Stuck-Up Suit(10)

By: Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

When she turned and noticed me looking at her, our eyes locked. Unsure of whether she knew who I was, my heartbeat accelerated. Then, she simply looked away unaffected toward the train window.

Did she not know what I looked like?

I wracked my brain. There were only a couple of pictures of me in the phone, ones where I was dressed casually while visiting my grandmother. Maybe she hadn’t gone through the photos. No, Soraya Venedetta would have definitely opened her big mouth if she recognized me.

She didn’t know.

Letting out a sigh of relief, I continued to stare at her beautiful face in awe that this was the same person who had turned my life upside down the other day. A vacant seat caught my eye, so I sat down, took out my phone, and scrolled down to her name.

This was going to be fun.

Graham: Is your hair long or short?

It was the most innocuous thing I could think of to say. I figured if I’d started off telling her what I fantasized about in the shower this morning—oiling up those big, incredible tits and slipping my cock in and out—she might not respond again.

Soraya: Do you have a preference?

Graham: Long. I love a woman with long hair.

I couldn’t look in her direction, but I realized if I looked out the window I could watch her reflection. Her head lifted, and she glanced my way before looking back down at her phone.

Soraya: Short. I have very short hair.


After she sent the text, a sly smirk tempted at her lips. I’d fix her.

Graham: That’s too bad. I had a recurring fantasy all day yesterday about you having hair long enough to tie around my waist.

I got a thrill watching that sly smirk disappear. Her lips parted, and I was certain if I were closer I would have heard a sharp intake of breath. She fidgeted in her seat for a minute before responding.

Soraya: Sorry. No can do. I’m under strict instructions not to engage in any oral activity for a while.

What the fuck?

Graham: From who?

Soraya: Whom. From whom would be the proper phrasing.

Graham: Proper text etiquette from a woman who sends porn to strangers.

Soraya: I don’t send porn to strangers. You just pissed me off. I wanted to show you what you were missing refusing to step down off your throne and see me.

Graham: If that’s the result, I plan to piss you off again. Often.

She stared out the window for a while. It was getting close to my stop. This woman had a way of getting under my skin, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on my eight o’clock meeting with her oral activity restriction comment hanging in the air. So I caved.

Graham: From whom?

Soraya: Delia

Fuck. Was she a lesbian? That thought had never even crossed my mind. What kind of a lesbian sends skin shots to a man?

Graham: You’re gay?

The train slowed as we pulled into my stop. If I didn’t have an important meeting, I would have stayed on just to see where she got off. Against my better judgment, I let my eyes wander to her before I stood to leave. Her head was down as she texted, but there was a smile on her face. A gorgeous, real smile. Not one of those plastered, practiced-in-the-mirror smiles that most of my dates seemed to perfect. No. Soraya Venedetta really smiled. It was a little crooked and a lot fucking beautiful.

My phone flashed indicating a new text had arrived. Thankfully, it pulled my attention from staring at her before I got caught.

Soraya: LOL. No, I’m not gay. Delia pierced my tongue two days ago. Hence the strict ban on oral activities until it’s had time to heal.


I shut my eyes in an attempt to calm myself, but it only made things worse. A visual of her sweet little face with that wicked pierced tongue going down on my cock had my eyes springing back open.

Completely distracted, I barely made it out of the train before the door closed. How the hell was I going to accomplish anything today with that new piece of information?



IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, NOT A CLOUD in the blue sky, kind of day. I stared out the window trying to figure out what the hell had gotten into me. I’d been around good-looking men before, dated some even. So why did being anywhere near Graham J. Morgan knock me back to being thirteen years old and nervous when the cute boy sat down across from me in the school cafeteria?

I hated the reaction my body had to him. There was a chemistry that came naturally and was nearly impossible to clamp down. I couldn’t fight what came over me the same way that I couldn’t force the chemistry that was missing with Jason—the last nice guy I dated.

Being on an earlier train this morning, I totally wasn’t prepared to come face to face with Graham. When our eyes locked, his pupils dilated and for a split second, I thought maybe he was having the same physical reaction to me that I had being near him. But then he looked away completely unaffected. His barely acknowledging my existence was a virtual rejection, yet my hands were still shaking when his first text came in. The only good thing was, at least the shock of seeing him didn’t appear to have registered on my face. He had no idea who I was, and I planned to keep it that way.

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