Stories From The 6 Train 2(207)

And I like having her around. She’s pretty fucking awesome. Not just her body that’s what fantasies are made of—mine in particular—but everything. We have fun. So I’d hate to ruin it.

Even if I do have to jerk off to thoughts of her on the regular. I mean, what’s a guy supposed to do? It’s the only way I’m able to function around her. Though it’s been harder and harder lately to keep those thoughts tucked away.

Like right now. Knowing she’s naked in that bathroom. Maybe even shaking that eyes in a way that shouldn’t be legal—just like I saw her doing earlier.

“Fuck.”

I get up and go to my room to grab some headphones, needing to drown out the sound of that music with something less boner-inducing.

Just as I’m walking past the bathroom, the door flies open, the music amplified. Clouds of steam pour out from where she stands in front of me with her eyes wide and her mouth in a perfect little O.

Totally fucking naked.

“Oh my god, Dax,” Whitney squeals, darting forward in what looks like an attempt to get around me. Then she halts and starts backward, apparently deciding a retreat to the bathroom is a much better choice than brushing against me. Something she’d have to do to get past. Because I’m rooted to the spot.

She jerks to a stop again, as if she’s paralyzed with indecision just as much as I’m paralyzed by the sight of her body in front of me.

We stand there like that for seconds that feel like forever. Staring at each other. The air between is thick with tension. And desire. I can’t hide the way my eyes drop down, slowly taking in her body. I can’t stop them from greedily drinking her in. I don’t think I could tear them away if my life depended on it.

Shit.

Fucking perfect.

Full, round tits, so lush and perky, the nipples tightening into hard buds as I caress them with my eyes.

I want to groan when her breath hitches and her tits rise and fall in a way that begs me to reach out and grab them.

Lower, lower, my eyes rake over her flat, toned stomach, coming to rest on her pussy. Totally bare.

Goddammit. That’s the last thing I need to know. And the one thing I wonder about night after night as I lie in bed with my dick in my fist. The dick that is currently straining against my jeans, begging to sink into her wet heat.

Only a matter of seconds pass, but it feels like we stand there for hours. Somehow, I gather every last remaining ounce of self-control. Leaning forward, my body towering over hers, I reach behind Whitney.

A sexy little gasp escapes her lips as our bodies nearly touch, and that sounds nearly makes me come unhinged. I grind my teeth together and clench my fingers around the fluffy white towel that is sitting on the counter.

And I ought to be given a fucking medal of honor. Because I take the towel and wrap it around her, covering up my one and only glimpse of that perfect body. Wishing for just a minute that I wasn’t a good guy. That I could turn her around and drive my cock inside deep her and fuck her against the wall until she screams my name and gushes all over me.

But I am a good guy. So I step back and give her room to pass. But not a lot. Because I’m only so good. I make sure she has to ease around me, brushing that body that’s meant for fucking against me. And I don’t bother looking away as she scurries down the hall, turning once to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes huge and unreadable, before she disappears into her room.

I stride to my own room, throwing the door shut behind me and whipping out my cock in seconds, groaning as I wrap my hand around it and start tugging furiously. I come hard and fast, but it’s not enough. Now that I’ve seen her like that with her perfect tits and pussy begging to be fucked, I don’t know that it can be enough.

Which is why an hour later, after she’s headed off to work, I find myself on the train, headed to her club. Just so I can feed this gnawing need to be near her. To have my eyes on her in that skimpy little waitress uniform while she prances around the club in those fuck-me heels. It’s not nearly enough. But right now, I’ll take what I can get.





Whitney





I’m a nervous wreck. I’m about to lose my cool. I don’t even know if I can get out on that stage and do this. Not after what happened at home.

Holy shit, the way Dax’s eyes scraped over my body, I could practically feel it. My body responded as if he were actually touching me, rather than just eye-fucking me. And that’s exactly what it felt like, despite everything that I’ve told myself—that I continue to tell myself. He’s not interested in me like that.

But his body told an entirely different story. There was no missing that hard-on. It was freaking huge outlined against his jeans, begging me to reach out and touch it.