Finding Autumn

by Beth Michele

  “Here?” I stammer anxiously, the fact that we’re on a train heightening my arousal.

  “Just a little bit,” he coaxes, completely fixated on the swells of my breasts. “Just so I can see that lacy bra I imagine you’re wearing. Your nipples are teasing me through your blouse and it’s driving me crazy.”

  With a shaky hand, I manage to undo two more buttons, while I watch his irises darken. I glance down at his crotch, my tongue sweeping out to moisten my lower lip.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “when you do that, do you have any idea how badly I want that sweet little mouth wrapped around my cock, licking and sucking me off?”

  “I wish I could suck your cock right now,” I murmur, licking my lips again, having no idea where the hell that came from, but noticing the way his lips part on an exhale as the words leave my mouth.

  His adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow. “Spread your legs, beautiful,” he demands, and I’m mortified because my panties are beyond wet now.

  I uncross my legs, anticipation sending shivers over every inch of my skin, my pussy clenching as his hand nears. He bends over, starting with my ankle, and his fingers do an achingly slow glide up my leg, past my knee to my thigh, as I spread for him. The desire is rolling off of me in waves, my body trembling with need.

  “That’s it, nice and wide,” he whispers, his breathing heavier, just as turned on as I am. His thumb reaches the apex of my thighs, leisurely massaging me. I squirm in the seat, trying to bring him closer to where I need him, but he’s taunting me, getting me hotter, wetter. When his finger brushes the silk of my panties, he gasps. “Jesus, Autumn, you’re soaked,” he groans, before pushing my panties aside and finding my clit, circling it over and over again, a strangled moan escaping my throat.

  “Fuck,” he chokes out, “you’re so hot and wet, I wish I could spread you open and taste your sweet pussy, lick you until you come.”

  “Ahh,” I whimper, his dirty words pushing me further toward my release.

  “You needed this, didn’t you baby?” he croons, as if reading my mind and my body.

  “Mmmm,” I murmur because I can’t speak, it just feels too good. And he’s right, I needed this. God, did I need this.

  He circles my clit again before sliding his finger inside me, my hips arching against his hand. “That’s it, show me how much you want this.”

  I tug on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, parting my lips so he can slip inside. Our tongues tangle and he groans into my mouth, tipping me over the edge, the sensation of his finger and his mouth fucking me at the same time is all it takes, and I explode around him.

  He doesn’t pull away, but slowly lets me float back down to earth, his finger doing a gentle massage, dragging out my orgasm. His lips leave my mouth, sailing down the line of my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, forging a trail of warmth in their path. “You are so fucking sexy when you come, do you know that? I can’t wait to do that again, next time with my tongue.”

  Next time?

  I’m about to comment when he takes his finger out of my sex and pushes it into his mouth, licking it clean. “You taste… fucking amazing,” he muses, his mouth filled with my arousal, and now all I can think about is him doing that again, and again, and again.

  And fucking. I definitely want to fuck him.

  My limbs are completely relaxed, a sated smile sitting on my lips as I lean back. From the side, I see a grin tickling his mouth, too. I stretch out, and without realizing it, angle my head in his direction until I’m resting on his shoulder. Immediately, I sit up, wondering what the hell I think I’m doing. That’s a bit too intimate.

  He shifts in his seat so he’s facing me and slips his thumb below my chin. “You can put your head on my shoulder, sweetheart. I just had my finger in your pussy.”

  My cheeks turn crimson. It’s so unlike me to blush, yet this guy has me turning deep shades of red. I smile sheepishly before taking him up on the offer of his shoulder. He’s right, who am I to be modest now. He just finger-fucked me.

  “Sleep, baby,” he whispers, as my eyelids flicker, finally closing to some much-needed rest. But I can’t help thinking his words sound a little too comfortable for me.

  Warm lips on my forehead awaken me from a peaceful sleep. “Autumn,” he whispers, my eyes blinking open at the sound of his voice.

  “Huh,” I reply, groggy, letting out a wide yawn. “Are we in Boston already?”

  “No, sweetheart. I was sitting here thinking I don’t know anything about you.” He shrugs and stares at the seat in front of him. “I thought it would be nice to get to know each other a bit. Any random facts you care to share?”

  “You woke me up for that?” I tease, nudging his arm, and he chuckles.

  “Would you rather I make you come again? I’d take no issue with that, whatsoever,” he confesses, and a blush creeps across my skin once more.

  “I-I live in New York City,” I stutter, both thrown off and aroused by his sexual reference. My mind wanders, while my eyes take a walk down his body, landing on his cock. Thankfully, my hair cloaks my perusal.

  “I kind of deduced that already. How about your last name?”

  “My last name?”

  “Yes, what is it?” he questions, lowering his hand, curling a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “Oh, it’s Winters. Autumn Winters,” I respond, still thinking about his cock and what he could do to me with it. I’d say I could blame it on reading too many erotic romance novels, but I just write the darn things.

  “Well, mine is Grayson, Hunter Grayson. I live in New York also, and, random, uninteresting fact, my favorite movie is Casablanca.” He shrugs. “I’m a huge Humphrey Bogart fan, what can I say? What about you?” he asks, before fishing through his briefcase on an apparent mission. Something crinkles in his hand and I look over to see a Snickers bar. He tears open the wrapper, shoving it in my direction. “Want some?” he offers, his brown eyes sparkling with delight, his excitement rendering him absolutely adorable.

  “No, thanks. I actually had a peanut allergy when I was younger. I’ve since grown out of it, but I still try to stay away from them.”

  “Really?” he replies, taking a bite of the chewy candy and smiling. “That’s unfortunate. Sorry, I’m not smiling because of that, it’s simply because I’m starving and this hits the spot.”

  I giggle, then snatch my purse from the seat, thinking there might be some crackers to munch on. “It’s okay. The only things I feel I’m really missing out on are Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”

  “Yeah?” he returns. “I don’t really have any allergies to speak of. Except maybe my mother. I’m definitely allergic to my mother.” The way he says that makes me laugh, although I don’t know him well enough to discern if he’s trying to be funny.

  “Really, how so?” I inquire, breaking off half of a cracker and stuffing it in my mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until this moment.

  “She’s just… annoying, incredibly self-centered, nosy, judgmental. Shall I go on? Plus, she’s a writer,” he continues, rolling his eyes, “and unfortunately she’s not one of the humble ones.”

  I cough, nearly choking on the cracker and he pats my back. “She’s a writer? Don’t tell me your mom is Diane Grayson? The Diane Grayson. Bestselling romance author?”

  “Oh God, not you, too.” His head rolls back against the seat, before he pins me with a sharp glare. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of her followers,” he sneers, finishing off the Snickers bar and tossing the wrapper in his briefcase.

  “No, but she’s not a stranger to me,” I pipe back, knowing full well that I now have to divulge my profession for this to make sense to him.

  He angles his body to face me, a line of confusion wrinkling his forehead. “What do you mean? You know my mother?”

  “I’ve met her.” I hesitate, not really wanting him to know my true identity. It’s embarrassing given what just happened between us.r />
  “I don’t understand.” He shakes his head, waiting on me with an expectant stare.

  I breathe out a sigh, a puff of air hitting his cheek. “I’m an author, too. I write,” I pause, my teeth digging into my lip, “erotic romance novels.”

  He arches a brow, a hint of a smile curling his lips. “Erotic? Now you’ve got my attention.” He extends his hand, his fingers dancing lightly over my neck. “And now I know you’ve got a wild imagination. Tell me more.”

  My lips feel dry, my tongue sneaking out to wet them. “I’d rather show you,” I tease seductively, feeling incredibly bold for the first time in forever. I place my hand over the bulge of his crotch, rubbing firmly, and he sucks in a rough breath. He’s rock hard under my touch, the ache between my legs starting up again. I’m dying to feel his cock buried inside of me.

  He takes me by surprise, lifting me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. I glance around quickly, but it’s fairly dark, and there’s no one else in the car anyway. It feels so forbidden and I’m aroused beyond belief.

  His hand comes around to the back of my neck, drawing me in, and against my lips, he murmurs, “Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you? Ram my cock deep inside your pussy, in… and… out, in… and… out,” he drags the last words out, driving me insane, “until you’re screaming my name. Until you’re so wet you can’t see straight.”

  I can barely see straight now.

  He cups my ass, moving me back and forth over his erection, wetness seeping through my panties. He removes one of his hands, slipping it under my blouse and squeezing my breast, thumbing my puckered nipple through my bra. “I want to slide my cock between your tits, come all over your nipples,” he whispers, and a breathy moan tumbles from my lips.

  I let my head fall back as he continues playing with my breast, showering my throat with wet kisses. If he doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to come all over his lap.

  “Hunter…,” I breathe on a jagged moan.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” he rasps, and I sense he’s on the verge of losing it, too.

  “I need—”

  “Boston Station,” the conductor’s voice calls outs over the speaker, “Boston Station.”

  “Shit,” I squeak out, scooting off his lap before the lights flicker on. He laughs and of course, I start giggling, too. When I’m finally able to control myself, I glance up to find darkened pupils staring back at me.

  “Where are you staying in Boston?”

  My throat feels parched, the words barely making it to their destination. “At the Marriott, you?”

  “I’m staying at my brother’s. He lives right near Faneuil Hall, so it’s not far from there.”

  Oh.

  I adjust my blouse and smooth my skirt while he reaches up, takes our suitcases down from the overhead rack, and then ushers me out before him. Placing a hand on the small of my back, he guides me toward the doors, until we step over the threshold of the train. “So, I’m wondering something?” he questions, and there’s a nervous twinge in his voice. We walk side by side through the station as I wait for him to continue. “What are the chances I can come back to your hotel room tonight? I mean, I don’t want to assume—”

  I cut him off, already knowing my answer, not wanting to be alone. But it’s more than that. I actually like him. “I’d say the chances are pretty darn good,” I return, and the beaming smile covering his face at my response nearly takes my breath away. “Although,” I ponder, “I hardly know you. You could be some kind of a serial killer whose mother is a romance novelist.”

  “I’ve got some advice for you,” he voices thoughtfully, hauling our suitcases behind him. “Don’t change your profession to detective work. Stick to writing erotic novels.”

  I shoot him a crisp stare. “Well, at least we’ll be at the hotel so people will hear me scream.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to make you scream, sweetheart,” he insinuates, grinning, “you just won’t be in pain when I do.”

  “Ah, so he has a sense of humor, I’m discovering,” I quip, finding myself smiling and having no idea why.

  “Some might say.” He winks at me, the edge of his mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin.

  We continue to tunnel our way through flocks of people scurrying to get to their destinations, veering toward the taxi area. He hoists our suitcases up the stairs before pushing open the double doors leading to street level. It’s spring, so there’s a chill in the night air, a smattering of stars illuminating the landscape. I peer up at the sky with a smile. This is my favorite time of year.

  Hunter flags a taxi, holding the door open so I can climb inside, and he follows. He settles in next to me, placing a hand on my thigh. My insides bubble with anticipation, my heart pounding. I can’t wait to be alone with him. And while the logical part of me says that this is complete insanity and I barely know him, the pent-up side is telling me something entirely different. This is my chance and I won’t let it pass me by.

  I nonchalantly peek up at him, quickly snapping my gaze away when he catches me staring. Shadows from passing cars cast a glow on his handsome face: those chestnut-colored eyes, that strong jaw, his perfectly curved lips. My thoughts travel there, daydreaming about them roaming my neck, my breasts, my hips, my—

  “A penny for your thoughts?”

  I can’t look at him now. My face betrays me, thoughts spilling from my eyes. Averting my attention to the scenery beyond the window, I press my head to the glass. “Nothing.”

  “Okay,” he concedes, thankfully without interrogating me any further.

  Chapter Three

  ~Olivia~

  Everything outside the window is one big blur, an array of lights and colors blending together as we drive to the hotel. It’s hard to see where one thing ends and another begins. My head is swimming with excitement, stomach filled with butterflies. It makes no sense after everything we did on the train, I shouldn’t be nervous, yet I am. He made me feel so good and I crave more. But my body is now making demands that my brain can’t rationalize. I’m going to have to find a way to shut it off so I don’t destroy this before it even gets started.

  By the time we get to the hotel, the need for air is overwhelming. My thoughts are suffocating, not letting me take even one breath. Apparently, I’m not hiding it all that well.

  “Hey.” Hunter touches my shoulder gently, stopping me as we’re walking into the hotel, a glint of sincerity in his eyes. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I answer a little too quickly, staring past him as I speak.

  “Listen, don’t overthink, okay? And,” he adds, “if you don’t want me to come up, I can just head over to my brother’s, it’s fine….” His words trail off at the end, a trace of disappointment diluting them.

  “No.” I flash him a coy smile. “I really want you to come up,” I reply, attempting to sound enthusiastic. I want to make it clear that it’s not him, it’s me, even though that’s the oldest line in the book.

  The interior of the hotel is ultra-modern and reminiscent of my penthouse in Manhattan, instantly putting me at ease. Abstract paintings line the walls, high-back leather sofas in taupe sit off to the center, red leather ottomans serve as tables in between. A variety of contemporary black leather chairs are scattered throughout the room.

  We stroll to the front desk and wait for the keycard, my teeth fastened to my lip, eyes darting around the lobby. Hunter reaches over and tugs my lip free.

  “You do that a lot, you know?” he comments, leaning against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest.

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. And I’m going to ask you again. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  Guilt keeps me at a distance when all I want to do is reassure him, show him this is what I really want. “Yes.” I twine our fingers together briefly before pulling away. “I’m sure,” I admit again, and he lets out a relaxed smile.

  He lifts both our suitcases off the ground as we
head toward the elevators. One bank is opening just as we arrive and we step on after allowing three other people to exit. For some reason, I choose to stand as far away from him as possible, but it doesn’t change the air, weighted down with sexual tension.

  “I can’t wait to get you alone, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice oozing sex, and I practically come apart in the elevator. My skin grows warm as he continues undressing me with his eyes, my wobbly knees threatening to collapse beneath me.

  Thankfully, the car dings and I walk off quickly, hearing his footsteps following close behind. I feel his breath on my neck as I insert the keycard into the slot, my pulse racing in anticipation. Every hair is standing on end. Once that door closes, I’ll never be the same again.

  Hunter holds the door open for me. Upon entering, the first thing I notice is the dim lighting, a small table lamp beside the king-sized bed the only illumination. The lock clicks on the door, the sound echoing thunderously in my ears, the walls closing in. I swallow loudly, a gulp that could probably be heard around the world.

  I watch him walk to the table, dropping his keys and wallet, before stalking over to me. He drips sex appeal. Low-slung jeans grip his trim waist, a white t-shirt clings to spectacular muscles that ripple as he makes his way toward me. He runs a hand through his thick, lush hair before stepping in front of me with a lascivious grin.

  “Do you have anyone you need to call?” he prompts, while shifting my purse strap from my shoulder, setting it on the ground. “To let them know you arrived safely?”

  “Actually, yes, I do.” The words come out in a rush, almost as if I’m trying to run away from him, from this, or maybe from myself.

  Who the hell knows?

  He stares at me attentively, taking a lock of my hair between his fingers, twirling it around. “Why don’t you go ahead and do that, get it out of the way.”

  “Good idea.” I duck around him, snatching my purse from the carpet, hunting for my phone. I unlock the screen and dial Vanessa’s cell.