You need one last excerpt, don't you, for Random Acts of Trust?

It's coming 12/4, but you reeeeaaaaally want one more taste, right?

Here you go:

Amy

I wish it were my mouth, the man's voice said, so faint I could barely understand. 

I was sitting on the train, taking the T from Porter Square to South Station on the Red Line, a day of fun in Cambridge alone capped by this trip. We were underground, the train lit up by blinking fluorescent lights, and the rumble of the cars along steel tracks made it hard to hear. 

And then, again, a man's voice:

bucking against his hand, rushing to find the climax she wanted him to give her. “And if we weren’t about to get caught, it would be.”

“Caught?” She panicked –

This time, the voice was louder and...tinny. Robotic. An older, kindly-looking woman with a service dog glanced up, ears perked. 

Someone giggled. Where the hell was this coming from? I looked across the way to see my reflection in the train car window, the same old Amy staring back. Cultivated, half-lidded stare for city walking. Rumpled hair in a ponytail. Yoga pants and a v-neck t-shirt. My bag, filled with my wallet, some cosmetics, and – 

My tablet.

“Not yet, my sweet,” he insisted. “Not until I’ve given you this pleasure, and you’ve given me your abandon.” His fingers stroked her –

“My, oh, my,” said the woman across the way, who began to fan herself with a piece of paper. “Someone is getting it on.” 

Frowning, I unzipped my bag. 

The voice grew louder. 

Very loud.

lips and tongue tasting her as he drove two fingers inside her aching pussy, clit on fire from his fingers

Pussy? Clit? What the fuck was going on? 

Snorts and hoots filled the train car as every single set of eyes – including the dog's – were on me now. 

“What you listening to on your iPod, girl?” asked some old man five seats away. 

“I – what? No, I don't know what that is,” I protested, frantically pawing through my purse. 

“You are reading something hot and steamy,” said a young voice with an unplaceable accent. My head tilted up to follow the sound as my hands searched for the tablet, buried under a bunch of new student orientation notices from my grad school program. 

“I'm not reading any such thing – ” I locked eyes with a woman my age, with a huge halo of unruly blond curls, merry green eyes, and eyebrows that twitched with amusement.

“Let go, Lydia,” he whispered, grinding into her from behind, his words an urging she didn’t need to hear twice.

Mouth open, neck straining, she mewled a scream of unleashing, her body thrusting against his fingers, her thighs shaking as she lost control.

Except she was right. The last thing I'd read on my tablet had been a very hot romance novel, which left off with the hero and heroine trapped in a broken elevator (doesn't every romance novel have to have at least one scene like that?), and the words were familiar. 

Too familiar. 

“Turn it up! This is getting good!” called a guy across the way, wrists covered with tats, a leering smile on his face. 

Found it! The computer almost slammed to the ground as my fingers were flushed with fear and shame, the voice pouring forth unbidden:

Matt turned her around, thumb steady as it circled her hot, red nub, and he took her mouth with his, her lips tense with climax, mind on fire and body overcome with surges of heat, then chill, of riding his hand to wring every drop of ecstasy.

The blonde chick started to clap. A bunch of people joined her. I hate you, I thought. The train came to a halt at Harvard Square and I reflexively stood and darted through the pneumatic doors, the damn eReader continuing its passionless narrative, the crowd hooting and laughing hysterically. Someone pulled out their phone and began snapping pics. 

Dear God, please do not let this be some Facebook viral story.

the intensity so much she nearly came again from the sound. “Next time,” he hissed, lips taking hers, pinning her lower lip between his teeth, sucking, then using his tongue to explore her teeth, her palate, her mouth being loved by his.

Damn it! Where was the OFF button? This was a new tablet and in my overwhelm and horror I – 

“You readin' Fifty Shades?” She'd followed me? The voice was so distinct for Boston that I didn't even need to look up. Evil Blonde Subway Torture Ringleader was staring down at me as I crouched on the ground in front of a wall covered with ads for movies, music, and other performances.

Skirt around her hips, he used both hands to pin her ass to him, the weight of her release resting in his palms as she swallowed, breathing labored and sensual, his own breath.

“That's some damn fine writing. Who's the author again?” Stepping back, she finally got the hint as I ignored her, mercifully stopping the barrage of words, words that had comforted and amused me just minutes ago, now turned into weapons of social destruction. 

Ready to snap, I looked up to find her fading into the crowd. A Dunkin' Donuts cup, greasy and covered with a fine layer of soot, was shoved under my nose. 

“Got any change?” a panhandler asked. 

Hastily standing, I shook my head furiously. “No.” 

“Got a vibrator? 'Cause I need to rub one out after hearing that.” A six-toothed grin on the face of a woman my mom's age came along with the comment, like a side of fries. She turned away to ask the next person for money, leaving me holding my tablet, clutching my bag, and too many stops away from my final destination. 

As the new crowd assembled to wait for the next train, my heart rate slowed from hummingbird to sloth, the flush on my face receded, and my mind raced to replay what had happened. Jostling from the train car going around a curve must have made something hit my text-to-speech option, but how? 

A laugh escaped through my nose, soft and touched with a cringe that made me want to hide under a rock. An unnarrated rock. 

I shrugged. Ten more minutes and the next train would come. Might as well read for the next ten minutes. After pointedly shutting all sound off on my tablet the whoosh of air that indicated a new train's arrival short-circuited my attempt. Shoving the tablet back in my bag, I turned and saw it. 

The poster. 

Random Acts of Crazy. Performing tonight, at a bar a few blocks from my new apartment. 

Oh, Sam.