by Roxy Sloane
“I don't know. I wouldn’t know where to go,” I hesitate.
“It's your first real night in New York City,” she argues between sniffles. “I bet you're already dressed and ready to go, aren't you?”
“...Maybe,” I hedge.
Her laugh ends with a cough and I wince in sympathy.
“Go back to bed,” I tell her. “You should get some rest.”
“Wait,” she says. “There's a bar Cam introduced us to. It has a good scene without being too loud. You'll love it. And my driver should be downstairs any minute to pick you up.”
“Are you sure?” I check. “I mean it about looking after you. I make a great chicken soup.”
“Absolutely,” Keely insists. “Go. We’ll hang out another night.”
I say goodbye and hang up. Part of me is tempted to stay in and order takeout and catch up on TV, but I’m all dressed up and ready to go.
The intercom sounds. It’s the lobby. “Your car is here,” the doorman says.
That decides it. I give myself a final look in the mirror and head out, an extra swing in my step as I feel the lace garters whisper against my skin.
I don’t know what my mystery gift-giver had in mind, but I plan on having some fun.
The car takes me to a buzzing, fashionable spot in the West Village. The neighborhood is leafy and cute, with cobbled streets and people spilling laughter and noise out of the bars and sidewalk cafes.
Inside, the place is busy but not too wild, more of a 20s lounge vibe than a packed club. There’s a gleaming bar along the far wall, and secluded booths with comfy-looking leather seats. Perfect. I can order a drink and some dinner, and unwind from the crazy day I’ve had.
The hostess shows me to a table in the corner. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A scotch, please. Single malt.” I order before I realize what I’m doing, then feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. Ashton is the one who introduced me to scotch. I was always a beer girl, I never bothered with fancy liquor, but he insisted I taste the best – straight up, no ice.
The waitress brings me my drink. I take a sip, savoring the rich flavor and low burn as the alcohol snakes through my bloodstream. I still can’t get my head around seeing Ashton today.
I’ve wondered if I’d ever see him again: at an alumni event, maybe, or passing on the street one day. In my daydreams, I’m always cool and effortlessly casual, flashing him an easy smile and acting like I could care less what he’s doing with his life.
But today, I was anything but cool.
I wince, remembering how I stumbled through our introduction, and then was left scrambling to keep up with his lawyers’ arguments. My cheeks burn. How does he still have this effect on me? I spent years secretly melting into a pool of lust every time he brushed against me. I thought I’d be stronger now. Smarter. Immune to his sexy accent and piercing stare.
How wrong could I be?
The years have been good to him, that much is clear. He's even more gorgeous than I remembered. More polished, more refined, and definitely more powerful.
A shiver rolls through my body as I recall how he took control of the meeting. He silenced all arguments with a single word, a commanding look. I don’t want to admit to myself that I still find him attractive, that my body tightens just thinking of him.
Dammit, he’s still sexy as hell.
Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted. A strange man takes a seat at the table opposite me.
I blink at him, thrown.
“I've seen you here before,” he tells me with a flashy grin. He’s cute, I guess. Expensive suit, pinstripe tie. He probably works on Wall Street or something like that, and to any other girl here tonight, he’s probably a catch.
But I’m not any other girl.
And he's not Ashton.
“I don't think so,” I reply coolly.
“You were here last week,” he insists, still lounging in the chair opposite me like he owns the place.
“That's impossible.” My irritation grows. “I just arrived in town.”
“Oh really?” he looks interested. “Tell me all about it.”
“You don’t take a hint, do you?” I roll my eyes. I’m not in the mood for a fight, so I use my trusted standby, the four magic words that get a girl out of any tight spot. “I have a boyfriend.”
His face falls. In an instant, his eyes are sliding past me, looking for his next target. “Have a great night,” he says, already heading across the room.
I grin in triumph as the server arrives with a fresh drink on her tray.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, confused.
“Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar.” She deposits it in front of me. “Oh, and he said to give you this.”
It’s another black gift-box.
My heart stops.
“Who is he?” I demand, twisting around. “Can you point him out to me, please?”
She looks over at the bar. “He’s gone now, sorry.”
Damn.
The waitress leaves, and I turn my attention back to the box. How is this possible? Nobody knows I’m here tonight. But it’s the same gold ribbon. The same cream card. My name in gold ink.
The box is smaller this time. But it's definitely from the same person.
I slide the invitation out from under the ribbon and open it.
Play with me.
Intriguing.
I glance around, my skin prickling with awareness. I’m wearing the lingerie he sent, and suddenly, it feels so intimate. My calves slide against each other in the silk stockings, the garters pressing into my thighs. My nipples stiffen against the lacy bra.
What is he planning next?
I take a deep breath and slowly untie the ribbon. Inside, I find a silver butterfly nestled in a cocoon of black tissue paper.
I pause. What is this?
I take the butterfly out of the box. It's made of smooth, matte silicone and fits in the palm of my hand. The body of the butterfly is ribbed, and adjustable satin straps hook to each corner of the wings.
Suddenly, the butterfly buzzes in my hand.
My mouth falls open.
Holy shit. It’s a vibrator.
I can’t stop a giggle of surprise slipping from my lips. The couple at the next booth look over, so I quickly move the box out of sight below my table.
I gaze at the toy, my excitement rising. I’ve seen these on the website where I shop for all my sexy accessories, but I’ve never used one before. You strap it around your thighs so the butterfly nestles against your clit. There’s either an on/off switch or a remote that controls the vibrations. But I don’t see a switch.
I check the box again. No remote control.
Realization crashes through me. The mystery man must have it. That means he's close. He's here.
My pulse races as I scan the room. He has to be watching me. But everyone seems to be paying attention to their own dining companions. No one cares that I’m over here at the corner table with a vibrator in my hands.
I glance down again. The butterfly looks so cute nestling in the tissue paper, and the contrast between its innocent appearance and illicit purpose gives me a thrill. Nobody would know if I put it on.
Nobody except the man holding the controls, hidden somewhere out of sight.
“Excuse me.” A different server arrives at my table. I slam the box shut with a yelp.
“This is for you,” he says, looking bored. He holds out a new envelope, and I take it, my cheeks flushing. Before I can ask anything else, he walks away.
I take a deep breath, and unfold the card. There’s only one word on the paper.
Now.
CHAPTER SIX
I stare at the note, getting another rush. He wants me to wear the vibrator now, right here in front of everyone. My mind races, turning over the wild proposition. I feel like he’s daring me. Or maybe this is just a tease. Maybe he thinks I won’t do it. But he doesn’t know me.
I never back down
from a challenge.
I discreetly slide the box into my purse and walk down the hall to the ladies’ restroom. It’s a polished, classy room with gleaming marble counters and several stalls. Two women are by the sinks, reapplying lipstick and gossiping. They barely give me a second look as I slip into the stall at the end of the row and lock the door.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. My heart races in my chest as I pull out the slim box. I place it on the ledge inside the door, and slowly inch my dress up over my thighs.
My panties are already damp with excitement. I pull them down and run my fingers over myself. I have to bite back a gasp. I’m already wet, aching for more.
“Did you see Olivia’s hair? Total break-up freakout.”
“She should have known he was cheating. I mean, nobody needs to travel to Miami for business that often.”
I can hear the women talking outside. It makes me feel even naughtier as I stroke myself again, circling in a rhythm that gets me there every time. Pleasure rises and I brace myself against the wall as my legs go weak. It feels so good – and I haven’t even strapped on the butterfly yet.
Is this what he wanted? I wonder. Is he out there right now?
Does he know I’m touching myself?
The main door swings open, and the music from outside blares louder. Then the women exit and the bathroom is silent except for the sound of my own quick breathing. I’m alone with my slick, hot fingers and the tight lust coiled between my thighs.
I reach for the box and slowly lift out the butterfly. My fingers glisten with my own damp juices, painting the silicone as I hold it up. I slip the straps of the harness around my thighs, pulling them tighter so that the small toy is nestled snug against my body. I slide my panties back up, and just like that, it’s hidden between my thighs. A secret nobody knows but me.
And whoever sent it to me.
I gulp at the knowledge, my stomach twisting with nervous excitement. He’s in control now.
But that’s not quite true either, I realize. He’s been calling the shots since the night began: sending me the lingerie, ordering me to wear it. He chose my most private clothing. He chose the toy that’s pressed against my pussy in the most intimate kiss.
And he’ll choose what happens next.
I run my fingers over the silk of my panties, pressing the butterfly softly against me. Even with the vibe turned off, the smooth foreign pressure feels too good as it rubs against my tight bundle of nerves. My clit feels swollen, extra-sensitive to every nudge and press.
I take a deep breath. Holy shit, I’m really doing this.
I unlock the stall and walk over to the sink, rinsing my wrists under the cool water as I try to pull myself back together again. I look in the mirror and feel a shock at my reflection. My hair is mussed, my skin is pink and glowing, and my eyes are shining with excitement.
I look like I’m about to get laid.
I head through the bar and make my way back to the table. With each step, the butterfly gives a soft caress against my sensitive nub.
It hits me all over again: just how illicit and naughty this is. I’m surrounded by people and I’m being fondled by the silver butterfly in my panties. This is amazing. The underwear, the club, the butterfly, it all feels so deliciously wicked.
The room is busier now, and I scan the crowd eagerly for any sign of who could be holding the remote.
He could be anyone. Anywhere.
I wonder what’s going to happen next. And right as the question crosses my mind, I feel a low pulse from the vibrator.
I freeze.
The butterfly pulses again, soft against me, and then starts buzzing for real. Deep. Rhythmic. It’s barely a hum, but damn, it feels so good. My cheeks flush and my knees weaken. I shake my head, trying to regain composure. The corner table seems so far away now. Catching my breath, I squeeze my legs together. It only presses the pulsing butterfly tighter against the ache.
Right there. Yes.
The pulsing suddenly gets stronger. I stand frozen in the crowd as the butterfly vibrates against my clit just right. Waves of pleasure slam through me, almost too intense, but keeping me suspended at the edge of bliss. I bite my lip, and then the buzzing stops. My own pulse is racing. Is he stopping now? He can’t be done. I look over my shoulder, then scan the room again. I’m almost back to my table when—
Oh my god!
I press my slick thighs together, trying not to moan out loud. I can’t stop the vibrations. I can only hold tight to the back of a chair nearby, totally at the mercy of the pleasure flooding through my body.
A stranger knocks into me. He grabs my arm to keep me from falling.
“You OK?” a voice filters through my haze.
The vibrations slow to a faint ripple.
I catch my breath, turning to look at the man who spoke. He’s handsome in a preppy kind of way.
Is he the mystery man with the remote?
I find my voice. “I’m great,” I say slowly, watching his reactions. “How about you?”
“Better now that I’ve met you.” He grins at me, showing perfect white teeth. “Can I get you a drink?”
As I’m about to respond, the vibrator shuts off. I can see both of this guy’s hands in plain view. He doesn’t have the control.
Damn.
“No thanks.” I brush him off with a smile. “I’m with someone.”
I walk away. The vibrator pulses once, as if to say, ‘good girl.’
Now I’m really curious – and turned on. As I continue through the crowd, the vibrator shudders against me intermittently in a low, teasing hum. I look around. What game is he playing? I know he’s here, somewhere in the crowd. He can see me.
Maybe he wants me to find him. This naughty game is filling me with even more of an intense desire to meet this mystery man.
I decide to go to the bar and check out the scene. Maybe the bartender remembers who was there earlier. I slide onto a free stool and accidentally catch the eye of the man waiting to be served next to me. He’s a baby-faced redhead with a mop of curls and an expensive suit.
“Hey baby,” he starts, with a smug grin. The vibrations stop, as if to tell me it’s not him.
So this is the game.
“Not interested.” I turn away, wondering when my mystery man will reveal himself. He has to come meet me sometime, right?
Or is he planning on tormenting me from afar for the rest of the night?
I hope not. I’m getting so turned on by the low pulses, steady against my clit. My nipples are peaked, stiff with tension. It’s an exquisite torture, having just the one small part of my body stimulated, while the rest still aches to be touched.
“Hey! Justine!”
I spin around. Adam Granger is coming through the crowd towards me. My client, Adam. Oh shit.
“Crazy running into you,” he exclaims, arriving at the bar. “I guess this is the place to be, right?”
“Right,” I echo faintly, my mind racing. I can’t talk to him in this state! As if sensing my panic, the butterfly stills. I take a breath of relief. I love the pleasure, but it’s crazy to be feeling this way in front of a client.
“I’m grabbing a drink with my brother and some friends,” Adam explains. “Come join us, I’ve told them all about you.”
Before I can object, he guides me through the crowd to a booth in the opposite corner. I’m halfway there, just steps behind Adam, when a fresh surge jolts through me. The vibrator buzzes wildly, sending pleasure crashing through my body.
Oh my god!
I stifle a whimper, gasping for air. It feels so good! The pulses go from soft to hard, soft to hard, completely unpredictable. I can’t stop the heat rising; my body has a mind of its own. I’m hurtling higher, blood pounding in my ears, my skin burning up—
“Are you OK?” Adam pauses, looking back at me.
“Fine!” my reply is high-pitched. I clench my thighs together and try not to come right here in the middle of the bar. I don’t
think I can hold back when suddenly, the vibrations stop.
Holy shit.
I arrive at the table with Adam, feeling flustered and flushed. He introduces me, pointing to an older, more serious-looking version of himself. “This is my brother Paul. He’s a surgeon at New York-Presbyterian.”
I manage a smile and a handshake. Paul grips my hand firmly and grins. “My baby brother has been singing your praises,” he says smoothly. “I hear you’re going to give that jackass Kellan the beating he so richly deserves.”
“That’s the plan,” I try to recover. Adam introduces me to the rest of the table, a couple more guys in their late twenties in Wall Street suits, but it’s hard to concentrate. I slide into the seat, still reeling from the last explosion of pleasure.
My body aches with desire, and I can’t help glancing around the bar again, wondering who is putting me through this sweet torment.
I should be embarrassed, I know, but the truth is: I want more.
“You look flushed,” Adam looks over at me. “Are you feeling OK?”
“Sure. Just a little…hot.”
That’s an understatement. My panties are soaked through now, and my nipples strain against my dress. Thank god it’s dark in here. I can only hope they haven’t noticed.
“Let me get you some water.” Adam calls over a waitress.
Suddenly, the vibrations start again, maximum strength.
Oh my freaking god!
I clench my fists and feel the pulses surge through me, driving my clit wild with pleasure. There’s a pause, and then another sharp burst that makes me gasp out loud.
Everyone looks over. Shit!
“Just a cramp,” I manage to stammer.
“It’s those heels you wear,” Paul says knowingly. “It shortens your Achilles tendons.” He launches into a longwinded medical explanation while I brace myself against the onslaught of pleasure. Holy shit, I’m getting close. I can feel the pressure rising, delicious and forbidden. I want to grind into the seat, push the vibe tighter to me until I come.
“Adam’s been telling me about the lawsuit,” Paul’s voice brings me back again. “It sounds like this Ashton guy is playing hardball.”