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Six o’clock finally rolls around and I slip my phone into my small clutch and grab my keys before heading downstairs. When I step outside, my mouth drops open. There’s a limo parked in front of my apartment building, a driver waiting to open the door. Okay, this is a car, technically.
“Kara Bishop?” the driver asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me.”
He opens the door for me, and I slide into the limo. I half expect Jet to be inside waiting, but he isn’t. The driver shuts the door behind me, and soon we’re cruising through the streets of New York. The inside of the limo is posh, all leather and wood. There’s a bar tucked into one side, and enough room to fit about ten people. I smile to myself as I lean back against the seat. So this is what it’s like to be rich and live in luxury. I can’t say that I hate it. And I’m going to enjoy it for the short time that I have it.
I get an amazing view of the city starting to light up as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, going uptown.
“Where are we going?” I ask the driver.
He glances at me in the rear view mirror. “Columbus Circle.”
Columbus Circle. Huh. I can’t really think of any place to go around there. Maybe Jet wants to take a walk through the park before the sun fully sets. While the limo is crawling uptown towards Columbus Circle, I pull my phone out again and text Jet.
I wasn’t expecting a limo.
The little dots that tell me he’s typing pop up almost immediately. They start and stop a couple of times, like he’s trying to decide what he wants to say. I wanted to send the best.
I laugh a little, and I feel the driver looking at me. I text him back. Hell of a way to make an impression.
When he texts back I can practically feel him smiling. I thought I’d done that already with the toys.
True. I type, I guess I’m just trying to figure you out.
I’ll see what I can do about that when you get here.
I smirk at the phone. I’ll hold you to it. By the way, when I do get there, I’m aiming to make an impression of my own with this dress.
I can’t wait.
That last response is immediate, and my stomach tightens. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight, but I sense deep down that it will be great. It has to be. If it’s not it will be one of the great disappointments of my life, and I don’t want to think about that. I’d felt relaxed all the way here, but now that we’re approaching Columbus Circle the nerves start dancing in my stomach again.
The limousine pulls to a stop, and the driver hops out. He opens the door for me, and I step out to see Jet waiting for me, a tulip in his hand. He’s dressed in an impeccably cut suit, and my breath catches seeing how gorgeous he is. I’m not entirely sure that this is real life. These last three days have definitely seemed like a dream.
Jet looks me up and down, and the smile he gives me spreads heat from my stomach to every part of me. “You said you wanted to make an impression,” he says. “You succeeded.”
“Thank you.”
He hands me the tulip, it’s deep purple color matching the shirt he’s wearing under his suit. “You didn’t seem like a rose person to me.”
“You’re right,” I say, inhaling the fresh scent. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you.” Jet reaches for my hand and pulls me closer to him. One hand slides to my lower back, the other to my neck as he presses a kiss against my lips. My entire body ignites with the contact, and I lean into him. His lips are soft and they taste perfect and I want more. His fingers press into my back, and I can tell he’s restraining himself. He pulls away from the kiss, and I follow him, not ready to let him go. He laughs softly. “I hadn’t planned on doing that yet. But I couldn’t resist.”
“I would be fine with you doing it again.” He kisses me again, this time it’s not soft, our mouths pressing together desperately, both of us trying to get closer. When he lets me go my head is spinning, and I grab onto his arm to keep my balance in my heels. “Wow.”
“I’m tempted to just keep kissing you all night,” he says quietly.
“But?”
“But we’ll miss our reservation,” he says, taking my hand again, drawing me towards the building in front of us.
I was so taken with him I hadn’t even noticed. The sign says Masa. “Wait, Masa?” I ask. This is one of the most expensive, most exclusive restaurants in the city. “How did you even manage to get a reservation here?”
“I have my ways.” He grins, placing my hand on his arm and guiding me inside.
The inside is dim, the decor sleek asian fusion with low tables and straight lines, accented with a gentle curving decor that hints at traditional Japanese art. I rarely eat sushi, but that’s because less expensive sushi never tastes very good. Here, I can’t even imagine. There’s barely anyone here—it’s still early for dinner, and the host leads us to a table with a view overlooking Columbus Circle and the park.
As we approach the table, Jet leans down and whispers something in my ear. “I have something for you.”
“Other than the tulip?”
He picks up a small black gift bag sitting on his chair. “Yes.”
I try to contain the size of my smile. “Thank you.”
“Not here,” he says, his hand closing over mine as I’m about to open the bag. “Go to the restroom, and put on what’s inside.”
He says it simply, like he doesn’t expect me to argue. He has that hungry look in his eyes and I want him to kiss me again. I already know I’m going to go put on whatever is in this bag, but I have to know something first. “Did you bring me out to dinner because you wanted dinner with me? Or because you wanted another one of these tests?”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to my neck, just below my ear. “I absolutely wanted to have dinner with you,” he says, barely a whisper. “And I wanted to have a little fun while I did it.”
His tongue flicks out against my skin, and a matching tongue of heat rolls down directly into my pussy. “I’ll be right back,” I say, having difficulty pulling away, and I hear him laugh softly as I walk away from the table.
I lean against the door of the bathroom, catching my breath. The way Jet affects me is insane. If I make it through dinner without jumping across the table at him, I’ll be lucky.
Locking myself into one of the stalls, I dig through the tissue paper in the bag to find a small box. It’s a toy—I knew it would be, and thanks to my research for work I know exactly what it is. I open the box to reveal the odd, purple shape of the We-Vibe Sync, a toy used most often by couples. But one of the features people really like is that the vibrations can sync with your music, or with your phone as a remote. So even if you’re far apart, your partner can still control it. It also comes with a close range remote, but I don’t find it in the box.
Then it hits me. He wants me to put this on. There’s no remote. He has the remote or has already synced this toy with his phone. And he wants me to wear this during dinner? In public?
I feel myself dampen, and I’m embarrassed by how turned on that makes me. I’m not totally sure that I’m ready for this, but the idea of it has me squirming. On the one hand, this could be really stupid and embarrassing. On the other hand, why the hell not? I adjust the toy, making it snug—I don’t want any chance of it falling out. When I slip it inside my underwear, I’m already wet, and it has no problem sliding in. It settles against me, the front of the toy resting on my clit, the inside portion resting against my G-spot, hugging me.
The last couple of days I’ve learned just how effective those two places can be, and I think that both at the same time might tear me apart.
This does make me wonder about him though—Jet. Who is he? I don’t actually know anything about him. I don’t know if I can trust him. The fact that a virtual stranger just asked me to put on a sex toy at dinner shouldn’t make me damp with anticipation, but it does. What if I’m entirely wrong about the vibe I get from him? But—another part of my mind says—you
r gut has never been wrong before. You spend most of your time in a bubble, researching and analyzing everything to death. This is an opportunity to be spontaneous. To be fun. Work with it.
Coming out of the stall, I nod to myself in the mirror. I’m going for it. Cutting loose, just this once.
I toss the box and the bag in the trash—I don’t think I’ll be needing them again. Then I steel myself to do something I never thought I’d do: go out in public wearing a remote control vibrator.
