That night, we'd made it first to the immaculate white leather sofa, and then to her four-poster bed, where I'd woken up early and tried to sneak out. When she woke, looking as hung over as I felt but still gorgeous, her hair hanging in red waves over the side of the bed, asking where I was going, I told her, "I'll take the subway home," and took off.

"This place is…breathtaking." I looked out across the terrace to the lights of the city, flickering like fireflies in the night. The whole place was alive and moving below us.

"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.