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      Menage on a Train

      Alice Gaines

       www.spice-books.co.uk

      Chapter One

      Who in her right mind wanted to have sex in an airplane bathroom? Not I. Mrs. Weston didn’t bring her little girl Cass up for groping in crowded, dirty toilets. For the erotic trip of a lifetime, I’d discovered something better. A luxury train through eastern European mountains.

      The tiny country of Rosnaya had two things going for it—a famous brandy made by the local monks and the train voyage through the Fyalin Pass. I’d studied the brochures for hours planning this trip. None of them mentioned the Fyalin Bore, although it drew most of the rail passengers to Rosnaya. Nor did they describe how hedonists the world around had discovered the bore’s greatest appeal. Namely, the tunnel that plunged the cars into total darkness and kept them there for half an hour. More than enough time for the most delicious sex with the perfect stranger. A mile-high club on land.

      Today, I’d boarded the train. Now, I only needed to find the right partner. The dining car was starting to fill as I made my way toward it. Several people had already paired off, each of the participants sporting a ring on one middle finger. The signal that they’d come here for sexual adventure. I twisted the gold band around my own finger and searched the crowd.

      I felt the man before I saw him. A vague tingling at the back of my neck alerted me that I was being watched. I turned my head and found him. Sitting at a table by himself, he smiled when I met his gaze, and lifted his hand to show me his own ring. I couldn’t really call him handsome. His nose had a bend to it—evidence of an earlier break. He had the deepest, blackest eyes, though, with thick lashes and laugh lines at the corners. He studied me with that dark gaze as I approached the table, and my stomach did a little flip. Unless something changed, this man and I would be having hot, anonymous sex in…I checked my watch…in not much more time than it took to down a glass of the local liquor.

      He rose when I got near, and pulled out the chair across from his. I sat and waited until he sat down before offering my hand.

      “Diane Johnson,” I said, using the name I’d made up for this trip. “And, you’re…”

      “I’m not as good at lying as you are, so I won’t bother with my name.”

      He didn’t say it with anger. More as a matter of fact that he’d expected me to lie about my identity but didn’t want to make the effort to remember an untruth. He gazed at me evenly as I fidgeted. It seemed I hadn’t planned this as carefully as I’d thought.

      “So,” I said after a moment. “What will I call you?”

      “You won’t need to call me anything.” He motioned for the steward. When the man in uniform appeared, my stud-to-be said something in a language I didn’t understand. The other man nodded and disappeared.

      “What did you say to him?” I asked.

      “I ordered us some brandy. It’s traditional before we enter the bore.”

      “Have you made this trip before?”

      “Never.”

      The steward approached with two snifters of brandy and set them on the table. When Dark Eyes signed the check, the man disappeared again.

      The man across from me lifted his drink. “To new friends.”

      I joined his toast. “New friends.”

      He took a drink, staring at me over the rim of his glass as he did. I sipped at the liquor and let it zing down the back of my throat.

      “So,” my man said. “How are you enjoying Rosnaya so far?”

      “It’s interesting.”

      His nostrils flared oh, so slightly. A sign of masculine interest. “It’ll get more interesting in a few minutes.”

      “Where…” I let my voice trail off. Where should we fuck? sounded too crude. Your cabin or mine? too trite.

      “I’m sharing a sleeper with my friend,” he said. “What about you?”

      I took a drink of my brandy—more than I’d sipped before. “I’m alone.”

      “We’ll go there.”

      I nodded.

      The steward yelled something I didn’t understand. I looked to my partner.

      “Last call before the tunnel,” he said. “Finish your drink.”

      Just then, another man appeared at our table. A blond. He clapped the first man on the shoulder and sat next to him. “Who’ve you got here?”

      “She says her name is Diane. What happened to your date?”

      “Said she recognized a friend.” The blond’s speech held a distinct Australian accent. “Turned tail and ran ’s more like it.”

      “Frightened her off, did you?”

      The blond grabbed his friend’s drink and finished it. He set the empty snifter back on the table. “Wretched luck.”

      Dark Eyes turned to me. “How adventurous do you feel?”

      “Me?”

      “No one sitting next to you, love,” the Aussie said.

      They both sat, looking at me. One blue pair of eyes and one black. Were they offering a threesome?

      Oh, good Lord. Two men. Two sets of hands. Two mouths. Two cocks. I’d expected adventure, but nothing like that.

      Well, why the hell not? Although I’d never been a prude, I’d never experienced anything like more than one man at once. Together, they’d likely have more stamina than one man, and I stood a good chance of finding a really big tool. I could suck the smaller one deep into my mouth while the other one entered me from behind. My pussy did a happy dance thinking of the various combinations. One man in my sex while the other teased my clit. I almost melted with anticipation at the image.

      “Let me get this right,” I said. “This is an invitation to a ménage?”

      Dark Eyes glanced at his comrade and back at me. “Why not?”

      “I thought guys didn’t like to share.”

      “We’re mates, Tom and I,” the blond said.

      I smiled at the dark one. “So, your name is Tom.”

      He jerked his thumb toward the Aussie. “Genius here’s Nigel.”

      I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Nigel.”

      Nigel grasped my fingers. “Same here.”

      “She’s Blanche DuBois,” Tom said, a wicked grin on his face. “Or, something like that.”

      “Cass Weston,” I answered. “But, I still rely on the kindness of strangers.”

      Tom got up and pulled my chair out. “Well, Cass Weston, it seems we’ll go to our place, after all.”

      The narrow corridor that led to the cabins sported the same luxury as the rest of the train. On one side, large windows gave a view of the dramatic scenery. Granite boulders with stunted trees—nature’s bonsai—clinging in crevasses. Living sculpture, decorated here and there with blankets of snow. Inside, lamps mounted in the walls reflected warm light off wood paneling. A thick Oriental rug hushed the sound of our footsteps as we approached a doorway.

      More people headed toward the sleeping compartments. All had come for the same adventure I had, but few of the women had two prospective lovers. I smiled to myself, and my skin heated. Part excitement and part shyness. I averted my gaze from the others, and when Nigel turned an antique key in the lock and slid the door aside, I crossed the threshold into even more beauty.

      The

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