Page 7 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

“That was an expensive dress,” I say, squirming as I sit in just my panties.

“I’ll buy you another one.” His gaze travels up and down my body, like he’s committing it all to memory. “You’re incredible,” he says, as he drags his knuckle down from the base of my throat, between my breasts, and over my stomach, before reaching the edge of my midnight-blue lace panties. “These are beautiful.”

He takes his knife and angles it away from my body, toward him as he cuts the lace at the hips.

He groans, and I can’t believe I’m letting him destroy my clothes. I can’t believe I’m sitting here in front of this virtual stranger, entirely naked, while he stands in front of me fully clothed as if I’m his pet or something.

We haven’t even kissed.

He cups my breasts in his hands, and whispers, “Perfect.”

Just before he releases them, he gives each nipple a sharp flick of his thumbs, and I gasp.

He watches my reaction, and then gives an approving nod.

Reaching around my back with one hand, he slides me closer to him, and then he licks my lips before pushing into my mouth in one swift movement, almost as if he can’t not kiss me. It’s so entirely passionate, but controlled and considered at the same time. And somehow that makes it hotter—the idea that underneath this man’s relaxed and happy-go-lucky front is a hidden part of him that I get to see. A part of him that can’t not kiss me. A part of him that slices off my dress with a knife because he’s too impatient to undo the buttons.

A part of him that he keeps hidden until I bring it out of him.

“Lie back.” He splays his large hand over my chest and pushes me back onto the counter.

He slides the dress out from underneath me and the cold stainless steel makes me shiver as my skin touches it.

He slides my legs apart and I feel his hot breath against my skin, in such contrast to the cold of the surface I’m lying on.

“God, you look delicious. Your wetness is reflecting off the steel and it looks like your pussy is made of diamonds.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. I’ve never had a man talk to me during sex. And I’ve definitely never been told I have a pussy made of diamonds. I’ve got a feeling tonight is going to live on in my memory for quite a while.

He doesn’t tease me. He splays my legs wide open and circles my clit with his tongue. I press my hands flat on the steel, willing myself not to make a sound. This guy has way too much confidence as it is. He doesn’t need me to massage his ego by crying out with a single touch.

Then he pushes his tongue down, through my folds to my opening, and I gasp. He’s just so sure of what he’s doing, and he’s doing it so well. He circles and flicks and pushes and presses and I can’t hold it in any longer. His tongue is doing things that should be illegal.

I arch my back and cry out, “Ben!”

I need him to slow down. I need him to stop. I need to leave, to get out of here. I can’t let this man touch me like this.

Just as I think I can’t take any more, he slides his fingers into me. My mind is so fuzzy, I’m not entirely sure it is his fingers. I’m so full of sensation, it feels like I’m going to burst. He reaches up my body, to my breast, pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and it’s like he’s detonated a bomb inside me.

I explode from the inside out. Every cell of my body bursts and I lose all conscious power over myself. I can hear myself crying out as my orgasm courses through me.

My legs are shaking and I reach down to see if I can steady them. Ben’s watching me, with a familiar smirk on his face.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, his deep voice vibrating up my spine.

I manage to prop myself up on my elbows to watch as he strips off his clothes. He only takes his gaze from mine to glance at my trembling thighs.

His body is ridiculous. He’s lean and muscled and he looks like he spends three hours in the gym every day, in between being a networking mobster or whatever in the hell it is that he does. He has a small smattering of hair across his pectoral muscles that trails off down the center of his abs, to his hard cock which is standing upright against his stomach. It’s thick and it twitches as I watch.

I want it.

I’ve just come and I want it deep inside me.

Who am I? Who is Ben turning me into?

He grabs a condom from who knows where and slides it on.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, his voice just above a murmur. He knows he’s big. Bigger than I’ve had before.