Welcome to Sizzling Sunday! I have another intensely erotic excerpt for you from my recent release Miranda’s Masks. The book is on sale now at all outlets for only 99 cents—but the price goes up next week!
Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077J37RW6
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077J37RW6
Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mirandas-masks-lisabet-sarai/1127499525?ean=2940158774584
Add to your Goodreads TBR list! https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36622764-miranda-s-masks
A train finally pulled into the station. Miranda rode one stop then transferred to the Red Line at Downtown Crossing. The second train was even more deserted.
The car held one other passenger, a young Japanese businessman who sat across from her. His thick, shiny black hair was expertly styled. He wore fashionable wire-frame glasses and a beautifully-cut dark blue suit. He was reading a paperback. However, when she entered the car, he stuffed that in his jacket pocket and stared at her in a manner completely out of keeping with the reputed politeness of his culture.
Annoyed but somehow fascinated, Miranda stared back. The man’s eyes narrowed. A slow smile curved his surprisingly full lips. He deliberately removed his eyeglasses, folded them precisely, and deposited them in his expensive attaché case. Then he resumed his scrutiny of her.
The train stopped at Park Street and the doors creaked open then, after a few moments, they clattered shut. No one got on or off. The Japanese man remained focused on her.
Miranda recognized the sexual charge in his gaze. She knew her taut nipples were visible, poking out the fabric of her top. Her skirt was only half-buttoned, she noticed. The man was focusing now on the shadowy area where it fell open, just above her knees.
Suddenly she felt hot all over, her cheeks, her earlobes, her fingertips, her breasts all flushed with blood. The cotton of her panties bunched damply between her thighs. The young executive watched her reactions, stroking his own thighs with pale, well-manicured hands.
Without conscious thought, still holding him with her eyes, Miranda began to undo the other buttons on her skirt. She lingered over each one, building suspense. Her companion sat still, composed and patient, but Miranda sensed his underlying eagerness. Her own arousal grew each time she released one of the buttons. The Japanese stranger adjusted his position, moving his legs a bit, showing her the bulk in the crotch of his well-tailored trousers. Her own sex felt just as swollen, the need for stimulation almost painful.
Leaving the button at her waist still fastened, she slowly pulled the two halves of the skirt to each side. Now her white underwear was clearly visible. Her travelling companion sat entranced as she slipped her hand into her panties and lightly fingered her clit.
Then she shut her eyes, overwhelmed by her body’s reaction to this barest of touches. Ripples of pleasure flowed out from that sensitive center, until she was tingling all over. Tentatively, she slipped a finger into her pussy, marveling at the wet heat she found there. He was watching every move, she knew. That knowledge magnified the pleasure a hundred fold.
The back of her hand brushed against damp cotton. Of course, he could not actually see what she was doing, in detail. Miranda felt sure that he would want to. She opened her eyes again and found that her partner’s gaze had not wavered. With the same deliberate pacing she had applied to the unbuttoning, she raised her bottom from the seat. She removed the obscuring panties, sliding them smoothly down her legs to her ankles, then bending as gracefully as she could to pick them up. Dangling them from one finger, she let them drop beside her on the bench.
Now the stranger opposite could see Miranda’s dark thatch, with the pink lips protruding, engorged and slick. Miranda spread her thighs wide. Using both hands, she parted the curls and began to frig herself in earnest. She slid the first two fingers of both hands into her vagina. Meanwhile her symmetric thumbs briskly massaged her clit.
She saw delight and disbelief on the face of the Japanese man. His suit trousers were hugely distorted by his erection. Miranda felt outrageous and powerful. She placed one sandaled foot on the seat, opening herself further to his view. His eyes never left her nimble fingers, sliding in and out of her cunt. Meanwhile, her gaze remained locked on his face as she edged ever closer to climax, the lust she saw there inflaming her beyond reason.
The train lurched to a stop, startling them both. Miranda realized that they had reached Charles Street station, her stop. Acting far more composed than she felt, she removed her hands from her crotch. She stood, picked up her purse, turned her back on the stranger, and walked out of the train without looking back.
Still, she was intensely aware of his presence. She knew he’d paused to retrieve her sodden panties. His breath caught as he slipped out of the car just before the doors closed. His footsteps echoed on the stairs behind her as she descended from the platform to ground level.