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

by Nelle L'Amour

  Speechless, I nodded.

  He lightly kissed the back of my neck. “You just got your first ‘A.’ Are you feeling more relaxed?”

  “Yes,” I said breathily. Trust me, relaxed was the last word I’d use to describe how I felt. Every nerve ending in my body was buzzing with anticipation.

  “Stand up. I’m going to undress you.”

  “What if someone comes in?” I stammered.

  “Don’t worry, the door’s locked. Now please stand up.”

  I rose to my feet, my legs unsteady. The first thing to go was my suit jacket. So much for power dressing. He was rendering me powerless.

  “Ah! Chanel! Size 6. With those tits of yours, I had you pegged for an 8. Very impressive.”

  I didn’t flinch or say a word as he tore off my blouse and yanked down my skirt. In a few short heated breaths, I was stripped down to my ivory lace lingerie and my jet black beads. And the lace-trimmed silk stockings and Louboutin heels. A chill swept over me.

  “Ah, Gloria. So apropos, you would wear white lace to celebrate our union. Like a bride.” He nuzzled the sensitive area between my shoulder blade and neck and played with my bra strap, his fingers grazing my scar. My pounding heart struggled to stay calm.

  “You know, the type of lingerie a woman wears provides an outer expression of her inner sexuality.”

  Madame Paulette had once told me more or less the same thing.

  He continued. “And I’d say, Ms. Long, judging by the underwear you have on, you’re bottling up a lot of sexual energy. I’m going to unleash that.”

  Bottling? I was overflowing with lust. I could actually hear bottle caps popping as he bit open the back clasp of my bra, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh. He slid it off me and let it fall to my feet. Exposed, my breasts quivered. With a concomitant moan, his soft hands cupped my full mounds and warmed them. He squeezed them together and massaged them. Heat and wetness gathered between my inner thighs as my nipples peeked beneath his palms.

  He breathed into my ear. “It’ll be hard to find someone as beautiful and sensuous as you to cast in the new Gloria’s Secret campaign.”

  “I thought you loved a challenge,” I said, squeezing out the words.

  “I do,” he said, flutter kissing every part of me.

  He flipped me around and lifted me onto the conference room table. I could feel the hardness of the wood beneath my buttocks.

  “Lie down, Gloria.”

  I did as told, stretching myself across the length of the table. My chest rose and fell, my breasts still quivering.

  I felt him tug at my red-soled stilettos. “Do you know what these shoes are?”

  “They’re Louboutins,” I stammered. And they cost a fucking fortune.

  “They’re Louboutins to you. But I call them ‘fuck me’ shoes. That’s why women wear them.”

  He was right. The scantily clad models in our Gloria’s Secret catalogue only wore the highest of high heels. I shivered as he slipped them off, one by one, and heard them tumble to the floor.

  He clasped my feet in his large, warm hands. His thumbs dug into my silk sheathed arches, sending a jolt straight to my sex.

  “You have beautiful feet. Surprisingly small and dainty despite your stature,” he purred as he rubbed his thumbs up and down my inner soles.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, too caught up with the erotic foot massage to say more. Shoe salesmen were always surprised I wore a size 6.5AA despite my five foot seven inch height and hearty bone structure.

  His thumbs continued making deep circles, sending yet another rush of toe-curling tingles to my core. A moan escaped my throat.

  “You like having your feet massaged, don’t you?”

  I was too enraptured to say a word. I merely nodded.

  “Do you know why?”

  “Why?” I spluttered.

  “Because it releases you. Did you know that the nerves of the feet are connected to various parts of the body? Reflexologists believe you can turn a woman on with just a foot massage. Even make her come.”

  He definitely knew what turned on women. At least me. From aphrodisiacs to erogenous zones.

  He applied pressure again to that particularly sensitive part of my soles. “Tell me. Where do you feel that?” He pressed deeper.

  Oh my God! I was throbbing. Growing hotter and wetter by the second. I swear if he continued with this erotic foot massage, I was going to come.

  “Answer me, Gloria.”

  “Between my legs,” I moaned.

  “Your pussy?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it, Gloria. ‘My pussy.’”

  “My pussy,” I muttered.

  “Good, Gloria. Another ‘A’ for you.” Ending the foot massage with a sensuous kiss on each sole, he unhooked my garters, one by one. My flesh tingled as I felt him peel off my stockings, sensually sliding them down my legs. With a whoosh, the lace garter came off next and then my bikinis.

  A dose of reality hit me like a brick. Holy shit! I was lying butt naked on Jaime Zander’s conference room table. Me, one of the most powerful women in the world, completely at the mercy of a man I hardly knew. Totally exposed and vulnerable. Something was wrong with this picture. What was the hell was I doing? I need to stop this! Collect myself and get the hell out of here! But I couldn’t will myself to sit up. And when his hand slid under my ankles, it was too late.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

  “What does it feel like?”

  Holy fuck! He was tying me up. With one stocking, he bound my ankles together, so tight it almost hurt. And then with the other, he bound my wrists. I attempted to wriggle myself free; it was an exercise in futility. Blindfolded and bound, I was now his prisoner. My heart thudded in my ear, and I was breathing heavily. Now what was he going to do? God, I wished I could see.

  “Gloria, now you’re mine,” he said, his voice deep and sultry. “I want you to relax. To not be afraid and trust me.”

  Relax? He wanted me to relax? I was totally bared, tied up, and blinded, and he was about to plunder me. My mind flashed back to what he said in the steam shower the other day. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk. A deep shudder ran through me. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, remembering a breathing lesson from my yoga instructor. I inhaled again, blowing out the air. It wasn’t helping.

  I shivered again as his warm, velvety tongue slivered up my right leg, from my ankles to the apex. He repeated the action with my other leg, this time leaving it where my inner thigh met the triangle between my legs. Spreading my legs a little, he seamlessly moved his tongue to my cleft, lapping the wet folds like a child lapping a melting popsicle. I moaned with the pleasure he was giving me. Then, I felt his luscious mouth come down on me, sucking and nibbling. While his mouth worked me, he rubbed my clit with his fingers. Two? Three? Writhing, I moaned louder, desperate for a release.

  “Oh, angel, you’re so hot and wet. And you taste so good,” he said breathily, taking a short respite from his sucking and licking. “I think you’re ready.”

  In two quick moves, he unbound my feet and freed my wrists. I wiggled my limbs while his hand clenched my pussy. What was he doing? I wanted to scream.

  “Ms. Long,” he said, his voice again businesslike, “you’re free to leave. Sit up, and I’ll take off your blindfold though I suppose you could do that all by yourself.”

  I didn’t budge. He squeezed my pussy tighter. I groaned.

  “Don’t you want to leave?”

  Go, Gloria, a voice inside my head whispered. My body shouted something else: I want more! I shook my head feverishly, from side to side. I was aching for him.

  Jaime let out a deep sexy chortle. “I didn’t think so. Now, we’re going to finish what we started the other day. Spread your legs wide and then bend your knees.”

  I did as he asked.

  “Good girl.”

  I heard him unzip his slacks and climb onto the table—my senses telling me, kneeling between my steeple
d legs. He grabbed one of my liberated hands and put it to his cock. Its heat penetrated my palm and it was already hard. I curled my fingers around the thick, slab of hot velvet, and despite the blindfold, I could envision it in its full glory.

  “Gloria, I want you to put my cock inside you.” He squeezed my pussy again. “If that’s what you want. You’re the client. The client always comes first.”

  “Yes!” I gasped.

  “Do it!” he ordered.

  Blinded, I grappled a little until his erection was perfectly positioned at my hungry opening. Inch by thick inch, I inserted it. To my surprise, I took my time to savor the delicious sensation of my pussy stretching to accommodate his thickening magnificence. When it was almost buried to the hilt, he gave his cock a forceful thrust and just held it there. I clenched my inner muscles around his girth and wondered: did it feel as good for him as it did for me?

  “Fucking perfection!” he moaned.

  I got my answer. It was perfection…my pussy hugging his cock the way a good-fitting bra hugs a boob. His fullness felt divine.

  “Now, I’m going to fuck you.”

  Yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard. I’m ready!

  Gripping my hips, he dragged his shaft back up and then thrust it again deep inside me. My drenched walls enabled him to glide smoothly. He repeated the movements, first slowly and then gradually picking up his pace. Harder and faster. With each powerful thrust, he hit an unknown sweet spot deep inside me that made me want to weep with carnal pleasure.

  “Gloria’s spot…the G-spot.” He laughed at his own cleverness and then hit it again and again, rubbing against my clit with each masterful stroke.

  All I could focus on was the exquisite swelling inside me. Oh, God! What this man was doing to me! He was a fucking genius. Pun intended.

  I wanted to scream with joy, but bit my lip hard to stifle a shriek.

  “Don’t worry. The room is soundproof. I always safeguard my interactions with clients. They’re highly confidential.”

  An unnerving thought ran through my head—how many other clients had he fucked right here on this table? Vivien?

  “Besides, I want to hear you. Don’t hold back.”

  His intense pounding hurled me back into the moment. We got into a rhythm, my hips rocking to meet his thrusts. Deprived of my vision, my ears took in his ragged breathing and the sound of my beads jiggling against my heaving chest. The deliciously unbearable pressure was building, the blindfold heightening the erotic sensations I was feeling. “Oh, God,” I heard myself cry out. My nails dug so deeply into the surface of the table I was sure they’d leave marks. I didn’t know how much more I could take. I was falling apart.

  “Come for me!” ordered Jaime. “Now!” he barked with a harsh thrust and pinch of my clit.

  With a loud moan, I let go. Waves of ecstasy began to roll through my body. I was coming. Endlessly coming. The waves traveled from my head to my toes. It was like every cell in my body was being taken out to sea. With yet another deep thrust and a loud feral grunt, Jaime spasmed inside me, blasting his hot release as I blissfully rode out my orgasm.

  Folding the weight of his body onto me, he crushed my breasts and yanked off his tie from my eyes. I blinked only once, taking in his expression. It was the face of a man who had just won my cunt—skin glazed, eyes hooded, mouth sated.

  His breathing stabilizing, he nuzzled my neck, in the very sensitive crook beneath my chin. “Next time, you’re going to watch me come.” His voice was a sexy rasp.

  I wasn’t sure about a “next time.” I was dazed, confused, wasted; I’d never had such an intense, mind-blowing orgasm. I took in a deep breath to bring air to my brain.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “What do you mean? I thought we’d celebrate with dinner. And besides you still owe me.” He shot me that sexy smirk.

  “I can’t. I’m flying back to LA tonight.”

  He played with my mussed up braid, brushing the wispy ends across my sweat-beaded skin. “I don’t want you to go.” Sweetness laced his voice.

  “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to. Would you kindly let me get dressed?”

  “Fuck. I was ready to bang you again against a wall.” He reluctantly rolled off me and dismounted the table.

  Sitting at the edge, I watched as he tucked his still semi-hard erection into his slacks. I was still in shock that I’d let this man fuck me on this table and that I’d loved every minute of his assault. Still throbbing, I reached for my undergarments that were strewn on one of the conference table chairs.

  His hands got there first. “Let me have the honors. I always cater to my clients.” A roguish glint flickered in his eyes.

  A shiver tickled my spine as he pulled up my panties and garter. He smiled as the garments made their ascent up my long legs.

  “Lift up your beautiful ass.”

  Anchoring my hands on the table, I raised myself a few inches so he could get the lacy confections over my butt.

  Next the silk stockings.

  “Your skin is like satin,” he purred as he slinked them up my legs.

  My flesh tingled. He expertly rehooked them mid thigh to the garters. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to put on another pair of silk stockings without thinking back to this encounter.

  He collected my bra. “Slip your hands in,” he said with a slight jerk of his chin, holding it up by the straps. I did as bid, and he slid the bra up my bare arms. My tender breasts fell into the cups, my swollen nipples peeking through the lace. His index fingers circled them before moving to hook the back clasp. I stifled a moan as a soft smile played on his face. Next my blouse. His dexterous hands skimmed my chest as he buttoned it up. This time the moan escaped.

  Lifting me off the table to my feet, he instructed me to step into my skirt and then shimmied it up to my waist where he zipped and buttoned it. Lastly, he helped me into my suit jacket and adjusted my beads so that they lay perfectly over my collarbone. There was something adoring in the way he dressed me. He made me feel taken care of, though not helpless. It made me want to run my hands along his gorgeous face, but I refrained.

  “Hold on to my shoulders,” he said sweetly as he slipped my Louboutins back onto my feet, where it had all started. The six-inch fuck-me shoes made us once again face-to-face.

  I was back to being me…albeit a just fucked one. Wobbling, I collected my purse and briefcase. It was back to business.

  “Mr. Zander, don’t forget to have your business affairs people call mine next week. We’re going to have figure out a budget and timeline. I want to move quickly.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “Please tell your business affairs people there’s only one deal breaker.”

  I shot him a puzzled look. “Which would be…”

  “I want you to be the point person. Only you, No one else.”

  Well, at least, that solved the problem of Vivien. I agreed.

  With a satisfied smile, he coiled my braid around his hand. “Ms. Long, I’m looking forward to working with you. We’ll make a great team.”

  His lips smashed into mine. I melted.

  “One other deal point. You must always wear red lipstick. It becomes you.”

  Yeah, he was a genius. A total fucking genius.

  CHAPTER 11

  By the time I was back in my hotel room, I regretted what had transpired between Jaime and me. I threw myself into packing my belongings, trying to forget, but the throbbing between my legs and the thudding of my heart made it impossible.

  What had I gotten myself into? I made it a point never to mix business with pleasure and now I had crossed the line big time. I had let this impossible man fuck me. Right on his conference room table! How the hell were we going to work together? This was so fucked.

  As I folded up my red bandeau bathing suit, other memories of this week whirled around in my head. Our first encounter on the elevator…our first meeting…the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show…the after-party…our dinners…our swim…the pitch. A wistf
ul smile—and a tingle—accompanied the flashbacks, and then I mentally kicked myself. Why the hell did I let him do the things he did? How could I—this supposedly powerful, in control, respected woman—be so submissive? So taken? No man had ever done this to me before. And it wasn’t just his breathtaking looks and his sexual prowess, though that counted for a lot. I was irresistibly drawn to his cocky, confident personality and his outrageous creativity. His brilliance. I’d never met a man like him. He challenged me. He made me fall apart and then put me back together—making me feel more complete, more alive, than I’d ever felt.

  Confession: I hadn’t taken a shower. Yes, a little gross, but I wanted to wear the essence of him for as long as I could. Given the three thousand or so miles that separated us and the Internet that connected us, it was unlikely that we’d see other again soon. As I latched the last of my Louis Vuitton travel trunks, I longed for him to knock down the door and fuck my brains out on it. Damn it! He had me bad.

  With a disconcerted heart, I called the front desk to have someone collect my mountain of luggage. The one thing I was not was a light packer.

  The valet came promptly. I followed him to the elevators, my bags piled high on his dolly. I was so hoping, when the elevator doors parted, Jaime would be there, his cocky smile and those sexy denim blues in my face. Ready to take me in his arms and consume my lips with his. Wishful thinking. As the express car descended to the lobby, our first awkward encounter in this elevator replayed in my head. The moment his eyes held mine had been the beginning. And then our fingers touched—a spark of electricity. I shuddered; I could still feel it. Was Madame Paulette right? Was it love at first sight? With a heavy sigh, I wondered: had it been the same for him?

  When we reached the lobby and the doors parted, my reverie ended and reality set in. I was going back to Los Angeles. Back to the hectic but solitary life I led. Kevin was flying back with me on the corporate jet while Vivien was staying behind to get some shopping in over the three day weekend ahead; Monday was President’s Day and our office was closed.

  Following the valet, who was wheeling my luggage to the hotel entrance, I passed by the bar. Friday night, happy hour. It was packed. “Undercover Lover” was playing in the background. I recognized the Kids in Glass Houses song because we’d once used it in a James Bond-themed Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. My eyes took in the boisterous crowd, and then they grew wide. I stopped dead in my tracks. My breath hitched painfully. At the end of the bar, facing me was Jaime Zander. And all over him was Vivien Holden, one hand fisting his tousled hair, the other cupping his ass, their mouths interlocked. My blood ran cold. I was right. He was into her. I was just another conquest. Another fuck he could add to his stable.