CHAPTER 10
Sarah
A loud knock-knock-knock at my door woke me in the morning just as I had finally gotten to sleep. My night had been restless, haunted by the memory of surrendering myself to a man who was so selfish and hurtful. How could I have been so needy? So stupid? The unwanted throbbing in my heart and between my legs had made it even more difficult to fall asleep. Groggy, I kicked off my covers, slipped on my plaid flannel bathrobe, and staggered to the door. Jo-Jo trailed behind me. I peered through the peephole. Lauren! What was she doing here? I’d never known her to be up before noon on a Saturday or venture east of Fifth Avenue. Her world was confined to the narrow rectangle bordered by Seventy-Ninth Street on the north, Fifty-Seventh Street on the south, Lexington Avenue on the east and Fifth Avenue on the west. Within this realm, was every designer store with Daddy’s credit card on file.
“Where have you been?” she asked, barging into my apartment. “I’ve left you a hundred messages.”
Ever since we’d been roommates at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), me, on a full scholarship, and her there thanks to Daddy’s substantial endowment, Lauren had always put her needs and desires above everyone else’s. Though she could be extremely generous and a lot of fun, she was quite demanding. Somehow, I put up with it, and we had remained friends as we both pursued careers in New York City. I was an executive assistant at a mid-size toy company though I aspired to one day be a toy designer. She was a “Brand Ambassador,” as she liked to call her job, to one of the hottest fashion designers in Manhattan, another one of Daddy’s clients. I assumed the “workaholic” was on the job even now, dressed head-to-toe in his clothes—perfectly ripped skinny jeans, a tight graphic tee, and spikey black leather ankle boots that made her a curvaceous 5’8” blonde instead of the petite 5’2” she actually was.
“You stood me up last night,” she said, heading straight to the kitchen.
I trailed behind her. Without asking, she pulled out a Diet Coke from the fridge and began drinking it. As we padded back to the living room, I wondered—should I tell her the truth? She was my best friend. In fact, my only friend in the city other than Fernando, my pal at work. My other RISD classmates had scattered all over the country, and I was no longer in contact with the small-town Pennsylvania kids I had grown up with.
“I had a date,” I said glumly.
Lauren’s turquoise eyes grew wide. “You’re kidding!”
Part of me wanted to punch her. Like she could have one and I couldn’t.
“With who?” Her voice sounded snarky, like she was challenging me.
“Some guy.”
“Hel-lo-O. Name please.”
I hesitated; I didn’t really want to talk about it. “Ari Golden.”
Her mouth fell to the floor. “Ari Golden? The Ari Golden? Get out!”
Slamming her Diet Coke on the vintage trunk that doubled as a coffee table, Lauren whipped out her iPhone from her monstrous red Birken bag (a Christmas gift from her mother) and hastily typed something.
“Look at this,” she said, suggesting that I should march over to her. Truthfully, the less I knew about this creep, the better.
I trudged over to Lauren and peeked at the screen. Ari’s beautiful face filled it. I could feel him staring at me, his piercing blue eyes penetrating my body. Despite my loathing of him, a tingle rippled through me. Damn him for having this effect on me.
The headline read: New York’s Sexiest Billionaire.
Lauren scrolled down and started to read aloud. “Ari Golden, Chairman and CEO of Golden International…Estimated Worth: 1.6 Billion Dollars…#40 on the Forbes List…Age: 32…”
Whoa! He had a limo with a bar, wore expensive clothes, had a predilection for fine wine and dining…but I had no idea he was this rich. Holy shit!
Lauren continued to scroll down and spout more info. “Charities: Meds Without Borders (Founder)…Pet Peeve: People who invade my privacy…Favorite Saying: Imagine and dreams will come true.
I always said: Some things are best left to the imagination. I wished I’d never met him. I wished I’d never fucked him. I wished…I wished…Sarah, just admit it…I wished he was mine!
“Sarah, do you know how he made his fortune?” asked Lauren, snapping me out of my wishful thinking.
Was she testing me or something? Truthfully, I had tried to google him last night before I went to bed, but my damn Internet connection was down again. And I didn’t own a fancy smartphone with Internet access like Lauren’s. Mine was one of those yesterday’s news clunkers with a $19.98 basic monthly plan. The kind you had to convert numbers into letters for texting. I was saving up to buy an iPhone, but right now I couldn’t afford the exorbitant cost or to add the hundred dollar service fee to my already high monthly cost of living. Between my low paying job and mother’s condition, I could barely make ends meet as it was.
Lauren cut into my thoughts. “Okay. Time’s up. His company invented Dermadoo! That miracle anti-wrinkle cream that’s so hard to get. You’ve got to get me some!”
I hardly knew the man—in fact, I was never going to see him again—and Lauren was already asking for favors. So like her.
While I digested all of this information, Lauren sauntered back to the kitchen and returned with yet another Diet Coke. I guess it was on her raw diet.
“Did you sleep with him?” Lauren asked, not one to hold back.
Silence.
“C’mon, you’ve got to tell me,” she pleaded with a fling of her perfectly blown, shoulder-length auburn hair.
“No,” I said, at last. Theoretically, that was true.
“One of these days, you’ve got to say goodbye to your virginity. It’s no big deal.”
I twitched my mouth, saying nothing to big-mouth Lauren.
Knitting her brows, Lauren took another sip of her soda. “How did you meet him?”
“On the train home from Philly.”
There was no way I was going to tell the gossip girl about the details of our train encounter as the juices between my legs began once again to percolate. I flushed at the memory.
“Well, you know what they say. You never know when and where you’ll meet Mr. Right.”
As my sassy friend put her cell phone back into her Birkin, my eyes landed on something that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh my God, Lauren, what’s that?” I asked, pointing at her left fourth finger.
A big smile spread across her Emma Stone look-alike face. “I thought you’d never notice.”
“No way!”
“Way!” she squealed. “Taylor and I are engaged. He got down on his knees—right in front of all my friends—and asked me to marry him while the Black Eyed Peas were singing tonight’s gonna be a good, good night. It was so romantic.”
The engagement ring on Lauren’s finger must have been at least five carats. And I’m sure it was flawless. Taylor Hodges IV grew up in the same circles as Lauren; their families probably dined together on the Mayflower. They’d known each other since their childhood cotillion days, but their relationship didn’t blossom into a romance until he went to Brown while she was “next door” at RISD. Despite a couple of major breakups, they’d been together for six years. He worked for her father. Already written up in the Wall Street Journal as one of Wall Street’s wunderkinds, he was destined to be one of the financial world’s major players. While he was never my favorite person in the world, for Lauren, he was perfect marriage material. I gave her a huge hug.
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”
“I want you to be one of my bridesmaids. You can bring Ari as your date.”
“I’d love to,” I replied, eschewing Ari. That wasn’t happening!
“Mummy has already lined up a private appointment for me at Vera Wang’s at noon, and then we’re heading over to the Bergdorf Bridal Salon. It would be so much fun if you came along.”
I politely declined. In my head, I knew I’d better get used to the next six months of constant wedding talk from Lauren. There’d be no detail spared, and she was going to want me to weigh in on every decision from the color of her wedding day nail polish to the number of layers of her cake. I wouldn’t be surprised if she bought me an iPhone like hers so that we could be in touch 24/7.
“Maybe, tomorrow we can hang out,” I said.
“Can’t. I’ll be in the Hamptons. Taylor’s parents are throwing us a little impromptu cocktail party tomorrow night to celebrate our engagement.”
Lauren plunked the Diet Coke can on my coffee table (having servants her entire life, she didn’t know from cleaning up—that was my job when we were roommates at RISD) and heel-toed toward the door.
“Sarah, maybe you’ll be next.”
She winked at me as she turned the doorknob to let herself out. As the door slammed behind her, my phone rang. My heart jumped. I ran to it before it went to voicemail. In my head, I could hear him saying my name in that soft, sultry sexy voice. Stop it, Sarah. Stop it! This man is not into you.
When I picked up the receiver, I was as relieved as I was disappointed. It was just another one of those obnoxious bill collectors. I pretended to be someone else. I hated these people because I was positive they got some sadistic pleasure out of people suffering. Since my mother’s illness, my bills had piled up. The added cost of my weekly trips to Philadelphia forced me to make late payments and even ignore some bills. Seeing my mom had to be the priority. Someday, I would be a rich and famous toy designer and never worry about money again. I just wanted my mother to be in my life when I got there.
More bills were stacked in a pile on the kitchen counter. I’d left them there last night. After feeding Jo-Jo, I attacked the bills. The usual suspects—termination of cell phone service if my bill wasn’t paid immediately…late charge for an emergency room visit (I fell off my skateboard and needed a few stitches)…an invitation to one of Lauren’s charity balls ($1000 per ticket—forget it)…and finally a bill from The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. Except the latter was not a bill; it was a letter.
Dear Ms. Greene:
I regret to inform you that the government grant providing for your mother’s treatment has run out of funds. Unfortunately, her insurance company will not cover experimental drug treatments. In light of the circumstances, we have no choice but to terminate her current treatment protocol, but we will be glad to work with the both of you to find a viable alternative that is affordable and possibly covered by another insurance provider. Please contact me at your earliest possible convenience.
Sincerely,
Dr. Martin Chernoff
The letter shook in my hands as tears swelled in my eyes. How could this be happening? She was doing so well. Making progress. What was I going to do? There was no way I could afford her exorbitant experimental treatments with my meager wages. We had already tried all the treatments approved by her insurance company, but they did nothing to arrest the growth of her cancer. Finding another company that could help defray the cost of the new treatments could take months—with each passing day bringing my beloved mother closer to the end. The tears multiplied, giving way to sobs. All hope was ebbing from my pores. I couldn’t even think straight.
I needed to get clarity. With tears streaming down my face, I fled to my bedroom. I flung off my bathrobe and laced up my running shoes.
Jogging around the Central Park reservoir always energized me. The majestic apartment buildings along Central Park West and the soaring architectural wonders along the East Side never ceased to amaze me. And the reservoir itself was a little miracle in this big city of sidewalks and skyscrapers.
The dirt track around the reservoir stretched just a little over one and a half miles. I was now on my third lap. I was well into my run, my heart pounding at an even rate, my legs propelling me forward almost effortlessly. It was probably already in the low eighties, and under the bright morning sun, sweat poured from every crevice of my body.
Clarity came to me. I would just have to work harder. Overtime for my demanding boss, Catherine. Or take on a second job like being a barista at Starbucks or a waitress at some neighborhood restaurant. And I could work weekends too. Somehow, I’d figure out how to pay for my mother’s treatments.
As I got off at the Ninetieth Street entrance, another brilliant idea came to me. I’d sell Ari’s little black dress, which I couldn’t bring myself to shred, to an upscale resale shop. That should fetch me a nice bundle of money, especially since it was practically brand new. Too bad I no longer had the shoes. They were probably worth a small fortune.
Slightly cheered up, I ran home through the park. The park was in its spring glory, with its multitude of verdant shrubs, colorful flowers, and blossoming trees lining the winding path that led to Fifty-Seventh Street, where I would exit. It was filled with New Yorkers of all ages, taking advantage of the beautiful day after a long, cold winter. Cyclists, joggers, strollers, rollerbladers, nannies pushing elegant prams, and even a few equestrians. The run took my mind off my mom…and Trainman. The temperature was rising and so was my heat level. My thin, cotton tank top clung to my body, and my running shorts were soaked. I was looking forward to a cold shower.
Stopping for a moment, I bent down to 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 bearded man on a racing bike.
Before I could 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 ones. His sensuous lips stretched into a saucy 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. “Princess, you really must be more careful.”
He’d come to my rescue once again. I hung my head in shame, my eyes roaming down his sinfully perfect 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.
I was also a hot, sweaty, disheveled mess.
“Yeah,” I said daring to lift my head. Oh God, was he gorgeous! Heart-stoppingly gorgeous. My heated-up body was close to igniting.
“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 devilish expression accompanied his words.
I glanced down at my chest. Shit! In my haste to get of out 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 got into you last night? I looked for you—”
Before I had a chance to reply, a little boy on a scooter rushed up to us. He had long-lashed green 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 hair and knitted his brows together. “Sarah, this is Ben. My son.”
His son? Trainman had a son? I felt the ground open up beneath me, and I was sinking into 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 to get the words out 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 who 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, and 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 feisty lock. The door wouldn’t open. Damn that lock!
“Can I help?”
I spun around. Fuck. It was him. His face was flushed with beads of sweat glistening on his bronzed skin like fairy dust. His breathing was heavy, his eyes hooded.
“Get away from me!” I yelled. “I don’t want to ever see you again.”
“Jesus. 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 lust. 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 asshole! You’re married!”
With one hand, he clasped his long fingers around both my hands, so tightly 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.
The next thing I knew, his lips were consuming mine, my face now cradled in his ample hands. 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. 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 drew me closer to him. I could feel my hard, erect nipples rub against his drenched cotton shirt. I folded my arms around his taut torso, pressing my body tighter against his.
Moving his hands to 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 tails of his 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 withdrew his tongue from my mouth. His breathing was heavy, his beautiful face with its hooded blue eyes only a palm’s width away from mine. His tongue flicked across my neck and then his warm breath blew in my ear. Clasping a large 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 musky 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 scent 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 be thinking. Oy! She’s going to let him touch her there.
Oh yes, I was!
Still holding me in his arms, Ari managed to unlock the door to my apartment, again easily with two quick passes of my key. 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 drop-dead 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 hall. Given that my apartment was only 300 square feet, I guess it wasn’t too hard to find.
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 the 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.
“I’ve had to be protective of my son. I’ve raised him as a single parent since he was three.”
“Doesn’t your wife, I mean ex-wife, have joint custody?” I asked, glad that I’d quickly corrected myself.
“I have sole custody of him.” Rage filled his eyes; his pupils dilated. “I paid my ex a shitload of money to stay away from him. And from me.”
The anger in Ari’s eyes grew fierce, his features hardening into a wall that almost stopped me from asking any more questions.
Bravely, I asked, “Where is she now?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” His voice was gruff. Full of contempt. “The last thing I heard she was fucking her brains out in Europe. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. And that’s what my son thinks.”
The cold fury and resolve in his voice sent a sharp shiver down my spine, rendering me speechless. I didn’t know what to say. An intense mixture of anger and anguish washed over his face while his stormy eyes held me fiercely in their gaze. And then his expression softened.
“Here’s the deal.” His voice went from livid to business-like.” If we continue to see each other, you must know that I will never spend the night with you here as I must go home to my son. He suffers from nightmares because of the cunt, and I need to be there for him.”
As much as his words rattled me, I respected him and admired his love for his child. I had grown up with a loving single parent myself. In all the eighteen years I’d lived with her, my mother had never brought a man home, fearing he would disrupt our magical bond. Or that he would break her heart as did my musician father when he abandoned her to live in a hippy commune with another woman. With the advent of the Internet, she was able to trace him…only to learn soon afterwards he’d died all alone from a drug overdose. But that only added to the pain. I’ll never forget that day, that phone call. I’d just turned five. She was painting my portrait. Bringing me back to the moment, Ari continued.
“And you shall never spend the night with me. In my bed. The last thing my son needs is to be confused by another woman. Or hurt.”
Obviously, there was a lot he wasn’t telling me about his ex. And what had gone down between them. My curiosity was piqued, but a little voice in my head told me not to go there…yet.
He sucked in a breath. “One last thing. Don’t count on any kind of long-term relationship. You need to understand that…because I like you.”
For some reason, this part of the deal made me inwardly shudder. It was some form of rejection even before I was rejected. But I knew on his part, it was a defense mechanism; he was afraid of having a relationship, afraid of commitment, afraid of being hurt again. Before I could respond, the unexpected buzz of the intercom startled me. I jumped up from the couch. Shit! Who could be here? Lauren again? The Grim Reaper? The redhead? My heart beat as fast as the vibrations below in a place called “there.”
“It must be Andre,” said Ari, rising from the couch.
“Andre?”
“My driver. I asked him to bring me some clean clothes.”
Hmm. So he had this all plotted out. I wanted to be mad at him, but instead I cracked a small smile. Wrapping my improvised toga once again around my breasts, I padded to the entryway and pushed the intercom button, allowing Andre to enter the building.
Shortly afterward, there was a loud knock at my door. I peered through the peephole and recognized the uniformed driver from last night. I opened the door halfway.
“These are for Mr. Golden.” His voice was strangely soft and melodic for such a big man. “I will be waiting for him downstairs.”
Before departing, he handed me two bags. Both were from Bergdorf’s. I returned to the couch and handed them to Ari. He reached into the smaller of the two. I watched in awe as he slipped a brand new pair of designer jeans over his bare ass and managed to zip up the fly despite the large package between his thighs. The jeans hung perfectly on his narrow hips, like they were custom made for him. A crisp, oversized blue and white striped collarless shirt completed the ensemble; he left it open, exposing the golden cream of his taut chest, and let the tails hang out over his jeans. Damn, he looked sexy!
“The other bag is for you,” he said.
“I can’t keep taking presents from you,” I stammered.
“Stop it. I’m going to buy you the entire women’s department if you don’t open what’s inside.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked playfully.
“No. It’s an order. Open the packages, Saarah.”
The sexy, languorous way he said my name totally unraveled me. I dug inside the bag and located the smaller of the two boxes. After sliding it out, I fumbled with the lid. My eyes grew wide. Another pair of stilettos. These shiny red strappy sandals. Prada. My size. My heart palpitating, my eyes met his.
“I enjoy seeing your toes. They bring back fond memories.”
I felt myself turning as red as the shoes. My sex was blushing too.
“Now, open the other box.”
Both hands, now trembling, I reached inside the bag again and slid out the much bigger package. I felt giddy with the excitement of a little girl getting an extravagant birthday present. I lifted off the lid and unfolded the layers of delicate tissue paper inside. Gasp! Before my eyes was an exquisite floral halter dress. Prada again. Size 6. Holy shit! I remembered seeing this dress in one of Lauren’s Vogues and gasping at the price. $4,000! I held it up and admired it. The strappy red stilettos matched the cabbage patch roses perfectly.
“Ari!” I croaked, too taken back to say another word.
“I want you to wear these this evening.”
I gazed at him, cocking my head like a puzzled puppy.
“Today is my son’s sixth birthday. I’m throwing him a small, informal party at my apartment with just my family. I would like you to attend.”
I suppose that was an order too. He padded toward the bathroom and returned wearing his tennis shoes. He glanced down at his watch, an old gold Rolex, and knitted his brows.
“I’ve got to go. I promised my son I’d take him to see a movie this afternoon and then go to Dylan’s Candy Bar.” His eyes returned to mine. “I expect to see you this evening.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, squeaking out the words.
“1001 Park Avenue. Andre will pick you up at 5:30. Please meet him downstairs. And please don’t wear any underwear.”
I gazed at him sheepishly.
He smirked. “Don’t worry. My mother and my sister will be there. And, of course, my son. It’s highly unlikely I will be doing any kind of exploration. But I would like to use my imagination.”
He rendered me speechless again. The sound of Jo-Jo’s meow gave me an excuse to avoid a response. Brushing against my legs, he was craving attention. I felt Ari’s eyes on me as I bent down to pick her up. I cuddled her in my arms while Ari caressed her soft fur. The cat purred.
“My cat really seems to like you.”
He winked at me. “I’m good with pussies.”
Oh was he!
“I’ll see you later.”
With a smug smile, he strode to the door to let himself out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Jo-Jo wasn’t the only one purring.