TRAINWRECK 2: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Oh, do you feel sated?” I could tell his eyes were hungering for more.

  “Yes,” I stammered. Very. “I need to go to sleep.” Shaking, I collected my clothes that were strewn on the floor.

  He smirked at me. “My brassiere and thong, please.”

  “Right.” Before I could make a move, he one-handedly unhooked the bra and slipped it off. Scrunching it in his hand, he pulled down the diamond-studded thong with the other. I held on to his broad shoulder for balance as I stepped out of it. Embarrassment seeped through me. The crotch was now drenched.

  He bent over, retrieved his prize and, to my shock, put the soaking wet undergarment to his nose. He inhaled deeply. “I don’t think I’m going to wash these.”

  I donned my dress, not bothering to put my underwear back on. I swept the lacy pieces up in my hands; he didn’t need more souvenirs.

  “Thanks for dinner.” I rushed the words and pivoted toward the door. My body was still throbbing from my head to my toes.

  He tugged my braid hard, holding me back. I spun around to face him “Let go of me.”

  Gripping my braid, he roped me in closer to him. So close, his breath heated my cheeks. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “I have a busy day. Store visits. Our Fifth Avenue store is our largest. I’ll be there all afternoon.”

  “Ah, Gloria. All work, no play. I’m going to change that.” He did the hair thing again—coiling my braid around his hand. “The hotel has a splendid pool on the top floor. Meet me there at six a.m. when it opens. No one will be there except us. We’ll have it all to ourselves…have a little fun and get in some exercise… maybe burn off this meal.”

  He let me go. As my weak legs carried me to the door, he breathily said, “Don’t be late.”

  “I never am.” I didn’t turn my head to look at him but knew his glimmering eyes were lingering on me, his smile cocky from his little victory.

  As I limped down the hallway to my suite, he called out to me. “Hey, Gloria. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  A smile that he couldn’t see curled on my lips. Confession: It was the best Valentine’s Day I’d ever had.

  CHAPTER 8

  I thought for sure that I would meet him at the elevator, but he wasn’t there. I was wearing the plush white terry-cloth robe that came with the room over a bright red bandeau bathing suit; one of our popular catalogue items, it was cut in a way that made my long legs look even longer. I had also packed a bikini but decided on the one-piece because it was more comfortable and enabled me to swim fast without any worry of it falling off. Besides, no bikini could compete with the diamond-studded underwear I’d worn last night. Unable to force that memory away, I pressed the elevator button and, when the doors slid open, headed up to the pool. I stared down at the sparkly flip-flops on my feet—last summer’s unexpected bestseller—trying impossibly hard not to concentrate on the throbbing that lingered between my thighs.

  To my surprise, he was already doing laps up and down the Olympic-size pool when I showed up. His form was beautiful…long elegant strokes with his brawny arms and long tapered fingers and powerful kicks that spliced the water with little splashes. Upon catching sight of me on a breath, he finished his lap and lifted himself out of the pool. Dripping wet, his soaked hair slicked back, he broke into that dazzling smile. “Good morning, Gloria. I’m looking forward to our swim together and to seeing you all wet.”

  My heart skipped a beat. This was the first time I’d seen him without his clothes on—well, almost without his clothes on. He was wearing one of those latex Speedos made for racing that exposed a body that could belong to an Olympic champion. His shoulders were broad; his chest chiseled, his arms sculpted, and his legs long and muscular. For sure, a body of steel. A fine layer of dark hair coated his limbs and, descended from his amazing washboard abs to the most fabulous V-section I’d ever seen on a man. The package between his toned thighs was sizeable—actually, make that, monstrous—and sent shudders through me. The throbbing between my legs intensified; I could actually hear the thrumming like a heartbeat.

  “C’mon, I’ll race you for dinner. The winner of two out of three laps gets to pick a restaurant; the loser gets to pay.”

  “What makes you think I want to have dinner with you, Mr. Zander?”

  “Ms. Long, after last night, there’s no doubt in my mind.”

  I bit my lower lip. Tongue-tied, I managed one word: “Fine.”

  I shrugged off my robe. Jaime’s sparkling denim blue eyes ran down my body. “You are simply magnificent. A feast for the eyes. Maybe the winner’s prize should be ripping off the other’s bathing suit.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Forget it. A deal is a deal. Come on, let’s race.”

  I was looking forward to the challenge. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Having lived in Brighton Beach, I had become a masterful swimmer thanks to the nearby ocean and large community pool. My long lean muscles and broad square shoulders reflected my passion. I still swam regularly in the heated pool at my condo complex. Little did he know, I was extremely competitive.

  We lined up side by side at the edge of the pool’s deep end. His slick wet body deliberately brushed against mine, sending a chill up my spine. We wished each other good luck.

  “Okay, on your mark, get set, go!” I called out and with that, we both dove into the water.

  To my relief, the pool was heated. I wasted no time propelling myself ahead, stroking and kicking furiously. Damn it! Mr. Challenge was keeping up with me, even at the halfway mark. When I got to the other end a mere second before him, I quickly did a flip turn and headed back to where we had begun. On a breath, I stole a glance backward. Yes! My competitor was losing steam and was now several lengths behind me. Picking up speed, I raced ahead and reached the starting point way before he did. Breathing hard, I popped up from the water and, with a triumphant smile, watched him struggle to meet me. “Fuck!” he cursed under his labored breath.

  “I’m thinking of a very expensive restaurant,” I taunted and flipped back my heavy wet braid.

  “I am too,” he said, catching his breath.

  I dwelled on his glistening face. God, he was beautiful, his lips lickable and his eyes, two glimmering blue pools with crowns of thick lashes. My heart thudded, an unstoppable reaction to the sight of the god-like man beside me and the challenge that faced me. Ha! He was no match for me. One more race and it would be over for sure. This time he said “on your mark,” and we took off. I reached the other end way before he did and turned around quickly. I could taste victory. About a third of the way back, I noticed he was picking up speed. My limbs and lungs burning, I surged ahead. Three breaths later, he passed me; I gaped when I glimpsed his cocky smile. He was beating me to the finish line by several yards. An amused glint flickered in his eyes when I finally reached our starting point. I was panting. He wasn’t even breathless. What the fuck? Had he possibly let me win the first race? Faked all that heavy breathing? I was fuming.

  “Are you still thinking about a very expensive restaurant?” he asked with playful sarcasm.

  I scowled. “Yes!”

  He tugged at my thick wet braid. “You’re cute when do that little frown thing between your brows.”

  I was seething. Simply seething. “Cute” was the last thing I was.

  The third and final race. The race that would determine who was taking whom to dinner. I mentally psyched myself up for it. Come on, Gloria, show him!

  “Good luck, Gloria. May the best man win.”

  “Or woman,” I scoffed.

  He winked at me as we zoomed off.

  I was off to a strong start. Just focus on the race. I forced myself not to take any breaths—a means of keeping him out of my field of vision and not letting him distract me. Kicking and stroking at torpedo speed, I flipped around at the other end and finally came up for a much-needed gulp of air. To my horror, there he was…several lengths ahead of me. Calling upon every muscle in my body, I caught u
p to him only for him to swim ahead of me one more time. He shot me a cocky smile on a breath as he passed me by. Damn him! I couldn’t let him win! Furiously, I propelled myself forward, stroking and kicking harder than I’d ever had. We were neck to neck. Breath to breath. Splash to splash. Every muscle in my body stung as I took my last stroke. My head shot out of the water. Clinging to the edge of the pool, I was panting like a dog. I couldn’t catch my breath. My waterlogged eyes fluttered. He was in my face. At the finish before me.

  “Get over here, you,” he rasped. Breathing heavy, he took me in his powerful arms and drew me against him. I was too exhausted to resist. My heart pounded against his; I hadn’t been this close to someone else’s heartbeat in years. Before I could say a word, he tilted back my head by the tail of my braid and crushed his mouth upon mine. The warmth of his breath heated mine. His kiss was passionate and fierce. I was panting into his mouth. Once again, I was losing control to this outrageous man. I don’t know why but I just let him do it. Even deepen the kiss as his tongue parted my lips. Inside my mouth, it did a synchronized swim with mine. Swirling and twirling. It was as if we had practiced these moves for years. He broke away, leaving me breathless for more.

  “Wrap your legs and arms around me and just relax.”

  Without questioning myself, I complied, folding my limbs around his broad shoulders and bum of steel. The buoyancy of the water helped hold me up.

  His glistening wet skin brushed against mine. I longed for his mouth. He read my mind. “Ms. Long, you obviously need to be kissed. And kissed often by a man who knows how.”

  In a heartbeat, he consumed my mouth again, sending carnal waves of desire to my core. I could feel his erection digging into me as I squeezed my legs around him. My hand fisted his slick wet hair. He moaned and I moaned back.

  I don’t know how long we stayed in this position, when a crotchety voice brought us abruptly to our senses.

  “I wish I could do that.”

  We had company. A slight, elderly, balding man, who was wearing swim trunks two sizes too big for him, was hunched over above us. My face flushed with embarrassment.

  “Don’t let age stop you,” chuckled my companion, not the least bit embarrassed.

  “Can you find me one as pretty as her?” cackled the octogenarian and then plowed into the pool with a loud splash-worthy belly flop. He swam away, in quite good form for a man his age.

  “Guess I won’t be able to fuck you here.”

  The F-word resounded in my head. Now what was I getting myself into? And why wasn’t I running away?

  Jaime hauled himself out of the pool and then helped me out. He wrapped me up in my fluffy white robe and then slipped on his. He held me against him, and again I was unable to resist. It felt so good to lay my head on his strong chest against the soft terry cloth.

  “Come on, let’s take a hot shower together,” he said softly in my ear.

  “In your suite?” I gasped.

  “No, here. There’s a great handicapped steam shower in the men’s room.” He pressed his heavy erection against me. “And right now, I’d say I’m handicapped.”

  I swallowed hard and let him lead the way, his hand clasping mine. The thought of showering in the men’s room made me feel like a very naughty schoolgirl.

  There was no one in the men’s room. The spacious handicapped shower, complete with support railings and a bench, occupied a corner at the end of a row of shower stalls. We shrugged off our robes and hung them on the hooks bracketing the shower door.

  Jaime’s hands gripped the top edge of my bathing suit.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m taking off your bathing suit.”

  “Wait! Remember? This was not part of the prize package!” Too late. The wet suit was already a crumpled heap at my feet.

  “Not fair.”

  “Don’t worry.” He immediately slid his off too.

  For the first time, I got an eyeful of his cock. Holy cow! It was huge. And the veined, pink pillar of flesh was pointed my way. Run, Gloria! Forget it! My legs had turned to jelly, and the air had left my lungs.

  Taking my clammy hand, Jaime led me into the shower stall. Trailing him, I noticed a series of faint white lines streaking his back. Stretch marks? This was the only imperfection on his otherwise perfect body. They didn’t distract from his beauty.

  With his free hand, he slammed the glass door shut. He jiggled the shower knob, and a forceful spray shot out from the showerhead. He wrapped his muscled arms around me from behind, spooning my body into his. His powerful arousal brushed against my backside.

  The hot water pounded on the two of us. He tightened his grip around me and nuzzled the nape of my neck, then the sides. I’d never realized how sensitive my neck was. The erotic sensation made me tingle all over.

  “Gloria, you are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered into my ear. He nibbled the lobes then rolled his tongue inside my inner ear. The strangely erotic swooshing sound was turning me on even more.

  Slipping off the simple black elastic at the end, he started to undo my braid. Slowly, section by section. I closed my eyes, and when I reopened them, my thick platinum hair hung loose to the base of my spine. He raked his fingers through the long soaked strands.

  “I want to see you with your hair down tonight.”

  Not wanting to think about how long it would take me to blow dry my mane, I asked, “Where do you want to eat with me tonight?

  “I’ll eat with you anywhere you breathe.”

  His words sent a shiver up my spine. A restaurant was not what I was thinking about.

  I felt him kiss the top of my head; he buried his nose into my scalp and inhaled.

  “Mmmm. I can’t get enough of your hair. It’s like wet silk.” He squirted a dollop of shampoo onto his palm from the canister and then rubbed it gently all over my head. He began to lather the creamy soap into my hair, digging the tips of his deft fingers deep into my scalp. I arched back my head and closed my eyes, allowing myself to savor the sensual physical sensation and erotic squishy sound. God, it felt good. Like a scalp fuck. As he worked conditioner into my hair, I moaned with pleasure. What these beautiful, nimble fingers could do!

  Still standing close behind me, he moved his hands to my full breasts and began to knead them, circling and squeezing. His palm passed over the raised scar above my left breast, but he again seemed oblivious to it. In response, I undulated my hips, brushing my backside against his erection. His hips moved with mine.

  “They’re for real,” he murmured, groping my mounds.

  I wanted to punch him. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Obviously, he’d fondled the surgically enhanced type way too many times. Maybe even Vivien’s? I inwardly flinched then relaxed. I had to remember: he was a stud, the gorgeous millionaire kind, who’d probably fucked a gazillion beautiful women. And felt up twice as many breasts. I let it go and let myself enjoy the sensuous massage.

  I always knew I had sensitive breasts, but not this sensitive. Each time his thumbs trailed across my nipples, a jolt of pleasure zapped my core. I moaned and moaned again. The peaks swelled, and the more he rubbed them, the more my body throbbed with desire.

  Jaime breathed into my ear. “Ah, those perfectly puckered rosebuds of yours are so tender.”

  Leaving a knowing hand on one tit, he slid the other down my torso until it made its way to the fiery triangle between my thighs. Bee-lining for my clit, he fingered it with single-minded fury. My own moisture mingled with the shower. My nub hardened beneath his touch as he continued to circle it fast and hard. My breathing grew ragged. He was driving me wild and I wanted, no needed, to come badly.

  “Please make me come,” I cried out.

  He abruptly withdrew his fingers—almost like a punishment for asking. “Not yet, Gloria. I want you do to something for me first.”

  Anything.

  He flipped me around and swung my arm up to
the liquid soap canister. He squirted a clump onto my palm. “Get down on your knees and wash my cock. I want to see your eyes. So look up at me as you do it.”

  Without the slightest hesitation, I dropped to my knees and wrapped the soaped-up hand around the crown of his huge erection. It shot straight out of him and was practically in my face. The heat of it singed my fingertips. My soapy hand skated down the rigid shaft to the base and then glided back up to the tip. How velvety smooth it was! And how big! Its extraordinary girth fit tightly into the curl of my fingers.

  “Good, Gloria. Now squeeze harder and hold my balls with your other hand.”

  My left hand cupped his heavy sacs as I slid my right hand back down his thick length, applying more pressure. Then back up. I repeated the movements, picking up my pace. My eyes never left his enraptured face. I watched with awe as he arched his head back and parted his luscious lips. A loud groan escaped between them. His balls felt heavier. Was he going to come?

  He gazed back down at me with his hooded blue eyes. “Ahh, you’re doing it just right. Now, I want you to rinse me off with your mouth.”

  So, he wanted me to give him a blow job—like I owed him one for last night. Okay. I could handle this. Confession: The thought of giving this beautiful man head excited me. I opened my mouth wide, but before I could take him, he yanked me up by my hair.

  “Go down on me standing.” He placed his hand on top of my head and pushed it down toward his erection. I had to bend my knees for my mouth to make contact with it.

  I flicked my tongue across the bulbous crown, glad to discover that the soap had washed off, and then wrapped my lips around its impressive perimeter. As he let a moan, I went down on his slick, hard length until I could go no further. My mouth came back up, and I repeated the movements. Again and again. Up and down. Faster and faster. His magnificent cock became my mouth’s obsession.

  Without breaking contact, I placed one hand on his muscular thigh and the other around the side handicapped railing to give me the support I needed in this semi-squatting position. My thighs were burning. I felt like I was doing one of those loathed “chair positions” with my yoga instructor.