Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (21 page)

“Oh, baby, don’t stop,” I panted out as my breathing grew ragged. The expression on my face was one of pure tortured ecstasy. I was looking forward to watching myself come in the mirror. To see what she did to me. And it wasn’t going to be much longer.

“Baby, I’m going to come so hard, so loud the neighbors are going to hear me.” I didn’t tell her the nearest neighbor was miles away.

Without stopping, she nodded, taking me all the way yet again. My cock filled her mouth, ready to combust. And sure enough, on her next deep thrust, I exploded like a stick of dynamite, shooting my load down her throat. A loud feral grunt accompanied my climax—so loud it echoed in my ears. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I looked like a man who had run a marathon in record time. My face was glazed with sweat, I was panting like a dog, my eyes were hooded, and my mouth hung open craving oxygen. I was one happy camper. Yup, I told you I’d be the real winner here.

As I recovered, she kept my spent cock in her mouth and swallowed. Christ. So fucking hot. Slowly, she withdrew her mouth from my cock, but when she got to the crown, she rolled her tongue around it, licking off the remains of my release. Impulsively, I yanked back her head by her ponytail, yearning to see her face. Her eyes were smoldering, her face was flush, and her lips were slick with a mixture of saliva and cum. She was beautiful. She met my gaze. The hot sparks flying between us were so intense they could burn down the house.

“Princess, that was fucking amazing. The best blowjob ever.”

She smiled triumphantly. Without tucking my cock back into my jeans, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her to the one other piece of furniture in the room.

“My princess, it’s time to pop open the champagne and break in the bed.”

Sarah

Nine Months Later

O
ur bedroom is my favorite room in our twenty-room Park Avenue penthouse. It’s an oasis where Ari and I can be alone, make beautiful love (or fuck our brains out), and share our lives. It’s actually a suite, which includes a state-of-the-art bathroom, a study for Ari, and a dressing room for me. The bedroom itself consists of a king-size bed with luxurious Egyptian cotton fittings and plump pillows, a mirrored Art Deco armoire, a fireplace, and white velvety carpet. Scented candles are everywhere and bathe the room in a soft, sensual glow. Above our bed is a portrait of Josephine Baker. It’s not a reproduction. Ari bought it for me at an auction and surprised me with it when I told him the exciting news. It makes me happy. So happy.

Ari is on the bed, on his knees, his tongue inside my mouth, exploring and probing. I’m on my knees, too, facing him, my hands gripping his honed biceps. My full breasts and belly brush against his taut torso, tickled by the happy trail of silky golden hair that extends from his navel to his pelvis. My neck arches backward as his tongue slithers down it, brushing over the sensitive area beneath my chin and creating a rush of erotic pleasure. As I moan, his soft mouth stops to suck my stretched nipples while my heavy breasts rest in his palms. His tongue rolls around the elongated buds, flicking and licking, and then makes its way to my swollen belly. He gently circles his hands around the circumference and then plants sweet flutter kisses all over it. Over the last nine months, the bigger my belly, the more he loves it.

We’re perfectly lined up. Taking his time, he buries his thick erection inside me. It quickly fills me. He pumps it slowly, methodically building erotic tension. In my state, hard, reckless fucking has been replaced with slow, passionate lovemaking. We have both discovered there is beauty in slow love. At least, for now.

As he continues to slide his hard length up and down my pussy with deep, slow, loving strokes, his deft fingers work my über-sensitive clit. I moan as it swells beneath his touch and exquisite circles of bliss come at me.

“Jesus, princess,” he groans. “You’re so fucking insatiable. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“No, babe,” I lie (it was only five minutes ago!), and as he says my favorite words, I wrap my arms around him and meet his thrusts with my hips. His thrusts deepen, intensifying the insane pleasure that’s zapping my body.

My fingers crawl down his back, running over the ragged six-inch scar from the stab wound his evil ex inflicted. I try not to think about her, though ironically she brought us closer together. Sometimes, we joke we have “his and her” matching scars. But it’s really not a joke. I shudder when I think how close our lives came to an end. Ari’s sultry voice brings my mental ramblings to an end. Thankfully.

“Oh baby, what you do to me. You feel so fucking good.”

Tell me about it. As he fucks me, picking up his pace, an orgasm of epic proportions threatens to sweep me away. Then, on his next thrust, I fall apart around him while he bursts with his own explosive release. Hot cum saturates me while he shouts out my name. “
Saarah!
” As my orgasm meets his, I cry like a siren in the night. Ahh! Such sweet surrender.

He rests his head on my shoulder and I do the same. We bask in each other’s love and do not move for several minutes. The candles flicker.

“You okay?” So concerned about my well-being, he can’t help but rub my tummy.

“Darling, I’ve never been better.” The truth.

With a smile of relief, he slides out his cock. Slowly.

“Come baby, let’s get ready for your big night.”

He smacks a warm kiss on my lips. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse my mother’s portrait of me as a child that’s hung in our room. The little girl’s big brown eyes gaze at me, marveling at the woman she has grown up to become.

We’re going to the Waldorf Astoria—this time for the annual Toy of the Year Awards. My toyline, Brainy Trainz, has been nominated for the top award, Best Toy of the Year. Upon Ari’s urging, I showed Ike the toy train I had given to Ben for his birthday. With illustrated boards, I demonstrated to him how it could be expanded to include a collection of connective “smart” trains and a play set featuring railroad tracks, tunnels, and commuters. Among the prototype commuters were a handsome golden-haired businessman and his companion, a tall, plain girl with a ponytail.

Ike went nuts for it. It was exactly the boys’ product line he was looking for—innovative, collectible, and educational. He put it on the fast track—no pun intended. Sure enough, it was an overnight phenomenon. A breakthrough toy. I’m now Vice President of Boys’ Toys, about to launch my other creation—Combat Wombats.

The competition is steep. I’m up against well-known entities like Legos and Marvel action heroes. It doesn’t matter to me if I win or not. I’ve already won everything I could ever want in my life.

Ari and I take a quick shower together, lathering each other with the fragrant soap. He spends considerable time soaping up my big breasts and belly, arousing me. Our desire to make love again is overwhelming, but there’s no time. Well, except for a quick blowjob. I can’t resist my darling husband’s splendid cock—my favorite toy. After toweling each other dry, we dress for the black-tie event ahead.

How sinfully sexy my Trainman looks in his perfectly tailored black tux. And so heart-stopping gorgeous. It gets to me every time. His signature baby blue bow tie makes his eyes sparkle and complements his perfectly bronzed skin.

I am wearing a one-shoulder, white crepe Armani gown that hangs loosely over my belly. I take a glimpse of myself in the mirrored armoire. My dark hair is swept up, and diamond teardrop earrings—another wedding gift from Ari—hang from my ears. The jagged scar on my chest peaks out from the gown, a constant reminder of my near-death experience. Had Ari not gotten to my apartment in time, I would have bled to death. Over time, we have both learned that love can heal scars, be they emotional or physical. Scars show us we’ve survived. We’re warriors. I bare mine with pride.

Ari hands me my shoes. A pair of metallic silver flats. He refused to let me wear stilettos. God forbid if I trip rushing up to the podium and something happens to me. I slip them on. I reluctantly gave in to him, but told him his worrying was ridiculous because I wasn’t going to win. There’s one thing I’m not wearing—panties.

From behind, Ari wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck.
“Saarah…”

No matter how often he breathes my name, my body tingles all over.

“You look like a goddess.”

I sneak a peek of this beautiful man holding me in the mirror. And sometimes I still can’t believe this god is mine.

###
♥
###

“And The Toy of the Year Award goes to…”

There is tension in the Waldorf ballroom, I grip Ari’s hand; he squeezes it as I hold my breath.

“Sarah…”

Holy shit.

“Greene-Golden of Ike’s Tikes for Brainy Trainz.”

I don’t know what comes first—my scream or the screaming applause in the audience.

But I know what comes next. Ari’s kiss. His lips consume mine. A fireworks-like display of sparks shoots inside me. Everywhere.

In shock, I rise slowly, but a surge of adrenaline makes me run up to the stage. Weaving in and out of the tables, I shake hands and accept hugs from well-wishers along the way. An exuberant Fernando, who shares this award, and his partner, Diego…a dressed-to-the-nines Lauren and her new boyfriend, the therapist…and Ari’s radiant sister Gwen and her husband, Greg.

“Congratulations! You deserve it,” says Gwen after a warm hug. “And you look beautiful.”

The big smile on my face cannot begin to tell her how beautiful I feel. I take the steps to the stage two at a time, and dart behind the podium. The Chairman of the North American Toy Association hands me my award. My shaking hands clutch my TOTY award as my eyes survey the audience. I can’t believe it. A standing ovation. For me. My eyes find Ari’s in the crowd. He, too, is standing. He’s holding Ben in his arms. Our smiles connect, and my sweet little boy shoots me a thumbs-up. Oh, how I love this child!

I take a deep breath, loud enough for the audience to hear it. Laughter. The audience takes their seats, and the applause finally dies down.

Speech time. Shit! I didn’t prepare one. I never thought I would win. Okay, I’m going to wing it and remember one of my favorite sayings:
Less is best
. Although when it comes to Ari, more is better. I can never have enough of him.

“First, I want to thank Ike Abrams for taking a chance on me…”

My eyes scour the crowd and find my boss beaming.

“I also want to thank my best friend and colleague, Fernando Suarez, with whom I truly share this award…”

I applaud Fernando as his partner smacks a kiss on his lips.

“…My mother who’s always believed in me…”

I blow her kiss. Seated next to Ari, she looks so beautiful. She’s still in remission, and her hair has grown back. Though we take each day as it comes, Ari and I are both convinced that she’ll live to see our children get married. Amid more applause, she blows the kiss back with both hands. Oh, how I love my mother! Tears prick my eyes as they move to smiley-face Ben.

“…My darling son who’s been my sounding board and inspiration…”

“…And, of course, my beloved husband Ari, for making me the woman I am. I love you, my hero.”

I pause as our eyes connect. The tears start rolling. I’m swarmed with emotion.

He mouths back the words “I love you” and blows me an air kiss. I can only imagine what’s going on beneath the table. A freight train full of memories bombards me. One, in particular, an unlikely encounter on a certain Amtrak train brings a big smile to my face. As I triumphantly hold up my award, I glow and then jolt.

A sudden rush of warm liquid pours down between my thighs. Starting from somewhere deep inside me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My heart skips a beat. My water’s broken! I smile the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled and stay focused only on the man I love.

“Last but not least, I dedicate this award to a little Traingirl, who’s on her way.”

###
♥
###

Aix en Provence

Five Years Later

I’m hanging up a portrait of my precious little girl that my mother recently painted. I stare into her soulful dark eyes and they remind me so much of my own. At five, she’s already an old soul, so much wiser than her years. I love her so much and so does Ari.

As I adjust the picture, Jo-Jo, who’s by my feet, meows, and the familiar sound of bicycles pedaling up to our French countryside farmhouse, which Ari and I lovingly restored and furnished with old materials and antique furniture from local flea markets, comes through the wide-open French windows and diverts my attention. My heart warms. My family is back from their trek to the village. A few moments later, I hear the massive front door swing open and then a chorus of footsteps coming my way.

“Happy Birthday, Mama!” shouts out Rosie, who’s holding a big bouquet of multi-colored flowers. Wearing her favorite vintage boots, which we found in a flea market, she runs up to me, her flaxen pigtails flying behind her. “I picked these all by myself for you.”

A smile that can light up the moon beams on my face. “Oh, my baby girl, they’re just beautiful.”