Like not a day goes by where I’m hanging out with them and I’m not like okay guys uhh go get a room.
But you know someone I love (if you can get over her talking like a total Valley Girl) is Alicia.
So next is her story!
Description
Like the one time I’m even slightly naughty, it comes back to bite me. Literally…
So what if I gave into a moment of weakness with a hot stranger on a train? Maybe did some things that would make my mom shake her head.
No problem, right? Go on about your way, right? It’s a big city…millions of people and you’ll never see them again, right?
Wrong.
It turns out this guy I let myself go with is my new client, Derek Lowell. Not only that, but of course he has to be a hot, single, billionaire and all, and obviously he has every woman at my job salivating over his ultra-ripped body with his 8-pack abs and beautiful, rugged face and his monster…uhmm…ego?
You know by now what all those alpha-male billionaires say in these blurbs. Like, ‘Oh I always get what I want and I want her, haha’ or ‘She doesn’t know it yet but she’s going to be on her knees begging me not to stop, haha’.
Ya, whatevs, dude. You wanna get me on my knees it better be because I’m about to sit on your face.
Oh, what’s wrong? Is the Big Bad Alpha-Male Billionaire scared of lil’ ol’ me?
Oh, now he’s mad and he says he’s gonna teach me a lesson. I think this is gonna be fun…
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Billionaire in this first installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sexy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happily Ever After? Always, babe ***
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Alicia
You have to be kidding! I look at my phone and see that it has a 20% charge. I'll never get through the day on that. I rush over and plug it into the charger for a few minutes while I continue applying my mascara—it's amazing what good mascara can do for a girl—and I count down the minutes till I need to leave for work. 15 minutes. I can feel every one of those minutes trickling down my neck like rain flooding a roof. If I don't get on the 6 train soon, I'm going to be late—and I'm never late.
I rush over and gather what I need in my purse, and pick out my heels for the day—black or beige? I'm going with black. Throwing them on my feet, I grab my phone, my keys, and run out the door. I make it out of my apartment with two minutes to spare and I'm feeling good. As I head to the subway station I stop at Starbucks. It's my one indulgence. I can't function without my skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso. And it never fails that I always get some morning entertainment out of how they spell my name: Alisha, Aleesha, Alissya, and one time even Alisheé—do I look French? For the record, my name is the standard Alicia.
I pull my phone out of my purse and double-check the time. Shit. The slowest barista is working today and the line is backed up. Why would they put the slowest person behind the bar during the morning rush? I should be at the Midtown Manhattan offices of Carter Jeffries in a few minutes, but I can see now that I'm going to be late. Just as I'm considering skipping the drink, I hear my name: "A skinny vanilla latte with an add shot on the bar for Ashley!" I grab the drink and head outside, rushing to the 6 train from 81st street as fast as my heels will carry me.
A crowd is building for the train. It's the morning rush, so it's a familiar scene. As soon as the train pulls up, everyone is bumping shoulders. Every seat is taken, and most of the overhead handrails are taken as well. I look down and one guy is 'manspreading' himself across two seats, which is annoying, but I get lucky and lean up against a metal pole in the middle of the train with a sliver of space to spare. The train lurches with forward momentum and I accidentally bump into a guy standing next to me.
"Sorry about that," I say, waving at him apologetically. He gives me a sympathetic smile and says, "It's fine. Busy morning."
As he says this, I notice his face. He's clean cut, with soft brown hair and he smells good—what is that—smoky, woodsy, and citrusy? Oh god, and he has a million dollar smile. And those eyes—the color of perfect weather. He smiles at me a moment longer and then looks away. I suddenly feel drawn to this man. Is it my hormones? Maybe it's the fact that I haven't slept with a man in over a month, and the last time it happened wasn't a memory I want to relive. My ex—Michael—and I had just broken up—we agreed to remain friends and he suggested we go for one drink. Yes, one drink. I know, how stupid could I be? I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. One drink turned into three, which turned into a couple more and before I knew it, I was inviting him back up to my apartment. And let's face
it; I don't think anyone makes their best decisions under the influence of five or more cocktails. So, there we were, making out and peeling our clothes off faster than you can scratch an itch. The sex was mediocre at best—okay, I'll be honest; it sucked. Michael was so drunk that he couldn't even finish, so even under the haze of alcohol we both laid there in an awkward semi-embrace.
Now that you know my sex life—or lack of one—over the last month, can you blame me for wanting this cute guy next to me? We're already standing pretty close to one another, but I decide to scoot in closer. I mean YOLO, right?
Without pausing to think about how much my mom would be disappointed in me right now, I move in casually, looking in another direction, and I gently rub my ass against his crotch.
Oh my God! This is like the craziest thing I’ve ever done!
It’s morning rush hour! On a packed subway! But this guy is hot, and desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Can you blame me?
I scooch back just a lil bit more. He doesn't move, and I can feel him looking down at me. He's tall, maybe 6'3", and I'm 5'4" so I come to his shoulders, and I continue to grind my ass into his lap. First, in gentle, delicate strokes—I'm testing the waters—and then I continue with increased bravery—my touch becomes firm and I can feel him harden underneath me. His bulge feels massive—I'm guessing he has a 12-inch cock.
He reaches up and places his hands onto my hips, guiding my movements. He's enjoying this, and if I'm being honest, I am too. His consent spurs me on. I feel so wet. My thong is soaked and my pussy is throbbing for more. Much more, I realize, than I can get on this train during rush hour.
"59th Street-Lexington Ave," the overhead says, and I feel the train glide to a stop. As it stops, I turn around to face this handsome man, we lock eyes, and an electric current travels down my spine. He leans down, placing one strong hand behind my head and gently brings me to him, placing his lips on mine. Actually, he kisses the corner of my mouth at first, and then nibbles on my bottom lip, bringing it between his perfect teeth. I melt under his touch and open my mouth, eagerly taking him into me. Our tongues press together, one on top of the other in a fervent embrace, and our warmth travels from each other like an electric current.