Stories From The 6 Train

"I think you're forgetting something very important here. I am the largest shareholder in this company, and I determine where our investments go and don't go," she says, her cold blue eyes sparkling like broken glass.

I'm vaguely aware that Becca and the others on the trading floor are listening to every detail of our argument, but they're pretending to be busy. Now's not the time or place for Lorna and I to be arguing.

"Again, I'd consider your investment strategy if it was viable, but Red Lion Aviation is not. It's a joke, and I won't move forward with such an unreasonable plan of action," I say. For better or worse, I'm not backing down from this.

Lorna stares at me and she doesn't have to say another word because I can feel her wrath. I don't know what's going to happen, but there's no way I could move forward with such a bad investment in good consciousness.

I watch as she turns on her heels and leaves. Her steps are heavy and brisk.

I walk away from the trading floor as well and head into my office. I find my leather chair and sink into it. This morning isn't going as planned. It's gone up in flames and it's barely 8 a.m. I resist the urge to pull out the secret bottle of scotch that I have stashed in my desk drawer. I'd love one nice, long, warm pull from that bottle, but it's too early.

Knock, knock. I hear a soft tapping on my office door, and I wonder if it's Lorna back for more. I sit up straight in my chair and brace myself.

"Come in."

I immediately see that it's not Lorna; it's Becca. She steps in and closes the door behind her, quietly turning the lock. She's not saying anything, but she doesn't have to; her body language says it all.

My pulse leaps as she saunters toward me, her hips swaying like a gentle breeze. Again, I realize that I'd love to wrap my arms around those hips. Her steps are calculated, and she seems to almost glide into my office. I watch as her heels sink into the plush rug in the center of the room.

Her eyes are glazed.

She walks past my desk and to the windows behind me.

Reaching up, she closes the blinds.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

Maybe this morning isn't going to be so bad after all.

Becca

What am I doing? Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care. I just know I have to do this.

After closing the blinds, I turn on my heels and look straight at Mason. There’s a fog in my mind, one hiding my rational mind and unleashing my deepest cravings. I’m so wet right now that I can feel my drenched black lace thong already sticking to my skin. This is wrong on so many levels, I know, but I just can’t help it.

“What are you doing, Becca?” he asks me, getting up from his chair. Without taking my eyes off of him, I walk toward him, going around his desk. My heart feels like dynam

ite, the whole room feeling like the inside of a powder keg.

“I’m a married man, now, remember?” he says to me, but he says it with a smirk and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“You know what I’m doing,” I whisper, placing both of my hands on his chest. “Let’s just call this my welcoming you to the family.”

Seriously, what is wrong with me?

Running my hands down his shirt, I only stop when I feel his belt, and I hook my fingers there, pulling him into me. “I want you,” I continue, my fingers fumbling with his buckle. “I need you.” I pull the belt out from its loops and let it fall to the floor; at the same time, he leans into me, my eyelids drooping as he closes the distance between our mouths. In his eyes there’s fire, an urgent need to dominate me; he wants this as much as I do.

When he presses his lips against mine, the whole world around me starts to fade away. Outside from his office, the trading floor is still going through its daily chaos; there are people talking and shouting, anxious traders walking back and forth as they split their attention between strong coffee and spreadsheets, but I’m oblivious to it all. Right now, I’m in a world of my own. One where Mason reigns supreme.

“You’re a wicked one,” he whispers, pulling back from our kiss and running his fingers through my hair. I reach for his mouth and bite at his lower lip, pulling it back as I place my hands on his waist.

“You have no idea,” I tell him, my fingers finding their way to his crotch. Flattening the palm of my hand there, a shiver goes up my spine as I feel his hard cock straining against his pants. I curl my fingers around his thick shape, remembering how it felt to have him inside of me, and I grow even wetter. Squeezing his cock, I look up at him, a lewd smile on my lips. Grinning back at me, he tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks; I gasp and, a heartbeat after that, he leans in and crushes his mouth against mine.

We kiss as if we are possessed, our tongues dancing around each other as a burning need takes over me. I don’t think I have ever wanted a man as much as I want Mason. Somehow, knowing that he’s going to be my stepfather, makes it even better. I never knew that doing the wrong thing could feel so right.

As desire buries its fangs in my mind, I lose all control. I tug on his shirt, untucking it, and then take my fingers to his shoulders. I pull his jacket down his arms and, before it has even hit the floor, I’m already unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers moving anxiously.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he tells me, grabbing my wrists and forcing me to stop. Looking into his, I can almost see the flames of desire dancing there. This might be a dangerous game, yes, but Mason loves the way we’re playing it.