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.