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It's an iconic cocktail dress—the kind of dress that hugs your every curve like a second skin. The neckline is built to plunge deeply between my breasts and is held up with a single halter-top that clasps with a gold buckle. My back is exposed, and the dress's hemline ends well before my knees.
I think this dress will do the trick tonight.
I've added an extra wave to my hair with a curling iron, and I carefully applied a smoky eye shadow with a healthy layer of mascara. And this look wouldn't be complete without a classic red lipstick, so I add that too at the last minute.
I hear another knock at the door, and I open it.
Standing outside is Ethan. He's wearing a suit that looks like something out of a James Bond movie. My god he's hot… so clean cut and … chiseled under that form-fitting suit.
"You look beautiful," he says, extending me his hand. He carefully walks me to street.
"I'd say you clean up nicely as well," I grin. Together we walk to the limo where his driver is holding a door open for us. We slide into the cold leather seats, and I scoot close to him, inhaling his masculinity.
"Where are we headed?" I ask.
"Are you ready for amazing views of the city?" he asks.
"I'm intrigued," I say. "And I do love a good view."
"Rockefeller Center," he replies. "We're going to the very top."
"You certainly have good taste," I purr, running my hand across his chest. I lean in and bring my lips to his, pressing against him softly—just enough to give him a taste—and I pull away. He gives me a devilish grin, but before he can say anything, the limo stops and the driver opens our door, ushering us out.
That was a quick ride. Time flies when you're with a hot man.
We walk into Rockefeller Center, and once we take an elevator up to the restaurant, I find myself with a world-class view of New York City. Thousands of lights glitter and dance across the landscape as if a diamond necklace has been draped across the skyline.
I don't care how many times I've seen this view. It never gets old.
The waiter approaches and offers us a wine from their extensive wine list. Ethan orders us a Pinot Noir. I watch as it's carefully poured into an oversized wine glass and the deep aroma fills my head before the alcohol does. I take a sip and feel myself floating on its rich, velvet blanket of earth and berries.
I extend my foot under our table until my heel reaches Ethan's leg. I slowly drag it upwards until I know that I'm inches from his cock.
He shifts in his chair and we lock eyes. He reaches toward me with his own leg, but I move just out of reach. He seems disappointed, but the waiter interrupts and brings us a dazzling plate of oysters on ice, which momentarily diverts our focus.
"These are deep, cold-water oysters," Ethan says after the waiter walks away. "They're saltier than the other varieties. Eating one of these is like being slapped by an ocean wave."
"Hmm… a salty slap. I like the sound of that," I wink.
I reach over and grab a wedge of lemon and squeeze it on top of one. I watch as the oyster seems to shiver and recoil under the acidity.
"I think it just moved," I say.
"It should. The best way to eat an oyster is to eat a live one. Don't settle for anything less."
"I never knew you were such an authority on this subject."
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he grins. He reaches over to touch my arm. I let him for a moment, but pull away. I can see the confusion on his face.
But I know I need to gain his trust, so I grab another oyster, squeeze lemon on it and bring it to my lips.
I tilt my head back, exposing my neck to Ethan, and I part my lips just enough to take the oyster in and allow it to slide down my throat. He watches me, never lifting his gaze.
I smile and grab his hand. Placing one of his fingers between my lips, I suck on it. "I don't know what's tastier, you or this oyster," I purr.
"I like that sound of that," he smiles. He reaches up to stroke my cheek, but again, I pull away.
This game of back and forth is driving him crazy.
