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I grab his hand and slide it under my dress. “Sex me up.”
His hand glides up my thigh, and he growls. “No panties to a formal event? I wish I had known sooner in the evening.”
After the event, I ran back to the bathroom and removed my panties, hoping Bryce would get close enough during the evening to notice. The suggestion of stopping for a drink wasn’t part of my initial plan, but I’m determined to make it work.
“I intend on sexing you up. That’s a promise you can count on.”
The invitation is too irresistible.
“I can’t wait.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He scours the lounge, and catches the waiter’s attention.
After he settles the bill, we’re off.
I press the elevator button four times in a row.
Come on. Come on.
“Fuck that.” Bryce takes my hand and forces me to follow him. He opens the door under the exit sign.
“We’re taking the stairs?!”
The door closes behind him, and he pins me against the wall.
Before I can react, he has one hand plunged inside my dress reaching for my breast and the other unzipping me. I’m nervous, excited, and turned on all at the same time because I have never done anything like this in public before.
Yesterday at the restaurant, he blocked the door to the private room with a chair, but today, anyone could fling open that door and catch us in the act.
He pushes down the top of my dress, unhooks my bra, and leans towards my breasts. He cups one with his hand as he kisses, sucks, and pinches the other erected nipple. He moves the hand cupping my breast down to my legs and lifts my dress to reach between my wet lips.
This is so risqué and so hot! “Bryce, I’m going to melt!”
“I want you too much. There’s no way I can wait until we get back to the hotel.”
I’m going to have sex in the exit staircase of a Manhattan building?!
“Amanda, what have you done to me? I can’t get enough of you,” he says, as he forces my hand to cup his hard-on.
As I fumble to release his cock, voices echo from the other side of the door.
We both freeze.
My eyes fly up to meet Bryce’s.
He places a finger over his mouth.
I won’t make a noise. I don’t want to get caught.
We wait in silence for the voices to dissipate, but a group of chatty New Yorkers has decided to strike a conversation about a recent celebrity drama, interrupting our passionate interlude. They’re going on and on about it.
Fuck.
When it’s quiet again, I sigh in relief.
Finally.
