liked. Mark was a human Wookiee and it grossed her out to no end.
Everything about Surfer Boy was magnificent. His shoulder to hip ratio, his biceps, and the definition of the muscles across his chest.
My god. He’s fucking perfect.
And he was staring at her with a carnal hunger that was nothing short of ravenous. Rhea thought he might devour her, and she was thrilled to invite him to her buffet.
As opposed to ravaging her, he caressed her right breast, running his thumb over the tip. “Did it hurt?”
Rhea thought back to that visit to the tattoo studio. It was so long ago she didn’t remember much about it beyond how she had to psyche herself out to open her bra for some strange man. Funny how that didn’t apply here. “It was . . .” She tilted her head, smiling as Surfer Boy fondled her pierced nipple with a gentle hand. “It was kind of a . . . a hurts-so-good sort of pain.”
He took a deep breath. “What did the ex think about it?”
She shrugged. “He never said anything, never played with it.”
“Would it hurt if I played with it?”
“It healed a long time ago. Play away. Who knows . . . it might even feel good.”
Surfer Boy kissed his way from her neck to her breast, then to her nipple which he sucked into his mouth.
“Mmm,” Rhea sighed.
He flicked the barbell with his tongue, back and forth, up and down. He bit gently, tugging until her entire body stiffened and she groaned.
Rhea was warned the piercing might cause her to lose sensitivity; it turned out to have the opposite effect. “You’re making me so wet.”
“Tell me more,” Surfer Boy murmured, continuing to play with her piercing with
his hand. He was moving closer to her, kissing her neck, sucking the skin in the hollow of her collarbone far harder than he did when her nipple was between his lips.
Rhea was afraid of what she might say, so she kept it simple: “Your lips feel so good.”
“And?” A hand dropped between her thighs.
“I want you inside me. Drill me mercilessly.”
Surfer Boy turned his wrist to rest his open palm against her slick lips.
“Oh god.” she gasped.
He slid fingers between those luscious folds, and she arched her back, pressing her chest to his. He brought her to the brink of climax, alternating between long, slow caresses and fast ones which circled her clit. Surfer Boy pulled away.
Rhea cried out her frustration. “Oh, come on!”
He paused to roll on the condom, flashing a suggestive smile her direction as he pushed her onto her back and slid his body along hers. He peppered Rhea’s face with kisses, rubbing his hard-on against her clit. Each motion evoked a moaned plea for release.
“Not until I can’t take it anymore,” Surfer Boy reminded her.
The friction between them brought her to the brink again, and at long last, he thrust into her. Rhea’s fingernails sunk into the flesh of his back, her orgasm crashing through her body. With each thrust, smaller climaxes followed.
Surfer Boy’s climax some fifteen minutes later was an act of mercy for Rhea, who could hardly take any more stimulation.
She didn’t notice when he pulled out, nor when he nestled against her. It was as if she’d temporarily died in his embrace. She came to with the sensation of his fingers raking her hair.
“Oh. My. God . . . Holy. Shit.”
Surfer Boy whispered in her ear, “I still can’t tell you my name?”
“Not right now,” Rhea breathed. “Not if you want me to remember it.”
“I’d remember yours.”
“Well it’s still Sunshine.”
He huffed, but nuzzled her.
His bare chest to her back was sublime.
It was as if being naked with him deprived her of their anonymity, names aside; it no longer felt like a one-night-stand. Rhea wondered if he felt the same way. Of course, she had no omniscient narrator who could hop into his head and whisper his thoughts to her without his being aware of her presence. If she wanted his thoughts and feelings, she’d have to ask but she was afraid to. If that question came out, she was sure her dinner might follow it.
Tales by Rails (Rays of Sunshine Book 1) Page 7
