Chapter 25 Misbehave
MISBEHAVE
Michelle
The car waited at the curb outside my building.
In a crisp black suit and a matching cap, the driver held open the door.
I slid into the backseat alone. The car was cool, the air-conditioning whirring softly.
I needed the chill because of the warm September evening, and because I was sure I’d be burning up soon enough.
Good thing I was meeting Jack at Lincoln Center.
If he were in the car with me right now, I’d surely be pushing the partition button, rolling it up, and causing all sorts of trouble.
As delicious as that sounded, I wanted to arrive calm and still put together, rather than already in a fevered frenzy. Especially given what I was wearing. Under my cranberry-red dress, a silky number that hugged my curves, I wore the peach lingerie and Jack’s gift.
When I’d opened the pretty black shopping bag in my building’s lobby, I wasn’t surprised to find a white box with the silver J embossed on it.
Still, the possibilities of what it might be thrilled me.
I’d held the bag close in the elevator, holding onto my naughty secret, then tighter still as I walked down the hall until I reached 7E, where I lived.
Once inside, I’d opened it with eager fingers, so damn curious and admittedly, already turned on, to see what he’d given me.
After showering, blow-drying my hair, and applying makeup, I’d put on the gift underneath my panties.
I’d never felt so sexy in my life, knowing he wanted me to wear it on our date.
Now, anticipation threaded through me, like a plume of smoke from a genie’s lamp.
A promise of wishes coming true. Of pleasure enveloping me.
The driver pulled up at Lincoln Center and my gaze landed on the gorgeous fountain in the middle of the plaza, water shooting up in arcs, lit up like fireworks as the sprays cascaded.
I’d been here many times for shows and events, but the fountain always awed me with its beauty.
The driver opened my door, and I grabbed my clutch purse, then thanked him before he drove off.
I gathered a bit of fabric from the dress in my hand so I could walk up the steps more easily, even as the toy rubbed against me from inside my panties.
My Louboutins clicked against the stones as I joined the sea of art lovers—men in tuxes and suits, women in formal dresses and gowns, humans milling about on a warm evening, waiting to see the ballet, to watch a play, to listen to the New York Philharmonic play a Brahms symphony.
I scanned the crowds for Jack, hunting out his dark hair, his chiseled jawline, his cool blue eyes, and his strong body.
I’d know him anywhere, the feel of him, the shape of him, the cut of his shoulders, the trim lines of his waist. How his suits and shirts and pants hung on him so well.
But he was nowhere to be seen. I turned in a circle, laughing to myself because the twirl was timed to a string quartet playing several feet away.
An older couple ambled past, the woman with her hand clasped around the man’s forearm.
Across the plaza, couples and families made their way into the Vivian Beaumont Theater to see a Sondheim revival.
On the other side of the fountain, a young woman in a form-fitting dress sat with a man in a suit who was making her laugh.
I looked once more for Jack, checking my watch. He’d said to meet him at seven-fifty at the fountain, and it was seven-fifty-one. Jack was an on-time kind of guy. Most military, active or not, were pretty damn punctual, so I was surprised.
Then my breath hitched, and I clasped my hands over my belly, as if that would somehow hide my reaction. I did my best to stay still even as the silent vibrations sped up ever so briefly between my legs. This wearable butterfly was stronger than I’d expected.
As quickly as it started, the sensation stopped, fading away in an instant.
I surveyed the plaza again, making a quick lap around the fountain, but Jack still wasn’t in sight.
I wanted to see him and wanted him to know that one quick burst of pleasure from the remote control was already working, ratcheting up my longing for him.
But I could only wait until he appeared or did it again.
I walked through the crowds to the middle of the plaza, weaving through the throngs of people when the rattling began anew.
I nearly stopped in my tracks because the pleasure was so intense, the quick hit of buzzing on my most sensitive spot from the butterfly inside my panties.
A flurry of tingles ignited in my belly, spreading rapidly through my chest.
The buzzing grew stronger, and the intensity of the vibration was centered completely on my clit.
I drew another sharp, silent breath, swallowed and turned around, coming face-to-face with a wickedly grinning Jack Sullivan.
The man was beautiful—so stunning in a tailored suit that fit him like a dream, a crisp white shirt, and a thin black tie that I wanted to grab, and use to tug him close to me.
But I didn’t dare move. He was a man who cherished control, and since he did so many amazing things to me with it, I’d let him keep having it.
That was the bargain, and it was a fair trade, because I trusted him with my pleasure.
He loved to give it, but he also loved to control it. I could handle my half of that deal.
He held up his right hand, pressed on something with his thumb and flashed a satisfied smile. As soon as he hit the device in his hand, the buzzing stopped. I missed it; I wanted to grab hold of the remote, and bring that feeling back before it escaped me.
“I’m so sorry to have made you wait,” he murmured, dusting my cheek with his lips. He barely left an imprint; it was the softest, faintest kiss he’d ever given me and it made me crave so much more. It was a teaser kiss, a hint of what was to come.
“I didn’t mind waiting,” I said, raising an eyebrow, letting him know I could play along.
“Good. The philharmonic is going to start soon, but they have this great string quartet that plays rock songs in the plaza before the symphony begins. Dance with me.”
“Of course,” I said, placing my hands on his shoulders as he brought me in close.
His right hand was curled in a fist over my shoulder.
The string quartet began playing “We Are Young” by Fun featuring Janelle Monáe, and the upbeat anthem was in stark contrast to how I felt inside—like a torch-song was being sung by my body. A song of longing.
“You look stunning. Are you wearing the peach panties?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“What do you think?” I countered, my blood still racing with the anticipation of when he’d hit the remote again and send a fresh rush of hot, fast vibration between my legs. He gave new meaning to the term “having the keys to her body.”
“What do you think about this September weather we’re having?” he asked, and it began again. The humming was faint this time. A low pulse, a flickering against me, like a teasing promise.
The pop song grew louder, nearing the chorus. I was grateful for the background noise. Perhaps it masked all I felt in my body. “It is quite hot for late September,” I said, and we weren’t talking about the weather.
“Fall is one of my favorite times of year in Manhattan,” he said, in a casual, offhand voice, as if he were musing on the vagaries of the sun and moon and stars.
“Me too,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I possibly could, even as the pressure increased. I hadn’t realized he’d turned it up, so subtle was his touch against the tiny remote in his hand.
“And fall colors? The red, and gold and oranges,” he said, as he spun me in a circle, holding only my right hand.
I felt terribly vulnerable, as if the world around us, the fancy crowds, the rich patrons, and the glitterati of Manhattan knew what he was doing to me.
But they couldn’t, could they? I kept my face stony even as I wanted to unleash a guttural moan of primal pleasure.
“They’ll be coming soon,” he added, returning me to his arms.
“Will they?” I asked in a ragged voice. My bones felt liquid. My body was electric as the vibrator thrummed against my wet, hot center. I wasn’t far off now. I was dying to throw my arms around him, to rub up against him, to yank him into a dark corner and let him have his way completely.
“Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll come later,” he said, a devilish glint in his eyes, as he pressed down again on the remote in his hand.
The vibrations stopped, and I nearly stumbled into him. I wanted to curse him. I’d been so close. I was hovering now, but I wasn’t going over the edge.
I grabbed his jacket. “You cruel bastard,” I said with narrowed eyes. I didn’t mean it as an insult.
He reached for my hand, threaded his fingers through mine, and guided me inside the hall, the bells inside sounding that it was time for the audience to find their seats.
“Did you enjoy ‘We Are Young’?” Jack asked, as he led me to the balcony seats on the right side of the expansive auditorium.
The hall was a rich, warm brown with soft lights that cast an inviting feel across the seats, almost creating an afternoon glow.
What sounded like Mozart piped overhead as patrons took their places.
“I did. Very clever to play pop songs like that.”
As I sat down, Jack planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’m terribly cruel, I know,” he whispered, addressing my earlier comment.
“You are the worst.”
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” he said, flashing his winning smile.
Eventually, I wanted to say. Isn’t that the plan after thirty nights? To leave each other? Instead, I kept up the game. “Not yet.”