"These cabs aren't as big as London cabs, love," he whispered.
"I know, but I can't wait," I said. "I've got to have you, now. Besides, we're lucky we got one with leg room," I giggled, slurring a bit, shifting my black-stockinged legs across his suited ones on his side of the back seat, letting my high-heeled pump dangle from my foot and my short velvet skirt ride up my smooth thighs, revealing the lacy tops of my stockings and matching garters.
From the drivers' seat, a pair of dark flashing eyes watched, intently, as honking throngs of post-theater and post-concert Manhattan traffic ground to a near-halt approaching Columbus Circle.
.............
We'd gone to a cocktail party at the Dakota, a ridiculously boring one. I was wearing a tight black velvet cocktail dress, long-sleeved but low-cut, presumably modest but terribly sexy, showing off my substantial cleavage and long toned legs to perfection.
I'd dressed in those garters, black lace ones, holding up lace-topped black stockings, neither of which I well knew he couldn't resist. The dress was just long enough to cover the stocking tops and just safe enough to risk a thong, daring even for me. Nothing else but simple diamonds in my ears, upswept dark curls and high heels were required, and not a man in the room could keep their eyes off me.
Six feet tall, voluptuous, and all his. But on display for all to see...
Just because I arrived on the arm of the handsomest man in the room didn't mean I couldn't flirt with all the rest, and that made him insane. Insane, and horny.
Leaning into a crowd of stockbrokers, tossing my head back in fake-laughter, touching the shoulder of my firms' senior partner, resting my hand on a woman's' knee...glass after glass of champagne and the feel of velvet and lace on my bare thighs and ass, and I was an unstoppable flirt.
At one point I felt a strong hand at the small of my back; even in heels, he was a shade taller than I. I flashed my sweetest smile at a group of handsome but dull Swedish insurance executives and strode away, with a bit more of a wiggle than necessary.
We were on the balcony, alone, and I could feel stray curls coming loose. "Now, Andrew, darling, is there a problem?"
"Alexa," he hissed, "you are showing yourself far too much here! These are your colleagues and mine! What will they-"
I put a burgundy-tipped finger on his full lips. "Shhhh, love. Are you saying you don't like how I look?" I gave a quick twirl, showing off my lacy black thong and garters, and bare ass as well, effectively flashing Central Park West from the twentieth-floor balcony.
"Sweetheart!" His dark eyes blazing with anger, he grabbed me around the waist; however, the bulge in his dark suit betrayed his true feelings.