Night Train to Vienna

The sleeper compartment smelled of stale air and old upholstery, and the dim blue light made everything look underwater. I was already regretting the last-minute booking when she walked in—sharp suit, dark hair pulled back, a look that said she’d fire me before breakfast if I wasted her time.

“You’re the new analyst,” she said, not a question. “Mara. Sit.”

I sat. She dropped her bag on the bunk above and stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the platform slide away.

“I don’t sleep on trains,” I said, for no reason at all.

She turned. Her eyes were pale grey, and they held mine for a beat too long. “Neither do I.”

The train rocked. She stepped closer, close enough that I caught her perfume—something sharp and floral, expensive. “You’re nervous,” she said. “It’s all over you.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” She reached out, and her fingers brushed my jaw, feather-light. “You’re tense. Shoulders up to your ears.”

I didn’t move. “That’s how I sit.”

“No.” She stepped in until her knees touched mine. “That’s how you hide.”

Her hand slid to the back of my neck, and she pressed her thumb into the muscle there. A small, sharp pressure that made me exhale. “Roll your shoulders.”

I did. She worked her thumb in slow circles, and I felt the knot start to give. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Good.”

My cock was already half-hard. She noticed—I saw her glance down, and the corner of her mouth curved. “Interesting,” she said. “You respond fast.”

“You’re not exactly gentle.”

“You don’t want gentle.” She pushed me back onto the bunk, and I landed on the thin mattress, looking up at her. She knelt over me, her hair falling loose around her face. “You want to be told what to do.”

I swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Take your shirt off.”

I did. She ran her hands down my chest, nails grazing my skin, then leaned in and pressed her lips to my collarbone. Her mouth was hot, and she bit down just hard enough to sting. I gasped.

“Shh,” she whispered. “We’re not alone on this train.”

She worked her way down, her tongue tracing a line to my stomach, and then her fingers found my belt. She undid it with one hand, practiced, and pulled my jeans down my thighs. My cock sprang free, and she looked at it, her lips parting.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s nice.”

She wrapped her hand around the base and leaned down, and her tongue touched the tip—just a flick, just a tease. I arched up, and she pulled back.

“Not yet,” she said. “I want to taste you slow.”

She took me into her mouth, inch by inch, her eyes locked on mine. The heat of it, the wet slide of her tongue— I grabbed the sheet, knuckles white. She hummed, and the vibration went straight through me.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

She pulled off, her lips slick. “You’ll last longer than that.”

She stood, and I thought she’d take off her clothes, but instead she turned around, bent over the edge of the bunk, and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Underwear off. Behind me. Now.”

I scrambled up. Her skirt was tight, and I pushed it up over her hips, revealing black lace. I pulled it down, and her ass was bare, pale and round, and I wanted her so badly my hands shook.

“Don’t be gentle,” she said. “I mean it.”

I lined up and pushed in, and she was so wet that I slid all the way to the hilt in one stroke. She let out a sharp breath, and her fingers dug into the mattress.

“Yes,” she hissed. “That’s it.”

I fucked her hard, gripping her hips, her ass slapping against my thighs. The train swayed, and I drove deeper with every thrust. She was moaning now, low and throaty, her head dropped forward.

“God,” I grunted. “You’re so tight.”

“You like it?” she gasped. “You like fucking your boss on a night train?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

She pushed back against me, meeting every stroke. I reached around and found her clit, slick and swollen, and she cried out, her whole body shuddering.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please, don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I worked her clit in fast circles while I pounded into her, and I felt her start to come apart around me—her inner walls clenching, her breath breaking into pieces.

“I’m coming,” she sobbed. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m—“

She clenched so hard I couldn’t hold back. I buried myself deep and came inside her, pulse after pulse, my forehead pressed to her back.

We collapsed onto the bunk, tangled and sweaty, the train rattling on in the dark. She turned her head and looked at me, her hair a mess across the pillow.

“Well,” she said, and there was a smile in her voice. “That’s one way to break the ice.”

I laughed, breathless. “Am I still hired?”

“You’re promoted.”

Morning came grey and cold through the window. She was already dressed, coffee in hand, her hair perfect again. She handed me a cup and caught my eye over the rim.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “We’re at work when we get there.”

“Yes, boss.”

She almost smiled. Almost.