The Commute (Regular Sex Issue 1) by Kitty French Read Free Book Online Page B

realise I
want to tie my hair up for him, and I unsnap the tie from my wrist and gather
my hair into a messy bun at my nape.
    ‘Better?’ he
murmurs.
    I’m not sure if
he’s asking me or telling me, but either way I nod. It’s better.
    This has all
gone his way up to now; it’s time to turn the tables a little.
    ‘Tell me about
the rules in the kingdom of bad intentions, Jude.’
    I drop one of my
hands onto the table, my fingertips dangerously close to skimming his wrist. 
‘Is it… balmy there too?’
    Interested, he
nods almost imperceptibly.
    ‘The rules?’ he pauses
for thought the same way I had a couple of minutes back. ‘There are no rules.
It’s totally lawless.’ He drops his voice and the intimacy level between us
ratchets up. ‘We can do whatever the fuck we want on my beach.’
    His kingdom
suddenly sounds infinitely more interesting than mine.
    ‘Are there
cocktails?’ I ask, reminded by the blue of his eyes.
    A smile tugs at
the edges of his full mouth.
    ‘I make them
myself,’ he says. ‘For you, I’d use…’ he trails off, narrowing his eyes at me
speculatively, as if deciding on my perfect blend. He lowers his hands to the
table, covering mine, making me startle. Christ, he’s warm. His eyes lock with
mine and I see the same spark there, the flash of awareness, the turned on, off
the scale level of chemistry that I don’t think either of us have anticipated.
    ‘What, Jude?
What would you use?’ If I sound breathless, it’s because I am. He’s stroking
the back of my hand with his thumb, slowly back and forth, and I feel as if
he’s taken my bra off and is thumbing my nipple.
    ‘I’d start with
a measure of gin in a champagne saucer, because you’re a classy girl,’ he
begins.
    I soak the
compliment in, whilst privately thinking that I’m not all that classy after a
few gin and tonics on a night out with the girls.
    ‘Did you know
those glasses were modelled on the shape of a woman’s breast?’ he asks, almost
conversationally. ‘Maybe I’ll add a cherry into the base, something ruby and
ripe, like your mouth.’
    He snakes his
tongue along the inside of his top lip; I can feel his breath on my mouth and I
badly want him to kiss me. There is no hint of soup beard or bad morning hair
about this man on the train. His chestnut dark hair brushes his open
collar, and I can practically hear every follicle begging my fingers to rifle
through it. He is a-fuckin-donis, and for some unknown reason he’s been gifted
to me, and I want to unwrap him far more than I wanted to unwrap my lacklustre
Christmas gifts a few weeks ago. God, I can absolutely imagine how good he’d
look naked. I cross my legs out of fear that my knickers will slide down of
their own accord and do the can-can on the table. 
    He stares right
into my eyes, and then he subtly lifts my hand and places it over my breast.
I’m so shocked I can barely breathe, and I daren’t look away to see if anyone
has noticed. They probably haven’t, and thankfully it is at least my hand
nearest the window, but I can’t be completely certain and I’m too invested in
what’s happening to check. For the briefest of moments, Jude leaves his hand
over mine and I feel the scorch of his fingertips through the scant material of
my blouse. His eyes darken a little, turquoise to azure, and I know he wants
more right before he lowers his hand back to the table to cup my other elbow.
My chin is still balanced on my hand and my nails dig into my jaw when he touches
me, so hard that I don’t think even Touche Éclat will hide the marks when I get
into work.
    If I get into
work.
    I have no idea
what stop we’re at, or if we’ve been onboard for two minutes, two hours or two
days. This train has become the goddamn Tardis in my head, or maybe the back of
the wardrobe portal to the faraway kingdom of Jude. I’m a voracious reader, I
get through whole books in a day, but I don’t think I’ve ever read a more
hypnotically sexy male