"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.
It's not until 51st street that I realize where I'm at. I need to get off this train and go to work. My mind snaps to the present, and I back away. The doors of the train swoosh open and without saying a word, I turn around and leave. I don't look back. I can't afford to. I can hardly believe the whole encounter, and I'm now running as fast as I can. My mind is reeling. What exactly happened? I chalk it up to an only-in-New-York experience, collect myself, and head into work.
The offices of Carter Jeffries are bustling. I don't even make it to my desk before I'm approached by my Managing Director, Nadia Moore. She’s tough as nails but she’s always been fair to me. She’s climbed the corporate ladder and I kinda wanna be just like her when I grow up – powerful and strong. But something about her sorta scares me. Like she traded in her soul.
I don’t know if I want to do that to myself.
"Where have you been?" she asks.
"I know; I'm sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy morning," I say. Crazy is an understatement, but it's the word that immediately comes to mind. I mentally tell myself that I'll have to fill her in later.
"It just so happens that our client is late too, so you're in luck, but you should hurry."
I thank her and walk to the conference room, reviewing the main points of today's meeting.
Remember, this is an ultra high net worth individual, I tell myself. I know that I have a golden opportunity to help this client grow his wealth and plan it accordingly.
I mentally review his portfolio performance.
I've spent the last week preparing for this moment. I suspect he'll want to discuss tax and estate planning as well, so I make a mental note to bring this up with the client.
And just as I enter the conference room, a secretary buzzes me on the intercom and alerts me that the client has arrived. "He should be there any moment," she says.
And true to her word, I see that he's not alone. With him is an entourage of lawyers. Serious looking men in black suits. They file into the conference room and begin sitting at the long mahogany table. I'm wondering to myself which one of these men is the client—could it be one of these serious looking men in a black suit?—when another, younger man enters. He's clean cut, handsome—wait… I know this man.
No way… This can't be! He's the man from the train. This is the billionaire client. He walks into the conference room with that million-dollar smile lighting up his face, when he turns and sees me. Our eyes lock onto each other with a knowing gaze.
Have you ever been so nervous that you felt your heart in your throat?
That's me right now.
Derek
"Mr. Lowell, beyond your portfolio's performance and the tax and estate planning concerns that we just discussed, what goals are the most fundamentally important to you?"
I nod my head because that's a good question. A lot of wealth managers seem to miss this. I'm trying to focus on her words—I'm trying to keep this all business—I'm trying to keep my eyes above her neck—but let's be honest; the image of us on the 6 train keeps replaying itself in my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
"Sure, let's break down these goals," I say.
I steal a quick glance at her breasts because I can't help myself, and I think back to her firm ass grinding into my lap. Sure, she made the first move, but I eagerly went along with it. Why did I do that? If you knew me, you'd know it's completely out of my character. I'm not in the habit of letting random, strange women grind all over me on the subway. How exactly did that even happen again?
My focus snaps back to the present.