Page 110 of Naughty Nelle

Well, I’d certainly given him a good scrubbing. He continued, shifting so that he was facing me.

“What I mean is that I’ve been tested. I need you to trust me. I don’t have a condom with me. Are you okay with that?”

A condom was honestly the last thing on my mind. So hungry for him, I nodded feverishly. And perhaps foolishly.

“Good. Now, spread your legs,” he ordered, his eyes ablaze, his magnificent face and body glistening from the shower.

Without wasting a second, I parted my legs and as I did, he threw them over his shoulders. Meeting my hungry gaze, he anchored himself between my splayed legs and thrust his hard, glorious cock inside me, inch by thick inch. Oh God! He filled me! My fingers raked through his soaking wet hair as his still soaped-up shaft moved effortlessly inside me, each thrust coming harder and faster than the one before. His cock was barreling inside me, like a high-speed bullet train. The friction along my tracks was sending sparks flying everywhere. There was no getting off, no stopping. Digging my nails into his upper back, I screamed with pleasure from this erotic thrill ride. And then he lurched forward, slamming into me, consuming that fiery spot where all hell broke loose. I exploded with a fireworks display and heard him cry out my name as his own massive orgasm crashed through me.

Holy shit! I had just fucked Trainman in my railroad apartment.

For several minutes, he just lay splayed on my body, his head nuzzled in the crook of my neck. “Oh Saarah, Saarah, Saarah,” he rasped between breaths.

He was a trainwreck, and I was pretty damaged too. But in a good way. A very good way.

Finally, he rolled off me and slid off the bed. My eyes stayed fixed on his chiseled body, still wet and shimmering from the shower and our sex. I was surprised that his dick was still erect.

“I’m starving,” he rumbled. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Jesus. My mind, still in a fog from my orgasm, tried to think. Other than my pussy (not Jo-Jo), the only thing I could offer him was ramen noodles. I wasn’t even sure if I still had any since I hadn’t been to Gristedes since last Sunday. I chewed on my lip, my face silently saying uh-oh.

He caught my expression and winked. “Don’t worry. I’m not that picky.”

Ha! From the man who ate lobster and drank fine French wine.

Wrapping the zebra print sheet around me like a toga, I headed to my tiny kitchen. There were still a few packs of the noodles left. I tore one open and then filled a cup with water. Pouring it into a small pot on the stove to boil, my phone rang. I thought about letting it go to my voicemail, but was stopped by an unsettling thought. The one that always freaked me out. Maybe something was wrong with my mother. I dropped what I was doing and hurried to the phone, picking it up on the next ring.

“Sarah.”

I recognized the sharp, haughty voice right away and was immediately regretful that I had picked up the phone. It was my demanding boss, Catherine Sinclair. Had she nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than to call me? I’d worked for her for just over a month, having landed the executive assistant position through a job search newsletter I subscribed to. My qualifications nailed it for me: I had no boyfriend or social life and could work late and on weekends. Little did I know what I’d signed up for.

“Hi, Catherine,” I murmured, trying to stay as professional as possible and mask my annoyance. I couldn’t afford to lose my job.

She huffed. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Both your cell phone and home phone voicemail boxes were full. Don’t you ever erase your messages? And why don’t you pay attention to your texts or emails? You will see I’ve sent a dozen.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was out and about.” And too busy getting fucked by the most gorgeous man in the world. “What’s up?”

“I have an emergency.”

Internally, I sighed. She always had an emergency. And I’d quickly learned that they ran the gamut from scheduling an emergency appointment with her manicurist on account of a chipped nail to running all the way uptown to Bergdorf’s to buy her a new tube of her favorite Chanel lipstick. Add to this her total lack of organization, and I was forever resending her important emails and reports as well as covering up her tardiness, ineptitude, and inexcusable lack of preparation when it came to important meetings with the head of the company, Ike Abrams.

“What is it?” I asked, my eyes darting to the pot on the stove. Shit. The water was boiling and getting low.

“I need you to let Ike know that I can’t make it to the four o’clock staff meeting on Tuesday. I have an appointment with my hair colorist, and this is the only time she can fit me in all week. Just tell him I have an emergency doctor’s appointment or something like that.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Good.” CLICK

Hanging up the phone, I felt my blood simmer. Not once had the lazy entitled bitch ever thanked me for anything I’d done. I worked my butt off, but she made me feel like I was a worthless piece of shit. On the positive side, I suppose I should be grateful that she wasn’t making me do stupid errands for her on my weekend off. And then the phone rang again. Shit. Maybe I jumped to a conclusion too fast. Reluctantly, I answered on the first ring.

“Yes?” I couldn’t help barking the word, dreading another fucked up Saturday like last week when I had to schlep all over Manhattan hunting for the special blender she wanted for making her kale smoothies.

“Saarah—”

I gulped so loud I’m sure he heard me. He was calling me from the living room.

“I’m hungry. What’s taking so long?”

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