“Nowhere near as breathtaking as you are.” Catherine pulled the tie behind my neck, moving her hands over my shoulders, sweeping the material away. It puddled in a creamy, silky heap at my feet and I stood there in my panties and heels, letting her massage my breasts, standing in front of the window for all of New York to see if they wanted to.
“So sexy.” She slid a hand down my belly, under the elastic edge of my cream-colored panties, her fingers parting my flesh. “Oh god, so wet…!”
I was. I knew she must be too, between the music and the dancing and the drinking and the anticipation. I wanted to turn around and kiss her, to show her how much I wanted her, how good it felt to be there, but her finger found my clit, rubbing in circles, and I was lost.
“Oh, yes…” I leaned back against her, my nipples hardening. I saw our reflection in the glass, my blond head arched back against her shoulder, her red one bent to brush kisses over my neck.
I should have felt awkward or ashamed of myself, going home with a woman I hardly knew, practically a stranger. Okay, so I’d done it once already… but I’d never called her, she’d never called me. It was just a one-night stand, a little bit of very drunk fun for both of us. I hadn’t planned to ever repeat it, with her or anyone else.
But here I was again.
“Let’s go to bed.” I didn’t want to see myself doing this, even just in reflection.
“Mmmm… not yet…” She grabbed my hips, swinging me around and pressing me against the door wall. I gasped as the cold glass met my back, but the heat of her breath warmed me when she sank to her knees, pulling my panties aside to probe my slit with her tongue.
“Cat…” I moaned in spite of myself when she sucked at my clit. “Come on. Not here.”
“Right here,” she insisted, pulling my panties down to my knees, her eyes meeting mine. “Right now.”
I was buzzed, but I wasn’t drunk. I definitely wasn’t too drunk to care that we were standing in front of a window, that anyone might see us. But the more her tongue
and fingers delved, the more exciting the thought became. What if someone was watching us? What if some voyeuristic guy across the way had a pair of binoculars and was standing there, cock in hand, watching Catherine lick my cunt?
“I wanted to do this to you right there in the bathroom.” Her voice was husky, her fingers sliding in deep. Oh god, what if she had? The thought made me burn. “Right there on the dance floor.”
Jesus. While the entire club watched?
“Oh god.” I stroked the thick mass of her hair as she tongued my clit. “That’s so good. I don’t think… oh! I don’t think I can stand up much longer…”
It was true-my knees were actually weak.
“Come here.” She directed me, sitting me on the edge of the coffee table and spreading my thighs. “Don’t move.”
I watched as she stood, slipping out of her dress, too, and then kneeling in front of me, both of us now in panties and heels, black and white. She slipped her heels off, but mine were the strappy kind and I didn’t want to take the time to struggle with the straps.
“I’m going to lick you until you come all over my face.” She parted labia with her fingers, admiring my cunt. “Then I’m going to take you to my room and fuck you with a strap-on until you can’t breathe or think or do anything but come and come and come for me…”
Oh my god. My whole body prickled with excitement, but she was right, I didn’t have time to think. The world could have been watching and I wouldn’t have cared. She worked at my pussy with her tongue, her fingers, moaning against my clit as she ate me, all the while rubbing her own cunt. I leaned back on the coffee table, pulling my knees back and spreading wide for her. I wanted her to devour me, to make me forget everything, and for a while, she did.
“So close,” I managed, grabbing her hair and driving my hips upward, my nipples hardening almost to the point of pain as I climaxed, using her tongue to get myself off.
She didn’t complain about my roughness. In fact, she took it in stride, burying her face between my thighs, planting her mouth over my mound and staying there, smearing my juices over her mouth and chin until I was begging her to stop.
“Ready for more?” She rained kisses over my still-quivering cunt.
I groaned, half-laughing as I sat, not sure if the dizziness was the effect of the alcohol or my orgasm. She gave me that same mischievous grin, her hair a red mass of silk over her shoulders, her breasts perfection, round and firm, her nipples pink and hard. I didn’t know if they were real-I suspected not, especially in Manhattan-but didn’t really care.
“I think we gave New York enough of a show.” I nodded toward the balcony, the blinds still open wide. “Let’s go have a little private time.”
She led me to the bedroom I assumed she shared with her husband. I didn’t ask where he was-she’d told me the last time we were here that they had an arrangement, that he knew she went out clubbing and picked up women and he was fine with it.
Maybe she only did it when he was out of town, I thought, unbuckling my heels and tossing them aside. My panties and dress, I realized, were still in the living room, along with my purse and phone.
Her bed was huge and high. I literally had to climb up onto it. There was a balcony in there, too, but she pulled the blinds before coming to join me in bed, shutting the world out.
“You could have had your pick of any woman there tonight. Why me?” I wondered out loud as she captured my nipple in her mouth.
“I like you,” she said simply, pressing my breasts together, trying to capture both my nipples at once. My breasts were large, but not quite that large, and she had to bridge the difference with the wet lash of her tongue. “You’re so young and sweet, beautiful…”
“So are you.” I looked back as she rolled me over, moving down to kiss and nibble my behind.
Catherine laughed, her fingernails grazing the globes of my cheeks, my ass clenching in response. “How old are you? Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-three.” I sounded defensive. I probably was.
“Talk to me when you’re thirty-three and you've been to a plastic surgeon twice, and you've had more Botox in your body than should be legal.”
“You’d be beautiful anyway.” I let her spread my thighs, her fingers searching for my clit, still so sensitive from my orgasm. “I’m sure your husband thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“I don’t know.” Her hand stopped moving between my legs, her lips still on my behind.
For some reason I thought of TJ and Ronnie then, the way he looked at her when she didn’t know he was watching, the way his eyes followed her around a room. Every woman should have that, I thought-one man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Catherine moved to stretch out beside me and I looked over at her in the lamp light. She looked sad and I wanted to hug her.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I apologized.
“No, it’s okay.” She shook her head. “He’s a good guy. I love him and I know he loves me…”
“But?”
She slowly traced the lines of my tattoo. “This was my idea, you know.”
“This?”
“Seeing other people.” She rubbed my lower back. “He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”
Again, I was thinking of TJ and Ronnie. Whose idea had it been, I wondered? His or hers?
“I guess I just wanted…something more.”
Now I was curious. “Do you bring home men, too?”
“No.” She kissed my shoulder, her lips soft.
“Does he see other women?”
“Well…he could.” Her breasts pressed against my side as she moved closer. “If he wanted to.”