Dear New York, You are brilliant. Love, Sara.
P.S. This is definitely not the alcohol talking.
"I don't have many chances to look at the back of my neck."
"A shame, really." He pulled his hand away and I felt a mild chill where his warm fingers had been. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a tiny package.
A condom. He just happened to have a condom in his pocket. It would never have occurred to me to bring a condom with me to some random club.
Turning me to face him, he swiveled us, pressed me back against the wall and bent to kiss me, first soft and then harder, hungrier. When I thought I'd lose my breath, he wandered away, sucking at my jaw, my ear, my neck, where my pulse hammered wildly. My dress had fallen back down my thighs, but his fingers teased at the edge, slowly lifting.
"Someone could walk down here," he reminded me, giving me one last out, even as he lowered my panties enough for me to step out of them.
