My name is Sophie. I was born Sophie Roberts and later became Mrs. Pendleton, and if I'm honest, I know I have a life that many would be jealous of. My father is rich, not only rich but disgustingly wealthy and my husband comes from one of the oldest and renowned families in the state of Virginia. Because of this I've been pretty much spoiled all my life. I was sent to the best schools and universities money could buy and at the age of twenty-two, after broadening my mind, I decided to expand my horizons and see the world before settling down and getting a job.

During my travels, I learned a couple of languages, how and when to behave like a lady and, more importantly, how not to, and despite my plans to the contrary, I met my husband, David Pendleton in the Rembrandt museum in Amsterdam, of all places.

He was a State department official and he had a passion for art. I was there with a girlfriend and, hearing our American accents, he started chatting to us. After returning Stateside we began dating and within a year, I went from being a spoilt, New York rich bitch to becoming a high society wife of Washington. Soon thereafter our children, a son and daughter, were born and David’s career continued soaring. The kids are now worrying about which university they want to attend and hubby’s an important aide to the Secretary of State. Although I enjoy the hustle and bustle of Washington’s political life, I'm a New York gal born and bred and I take every chance I get to visit the Big Apple.

When in town I always stay at my penthouse in Manhattan. It’s there that I feel like the real me and can relax. No surprise really because it’s the one Daddy bought me after my graduation. It hasn’t changed much since those days, very minimalist, but comfortable. The pictures on the walls wouldn’t be called art by the purists because they are mostly prints of my favorite album covers, but I like them and that’s all that matters. With all the advantages bestowed upon me from an early age, one could become very conceited, but luckily my down-to-earth character and wicked sense of humour seems to make me popular. To be honest, life is good and yet...

I have everything a person could possibly want and yet I can't help feeling unfulfilled and bored. If the truth be told, my life is in a rut. Everything seems to be unfolding according to some deities blueprint of perfection but, deep inside, I crave something more. Something dangerous, something chaotic, something unpredictable.

******

To rid myself of this nagging feeling, I'd flown to New York to spend the afternoon shopping. In the upper east side, I visited several stores on Madison Avenue looking for something new for my summer wardrobe but even after purchasing several new outfits which perfectly complimented my blonde hair and green eyes, I still couldn't help wondering why I felt unfulfilled.

Assured that my acquisitions would be delivered to my home, I stepped into the bright afternoon sunshine with a feeling of restlessness coursing through my veins. On impulse, I hailed a passing cab and asked the driver to take me somewhere adventurous. With the children at summer camp and David accompanying the Secretary of State on an emergency visit to the Middle East, I was a "free agent" figuratively speaking.

Relieved of the mundane, my restless soul was on the lookout for something different. I knew I couldn’t invite any girlfriends, even the more disrespectful ones, because somehow I knew they wouldn't understand my need to do something "reckless." Sitting in the back of the cab, I couldn't ignore the feeling of exhilaration slowly enveloping me. After crossing the East river to Brooklyn, the taxi pulled up outside a rather old, seedy looking building with the word "Hotel" four stories high. I began to wonder if I'd regret my new found adventurism.

"The rooftop lounge gives you the best views of Manhattan this side of the river and this hotel is popular with everyone. Businessmen, musicians, artists and even a few actors. They're about as different as you can get," announced my taxi driver with a knowing wink. He wasn't wrong.

The sun was still warm as I took my seat and the view was just as the driver had promised: breathtaking. Feeling parched, I ordered a bottle of mineral water to quench my thirst and a Black Russian to enjoy whilst unhurriedly watching the late afternoon sun gradually disappear behind some of the most famous buildings in the world. Sitting there, I could feel the excitement forming a tight little knot in my stomach as I wondered what destiny had in store for me.

Absently nibbling on the snacks so thoughtfully provided while I waited for my drinks, I scanned my immediate surroundings. This place was obviously used to a young, hip and trendy crowd because it slowly dawned on me that, even though there was a few business types amongst the arty figures and the smattering of musicians I didn’t recognise, I was possibly one of the oldest and more respectably clothed persons present. My recce was cut short by the arrival of the attractive waitress bringing me drinks.

I downed the water and was contentedly nipping at the Black Russian unaware I'd attracted the attention of a small group of men until I felt their stares. There was one in particular who seemed unable to stop himself from repeatedly glancing my way despite being in an animated conversation with a couple of buddies.

He was older than his colleagues, somewhere in his mid-forties, I guessed, and seemed to exude the ease and confidence that comes from maturity and experience. Averting my gaze before he noticed me staring, I couldn't help thinking how handsome he was. I wondered if I dared meet his glance and if so what would happen. Then, as I looked in his direction, our eyes met. In a moment of true reckless abandonment, I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, my skirt riding high up my thighs. Even though I was wearing panties, I couldn't help thinking about the infamous scene from “Basic Instinct” and, smiling to myself, I wondered what he thought of my brazen behaviour.

I was surprised to see him still staring at me but I couldn’t deny the flash of recognition and understanding in that moment, something I hadn't expected. Then, turning the tables on me, I watched him say something to his friends, get up and stroll casually towards me.

“I see your glass is almost empty,” he said politely. “May I buy you another?” His cultured British accent sent ripples of pleasure running down my spine. Afraid the sudden dryness in my throat would cause me to croak, I just nodded and gestured for him to sit down. His head bobbed forward, thanking me curtly before signaling to the waitress to bring us some fresh drinks. Then he elegantly took his seat.

There was that awkward moment when strangers, having met each other then wonder what to do next but my handsome new table companion gave me a dazzling smile and simply said, “Hi, I’m James," and held out his hand. "I’m from London, here on business."

His gaze surveyed the rooftop bar before he spoke again. "Although I'm not a regular at this establishment, I do have to agree with my colleagues." His eyes surreptitiously travelled up and down my body, taking in every detail. "The views are fantastic." His voice betrayed not the slightest hint of sarcasm but his eyes sparkled mischievously.

Now I had to respond.

Shaking the proffered hand, I surprised myself. “I’m Sophie Pend… Price. I’m a... computer specialist. Pleased to meet you, James."

Even as we shook hands, I silently reprimanded myself for not being able to lie convincingly and at the same time wondered why I felt the need to distort the truth. Not wanting to dig a much bigger hole for myself, I decided to stop lying but also decided to keep the facts to a minimal and the conversation superficial. No mention of the kids, no husband and nothing about my true identity. Easy right? Easier said than done, that's for sure.

While we conversed, I couldn’t deny the underlying current between us. He was definitely my type: dark, handsome, smart... And his dry British humour was very amusing. Considering he'd approached me, I assumed he liked what he’d seen, but to make sure, I repeated my earlier move, displaying a large expanse of tanned thigh. James’s eyes sparkled in the late evening sun while he watched my sexy moves but, to my pleasant surprise, he didn't try hitting on me or feeding me corny chat up lines. Instead he continued to talk about his work, travel and something we both felt passionate about: music.

Although we both had an extensive library attached to our Spotify accounts it came as a surprise to discover I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the experience of vinyl records. James was surprised to hear my musical taste, contrary to my appearance, was for rock, grunge and the new phenomena that was currently conquering Europe, industrial rock spearheaded by a German band called Rammstein. It was interesting to hear how much he shared my aversion to the current trend in the popular music industry that put looks and a quick buck ahead of real talent and the way Dj’s were replacing bands as main acts.

“I do have to confess, Sophie,” James began, not a little patronisingly, “that as an Englishman I can't understand you Americans and your fascination with rap music."

Although I agreed with him, as a native New Yorker, I did feel the need to defend what was one of my city’s most famous export products. "And I suppose you think music has never been the same since the Beatles," I retorted, my hand gently resting on his forearm.

"No, but after five minutes of listening to rap, I do wonder if they're speaking the same language as me," he replied dryly, looking intently into my green eyes. There was a definite click between us and I'm sure both of us could feel the sexual tension increase every time we "accidentally" touched each other. Every brief contact sent an electric charge pulsating through my nervous system, making it hard for me to concentrate. All I did know was that I hadn't felt this alive for a very long time.

As he continued expounding his opinions, captivating me, his hand casually covered mine and, without thinking, I found myself leaning towards him. This didn’t go unnoticed and James was looking at me intently. That's when I realised I wasn’t the only one captivated by what I saw and heard. James was hungrily looking at the swell of my breasts and the lace edge of my bra as my loose fitting silk blouse draped away from me.

Then he did something that caused me to flinch.

He took my hand and, without saying another word, guided it under the table onto his crotch. “I think we both know what's happening here,” he said confidently. “I suppose we should get the business side of things out of the way before we proceed any further,” he continued calmly. “How much do you charge for an evening's..." He paused and looked at me purposefully... "entertainment?"

Although my fingers could feel a hardness I hadn't felt for a while, I was taken aback by what he was insinuating. He'd obviously mistaken me for some sort of prostitute. Probably a very expensive one to be sure, but a prostitute just the same. The irony of the situation was comical and although my initial reaction was to feel insulted, after a couple of seconds contemplation I thought, "Why not? I can do this."

While my mind raced with the possible consequences of what I was thinking about, James surreptitiously removed his hand. I hadn’t noticed and, when I finally saw what he'd done, my mind was pretty much made up. I looked at him sultrily and smiled. My fingers began squeezing his manhood, traversing the length through the soft fabric of his trousers, mentally measuring him while our eyes met. He was looking at me expectantly and I smiled back indulgently.

"My company, exclusively for the rest of the evening," I said in a detached manner I assumed a prostitute would use for such negotiations, "will cost you fifteen hundred dollars." To make sure there wasn't any misunderstanding between us I began enthusiastically masturbating his hard shaft. "I assure you, James I'm worth it." Another squeeze sealed the deal.

“That's no problem, Sophie,” he said confidently, "but I think we should vacate these premises immediately.” I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, sorry, to go to my suite before your expert fingers make it impossible for me to leave the table without embarrassing myself,“ James explained, his voice hoarse. Although I was enjoying my role as temptress I had to stifle a giggle at his honesty and enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

My mind, still racing at what was happening, was only outpaced by my heartbeat but the shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins from this spontaneous audacity was just what I needed. Nevertheless, knowing what James expected caused a cold sweat to form on my back and, despite the voice in the back of my head telling me this was exactly what I was looking for, a shiver of apprehension ran down my spine. I’d always regarded myself as the perfect wife and in the past had scorned girlfriends who’d needed to have affairs. But now I completely understood their motives. I needed to break the comfortable conventions that were suffocating me, even if it was dangerous, reckless and foolhardy; I couldn’t stop myself. Something more powerful than common sense was compelling me. James casually finished his drink and then nodded decisively.

“Shall we?"

He stood up and offered a hand which I thankfully accepted as I was sure my limbs wouldn’t be able to support me properly at that moment. Trying to act calm and businesslike, when what’s happening is completely at odds with the truth, seemed impossible but I couldn't stop now, even if I wanted to. Displaying a confidence I didn't feel, I teasingly blew a kiss at my ‘client’s’ business associates when James rested his hand on my rump as we left the bar.

We had to wait for an elevator to arrive and I could sense the difficulty James was having, keeping his hands off me, but once inside the steel and mirrored box he pulled me towards him and kissed me passionately, his mouth warm and his lips soft.

The kiss was breathtaking and was immediately followed by another only, this time, his hands began wandering over my receptive body. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I couldn't help wondering if high class escorts normally kissed their "tricks" like this, but James wasn't complaining so neither did I. The familiar ping announced our arrival at his floor and, when the doors opened, he tried letting go of me. However, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in years and I was enjoying myself too much to stop now. Eventually though, my unbridled passion proved to much and, knowing we’d get arrested for public indecency if we continued, I released my hold on him so he could lead me eagerly to his suite.

I followed him, my face flushed with excitement, aware that things had already gone too far but also knowing there was no going back. Not that I wanted to. My senses were heightened with adrenaline, fed by the fear and danger of the unknown and, without wanting to sound like a true slut, I was unbelievably turned on. I was secreting so badly I was afraid he could smell my passion as he opened the door and allowed me to enter before double locking it behind us.

Then he grabbed my arms, holding them against the wall above my head, pinning me there with his hard body while kissing me deeply. Gasping for breath, we began unbuttoning each other’s buttons, clumsily in our haste, but not without success.

I felt the warmth of his skin on mine as we feverishly continued kissing; his lips on mine, then down my neck and finally along my bare shoulders. Our hands explored our bodies, caressing and squeezing everything we touched. A soft grunt escaped his lips when I pinched one of his nipples, but he didn't pull away. Finally, James leaned back a little, giving himself the room to bend forward and kiss the swell of my breasts. A shiver of excitement ran down my spine. His large hands cupped them easily, still encased in flimsy lace lingerie and he lifted them to his mouth, gently biting my erect nipples, before reaching behind me for the clasp. That ignited the smoldering passion into a blazing inferno.

Sensing the urgency of the moment we began discarding the rest of our clothes. The sound of belt buckles and zippers filled the hallway as his trousers landed on top of my skirt, already lying in a heap on the floor. Stepping out of our underwear, our gazes met as we simultaneously admired each others body. Playing my part as a call girl, I reached for his erection and felt the strength within. Massaging his balls, I felt how full of spunk they were and I was determined to empty them. There was a bead of pre-cum on the circumcised head and I bent forward. I heard him moan as my tongue drew little circles around his slit and his salty flavour enticed my taste buds. Before I got carried away, James pulled me upright and hurriedly led me to the bed. Taking control, he pushed me onto it.

“I am not going to be gentle," he growled, “You’ve had me hard from the moment I first saw you across the bar."

“That's how I want it, Baby," I said huskily, "Nice and hard."

I wondered if I was overdoing things; wondered what a real prostitute would say in this situation. Even though I knew I was playing a part, my words weren't an act. The whirlwind of fear and nervousness had passed and had been replaced by something more powerful: a deep hunger for this stranger.

He grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards the edge of the bed, resting my legs against his shoulders. His fingers dived between my thighs and split my labia, searching and finding my slick opening ready and willing and, for the first time in years, another man's fingers delved deep inside me. I gasped and bit my lip in both pleasure and guilt as I felt his warm breath wafting softly over the insides of my thighs, causing goosebumps to appear on my arms while I waited with baited breath to feel his tongue where his fingers were.

Although I wanted more, James wasn't finished and when I pushed my hips against his hand, I heard the erotic squelching sound his fingers were making. Without warning, I felt his tongue touch me, reaching between the cleft of my buttocks, teasing my asshole before sliding leisurely along the length of my slit towards my swollen clit. Lying on my back, my hands clenching the bed sheets, scrunching them tightly as James gorged himself on my salty nectar, it was my turn to moan loudly.

“Oooh James," I pleaded unprofessionally, "take me right now."

That was all he needed to hear. After kneeling on the bed and placing my calves either side of his head he positioned his cock exactly where we both wanted and looked deep into my eyes. Clamping my lips together, I nodded and without a word, he plunged into me. He didn't stop until he was completely buried inside and his wiry pubic hair tickled my swollen labia. I could feel his balls pressing against my buttocks and I raised my hips to allow an even deeper penetration. James leant over me, almost bending me in half, his powerful arms either side of my torso and his cock throbbing away inside me. Then he began to fuck me, hard.

Obviously under the impression that he was entitled to do what he pleased because I was a paid professional, James showed me no mercy. His cock plunged inside me like some unrelenting jack hammer and, at first, it took my breath away. Then I realised this was what I wanted. There was nothing gentle going on here, this was animalistic rutting. A wild stallion claiming his mare to ensure the continuation of his progeny. I moaned loudly, moving my hips in time with his, ensuring the deepest penetration possible. The sound of hard flesh slapping against wanton flesh filled the room, reverberating off the walls in a wild chorus of sexual abandonment.

James reached down to cup my buttocks, spreading them obscenely. His fingers played with my rear entrance, rubbing the copious juices gently into it, and I heard myself whisper, "Yes, yes, yes." Although it was barely audible, James understood and, within seconds, his fingertip was pushing past my tight sphincter. I was amazed at how easily his digit entered me and was even more beside myself as one eventually became two. James wasn't holding back now. He was fucking me like a man possessed. It wasn't loving or tender, this was exciting and brutal and, like a bitch in heat, I was in ecstasy.

With a start, I realised the truth about myself. I wasn't Sophie the trophy wife of a high-ranking diplomat, playing the part of a well paid prostitute, I'd always been Sophie the high class whore, acting like a high society wife.

Our hips moved in unison as he pounded into me, time and time again pushing me towards the precipice until I couldn't take any more. My breathing quickened and my muscles began contracting around his flesh, gripping him, milking him. My orgasm must have set him off because seconds later he thrust deep inside me and hot sperm flooded my silken tunnel. My hands squeezed the sheets tightly while my head thrashed from side to side, calling out his name. My abdominal muscles throbbed wildly around his pulsating manhood and, as I pushed my hips against his loins trying to pull him in deeper, neither of us uttered a word. We communicated in a more primal way.

While we lay there, panting heavily, our bodies gradually returning to normal, I couldn't help comparing this to my usual domestic love making. ‘No contest,’ I thought, smiling to myself as our sweet cocktail began seeping down the cleft of my buttocks. James carefully extracted himself from our embrace and I couldn't help feeling more than a little disappointed as his cock slipped from my warm, wet sheath. Moving me to the middle of the bed he lay down in beside me.

“You're very good at what you do, Sophie,” he said, complimenting me unnecessarily. “That felt almost real.”

Unsure of what sort of response was appropriate, I just said, “I always try to keep the customer happy.”

Although I couldn't tell him the truth, that would have spoilt everything, my reaction to this man's hot loving wasn't acting at all, it was real. The excitement of someone new and unknown had contributed to my not holding back, but...

Was this how a pro would feel, I wondered? I supposed not. Anyone who did this for a living wouldn't have let themselves go like I had. There was always a small part of their consciousness keeping things in control. It was business after all and successful business people don't let emotions take control. That wasn't an issue for me today, my whole life was an exercise in control and that’s what I was trying to escape.

James began caressing and fondling me again, only this time his touch had lost its urgency. His kisses began in the nape of my neck and moved slowly, sensually down my body, his lips touching everywhere, right down to my ankles and toes. Despite this being more like the sort of loving touch I’d receive from my husband, I couldn't help getting turned on again.

As he worked his way up my thighs, I reached out and pulled him upwards. Our lips met and our tongues entwined while my hand slipped between us. His cock was still recovering from our earlier union but the signs were promising so I decided to help a little. As he grew in my hand, I slid my other hand over his buttocks, reaching for his backdoor. There was a sharp intake of breath as my finger pushed past his ring. Immediately I felt him grow and stiffen in my hand, returning to his former glory. Not content to just enjoy my administration's James busied himself between my thighs, playing with me, teasing my clit, but it was my turn to take charge.

"James, just lay back and let me do what I do best," I said, pushing him back into the soft pillows.

Taking hold of the root of his cock, I knelt between his splayed legs. My lips engulfed him, sliding down the smooth shaft until he filled my mouth. As I sucked and I licked him, I heard him moaning erotically. For the next ten minutes, my world consisted of James's large prick, his tight ass and his big balls, still heavy with spunk. I used every trick in the book to bring him to the point of exploding. Not only did I take him deep in my throat, I used my hands to wank him hard when I sucked his balls, one by one. I even buried fingers deep in his asshole which he loved because not once did he try and stop me, instead lying there groaning in ecstasy as I brought him ever closer to an orgasm.

What he hadn't banked on was my ability to bring him to the verge of exploding before evilly thwarting his climax. Time and again his hips bucked violently only to be denied the ultimate release by a well-placed thumb and fingers wrapped tightly around his shaft. The last time I'd almost misjudged things and, with my tongue still running little circles around his helmet, he groaned out loud, calling me his, "Beautiful American bitch" whilst trying to hold my head where it was. I shook him off because this was my party now and I was doing things my way. Somehow, this defiance only seemed to make him grow bigger and thicker and by the way his body convulsed, I knew I'd stopped just in time.

Then, like a very hungry pussy cat watching a trapped mouse, I stared at him with a sultry glint in my eye. He was watching me intently as I climbed above him, straddling his prone body. His eyes never left mine as I grabbed his wavering cock and rubbed it between my labia. I felt my juices flowing freely, lubricating his swollen glans but I wasn't finished teasing him. I lifted my hips so that our loins barely touched and saw the frustration written over his handsome face. We were so close, he could feel my heat but nothing more and, more than once, he tried thrusting himself inside me. I could tell he had mixed feelings about this exquisite torture. That's when I relented.

A long drawn out hiss escaped my lips as his prick impaled me, stretching me as before, filling me to the brim. When our pelvises met, I ground myself against him, feeling like an Amazon as I rode his cock. I clenched my abdominal muscles and my velvety sheath gripped him like a vice as he throbbed away inside me. Although I was in control, James was too macho to be completely subjugated and his hands grabbed hold of my hips and together we fucked each other. I could feel his urgency building but I wasn't quite there yet.

"Don't you dare cum until I say so," I warned, climbing off him. "I want you to take me from behind," I said huskily, acting the part of Sophie the hooker for James’s benefit but in reality wanting this very badly. I knelt in front of him and wiggled my rear invitingly. "Come on, Daddy," I panted hoarsely, "do what you want with me, make me your bitch." Whorishly, I pulled my buttocks apart.

Although I sensed rather than saw James get to his knees and move behind me, I did feel his hands cover mine and, immediately afterwards, his hot breath was on the back of my thighs. Then his tongue traversed the length of my dripping pussy, slipping briefly between my parted lips to lap up my nectar before continuing upwards. I almost forgot to breathe when he pressed his agile tongue into my starfish and wondered how much luck could a woman have in one evening.

"If I wasn't a gentleman, Sophie I'd fuck that tight little arse of yours," James said lustfully. I liked the way he said arse, his English accent sounding both sophisticated and erotic.

"Well stop being one then," I said in an exaggerated New York accent and felt a wave of anticipation wash over me.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he replied breathlessly and pushed his engorged flesh between my legs. His erection slid forward, along my willing pussy lips and pressed hard on my swollen clitoris, eliciting excited moans from me. Then, after giving me a taste of my own medicine for a moment, he pressed his spongy dome against my back door.

"Do it, do it," I whispered softly and waited impatiently. I felt him push forward and gasped. He was larger than anything I’d experienced and, although I wanted it, my tight opening resisted at first. Clamping my jaws together to keep myself from screaming, "Fuck me," I relaxed my muscles and, seconds later, felt the exquisite burn as James's cock slid purposefully inside.

"Aaahhh," I moaned into the bed covers and pushed my hips backwards. Moments later his prick was completely buried in my back passage and his heavy balls banged against the back of my thighs.

"You feel so fucking good, Sophie," he commented as my muscles contracted around his meat as he started withdrawing. I could feel my sphincter gripping him as pulled backwards, determined not to let him escape, but I needn't have worried, James had no intention of relinquishing his prize and stopped just in time. Then, showing no mercy, he slammed it home forcing another lustful moan escaped my lips.

"You like it don't you, my sweet American whore?"

"Yessss," I replied wantonly and was rewarded for my honesty. He started fucking me hard with long, smooth strokes which only ended when he’d buried his cock completely inside my ass. Within minutes, I felt the dam of emotions beginning to crack and there was nothing I could do about it. James was in control now and ordered me to finger myself.

"My God, you’re a dirty fucking slut, Sophie," he said, pile-driving his manhood into my ass. I did as told and through the thin wall separating my orifices, I could feel his flesh surging forward. I was already teetering on the edge and this erotic experience sent me tumbling into a scalding pool of depravity. I began to tremble and moan uncontrollably, signalling my release, and seconds later, my fingers were awash with hot, slick liquid.

My body shook violently and I fought for air, my breathing very laboured. The strength of my orgasm took me by surprise and, as I pushed backwards, James began roaring triumphantly. Thrusting forward to meet my movement he bottomed out and I felt him pulsing inside me. His thick hot spunk seared my insides as each powerful salvo finally emptied the contents of his balls. I reached back and grabbed his testicles and squeezed them, determined to get every drop of what was rightfully mine. Eventually, we collapsed on the bed, James on top of me, both of us breathless and with hearts pounding.

“I think I will call room service," James announced five minutes later as we lay there collecting our thoughts. "We both need to something to drink and I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Since I’m paying for the evening, I’d like you to stay and eat. You don't have any objections do you?"

I gave him my best 'You're the boss' look and smiled appreciatively. Lying there, I'd been gathering my thoughts and considering what we'd just done together. Having dinner with him seemed the least I could do.

"We can have something sent up or, if you'd prefer, we can go out to a restaurant." Both suggestions sounded attractive if for different reasons and I really didn’t mind. The only thing I had a few concerns about was going somewhere where I would be recognized. Still I was in Brooklyn.

Sitting up, holding my legs against my chest, I spoke. "I think I’d like to shower while we wait for our drinks. Why don’t you see what the hotel has to offer."

"Good idea. Do you need anyone to scrub your back?" The sparkle in James's eyes made me wonder if he was serious or not. I gave him my warmest smile.

"No thank you, stud, I can handle it," I said, giving his thigh a playful squeeze.

"Whatever you want," James replied. "It's your party."

"No, stud," I retorted, climbing off the bed. "It's your party." James laughed. “I’ll go first and then you can shower while I repair my makeup.”

Standing under the steaming hot stream of water, letting the scented soap wash away the evidence of my afternoon's fun, I was having trouble coming to terms with myself. I'd expected to feel guilty or upset at cheating on my husband or at very least feel a bit confused as to my behaviour but all I could think of was wanting to do it again. Realising part of this was due to the debauched sex I'd had, I couldn't deny the kick I'd gotten from the whole experience and knew I hadn't felt a rush like this since before I was married. Stepping out from under the shower, I wrapped myself in one of the robes hanging behind the bathroom door before going back to the bedroom.

"Sorry Sophie," James said sipping from a glass of whiskey. "The hotel menu wasn't up to much so I guess I'll have to take you out."

"That's no problem, James," I replied as he came over with a glass.

"Black Russian for M'lady."

"Thank you, Sir." I sipped the cold vodka and Kahlua. It was the perfect drink. "Cheers," I said and raised my glass. "Where are we going?"

“What kind of food do you want?" 

"Italian, French, Sushi... or maybe you've other ideas? Have a think about it while I get cleaned up.”

I retrieved my clothes from the hall and dressed before reapplying makeup and brushing my hair into something more than an out-of-bed look. That's when I noticed the money on the desk. Fifteen hundred dollars, in crisp new notes. Not sure what to do I ignored it and continued my preparations. When I was finished I took another sip of my drink and looked out of the window at the night sky, illuminated with stars and airplane night lights. That's when I noticed movement behind me. James had returned from his shower and was dressing.

“Ready?” he asked. Before I could answer, he'd noticed the money was untouched. “Sophie, I think you’ve forgotten something. It's all there you know."

I nodded in agreement. "I believe you, James," I said reassuringly.

Before I could continue, he said, “I’ll be coming here regularly and I'd like us to see each other again. It's not just the sex, although that was amazing, but would it freak you out if I told you I also liked talking to you?"

Unsure of what to say I just shook my head before taking another large gulp of vodka.

“What is it? Have I said something wrong?”

I shook my head again and smiled mysteriously. “I think I’d like a nice juicy steak, you know... for the protein! Especially if I'm gonna spend the rest of the evening with you, and no... you've done nothing wrong." I downed the rest of my drink and winked at him. "Ready when you are, James."

******

James lay prone on the bed and waved goodbye. Licking my lips, I could taste the semen from his morning wood and smiled at my newly rediscovered wantonness. As I started my walk of shame through the hotel reception, I felt the young woman‘s eyes, stationed behind the desk, burning into my back. I didn't care. I was busy wondering how long it would take for James to find my phone number. Not having any business cards, I'd written it on the bathroom mirror with my lipstick.

As I was about to hail a taxi, I heard my iPhone ringing from somewhere in the depths of my handbag next to the fifteen hundred dollars.