His Dirty Girl

By Winter Sloane

Rob: We see each other on the eight o’clock train from Mondays to Fridays. Rush hour means there’s no room to maneuver or breathe. I first touch her by accident, not expecting her to lean towards me. No other woman has ever driven me insane with lust. A taste isn’t enough. I want more—her name for a start and eventually her heart.

Maddie: No names. We don’t even utter a single word. All we need is the language of pants and gritted teeth. We’re two lonely souls on the daily grind, strangers who meet at the crossroads. I tell myself I’ll stop eventually, but I keep coming back. He wants more, says he’s ready to give his name. I think I know where this is heading, but I’m certain this is one train wreck waiting to happen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Dec 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781773391205

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2016 Winter Sloane

ISBN: 978-1-77339-120-5

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Karyn White

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Ced, this first one is for you. And many others more.

HIS DIRTY GIRL

Romance on the Go ®

Winter Sloane

Copyright © 2016

Chapter One

Rob

The toaster rings, and I grab the bread with my teeth. One look at the clock on my kitchen wall tells me I’ll be late for my train if I delay any longer, and I can’t have that. Nearly forgetting to chew, I scarf down breakfast, grabbing the backpack containing my work laptop when the phone rings.

Snarling, I remember to check the caller ID and wince, recognizing the number. Starting the day off by sniping at my ex-wife won’t do me any favors. Ignoring it, I run out of my studio apartment.

My cell phone begins to vibrate. Knowing who’s calling, I put the phone on mute. It’s the start of another beautiful day.

It takes me ten minutes to get to the subway station. Five minutes to push my way though a crowd of suits and designer but work-appropriate dresses—clones no different from me. Unlike these pencil pushers who love complaining about everything under the sun, I started looking forward to morning commute three weeks ago. The doors hiss open, and I manage to land myself in the queue to the fourth train compartment.

I squeeze my way in, pushing like everyone else. Sweat coats my back. Panic starts setting in when a quick look towards the windows tell me I might not make it. My office isn’t far. It’s only a twenty-minute ride and it’s right in front of the station, but I need to take the eight o’clock train or the rest of my day will go to hell.

Desperate, I search for her, one particular woman in the horde. Her platinum blonde hair and bright red dress stands out among a sea of monochrome. As if a magnetic force attracts us, our gazes meet.

No names, no nothing. I absolutely don’t know a single thing about her, yet I push against the crowd until I’m inside the train. One stop passes, giving me time to position myself.

Morning, I mumble.

How are you doing? she whispers back.

Greetings are standard protocol. Words hold no meaning here. We make do with our bodies. The doors come to a close and the automated voice announces the next station. She presses her back right up against my chest, and pushes her heart-shaped ass, barely covered by her dress, against the ridge of my erection.

Damn it, but I like how she’s all woman. She possesses the right kind of curves, able to take in the strength of my body without effort, and it drives me insane that all I can do is hold her.

The train makes an abrupt stop, the perfect excuse for her to trip on her four-inch heels and for me to band one protective arm around her luscious breasts.

I freeze for a couple of moments, realizing she took my suggestion yesterday to heart. She wears no bra today, and I can feel her tits hardening through the silk fabric. It’s not hard to imagine me grasping those perfect breasts, squeezing them, and watching them bounce while I sink my dick into her slick pussy.

All fantasy of course, because this is all we do. We grind against each other, strangers on the train who need a pick-me-up. She touched me first by accident. The second time was intentional. The third, we struck a mutual agreement. It’s not