Page 148 of Stealing Blinds

The decadent torture is brief though. He notches the head at my entrance. And with a single merciless thrust, he slams inside me, plastering my back to the vibrating view of sweeping plains, caressed by jagged peaks and flourishing evergreens. The same striking landscape greets us on the other side. We’re surrounded by life and art and dreamy escapes.

But all I see is him. All I feel is him.

His potent ferocity and his unbridled devotion.

Our mess of scratches and groans and the need to be closer.

“There was a minute when I … I thought maybe … you’re real.” He locks those enigmatic ocean eyes on me, gritting his teeth through a punishing pump while his hand gently cradles my cheek. “You’re my home, Sylv. I will always come for you.”

“I know.” I grant him a frantic nod before our mouths collide again, extending the truth he needs to hear between frenzied kisses. “I believe in you, but you’re my home, too, so I was scared.” My tongue swipes across his lips with a final appraisal. “No one steals from us though.”

He growls in agreement, and it hits me that way back in San Francisco, when he pissed me off but I left him an opening with the comment about the third coincidence, I dreamed of this. Of being wrong. Of being craved. Held and loved.

A lifelong quest for liberation, granted by the claim of a conjurer.

In a flash of delirium, time is eclipsed. The car rumbles, and there’s a whoosh of muffled soundscapes—no birds or wind or running streams. It’s tunnel vision at its very best. Sultry and depraved.

The chandeliers jangle, and dim amber sconces illuminate us in a dusk-like haze.

“Sylvie and Cash,” I mutter, snagging his earlobe between my teeth as we maintain our unforgiving cadence.

His hand curls around my throat in response, and his chuckle washes over me. “You and me, baby.”

“Always.” It’s the last word I utter as he ravages me in this traverse through the umbra.

Our railcar ruination is brutal and breathtaking. Deadly and reviving.

He loops his arms beneath my legs until my knees are skimming my shoulders. I’m folded in half and delirious from his vicious pumps. Wolfish and electric. Rivaled only by the jostling of the tracks. It has me bouncing on his dick without much effort from us. The same detail must occur to him because he steps back so we’re standing without support in the center of the speeding luxury locomotive.

His feet are shoulder width apart, his hands cup my ass, and the sparkling coal of his widened pupils in this forever tunnel is both payment and reprisal. “We’re fucking invincible.”

I cackle at that, the echo of it harmonizing with the carnal moan that chases it. His apadravya and his ladder are engraving every moment of this soiree on my inner walls. The rhythmic thrumming from the bumpy tracks zips through his legs, turning Cash and his hardware into a human vibrator, intent on wrecking me.

Sweat coats our skin, his dress pants shackle his ankles as he pistons his hips, and I fall in love all over again with the man who makes magic happen in the spaces others view as voids.

Agony mingles with the pleasure marring his face though. I scan him again, catching the corner of a bandage on his right thigh. He’s injured and in pain, but hell-bent on proving he wasn’t conquered.

So, as my breasts bounce and his cock spears the coveted target inside me, I brush my lips to his. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. I want to be your way too.”

“You are, baby. My only destination. Every track leads to you.” With that train-inspired proclamation, he pulls out, flips me around, and parks himself in the chair, facing our blacked-out view. As he glides me back onto his shaft, he places my hands on the glass. “Ride me, Sly, but don’t move those fingers, or I’ll spank this luscious ass.”

“Do it,” I goad, moving my hands for only a beat.

With a delighted chuckle, he delivers, as promised, a swift smack on each cheek to push me to the blissful summit. It steals my breath, searing my flesh and bones and something deeper. I swivel my hips, bracing for leverage as he reaches around and swirls my clit.

There’s nothing but the dark expanse of a zooming black wall, the reflection of pale light.

And the illusion king filling me—every morsel of my being.

“Goddamn, this view,” he hisses. “An absolute masterpiece. My priceless art.”

The fingertips on his free hand dig into my hip, then sail up my spine, around to my breast, and eventually backtrack to land with his saliva-coated thumb probing my virgin hole. Every touch washes me in goose bumps and hope and fullness, culminating in a dizzying crescendo of where we’ve been and where we’re headed.

“I’m almost there, Cash … I’m gonna …”

He pinches my clit to issue the most mind-blowing sensation. “Give it to me, Sylv. I want it all.”

His greed ruins me in the most excruciatingly beautiful way.