Room with a view

This sexy story from Dirty Secrets by Regina Kyle is published with permission.

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The lock clicks, and I push the door open. She breezes past me, dropping her purse then her denim jacket then unzipping and stepping out of her skirt. Like Gretl leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

I dump the box on the kitchen island and follow the trail to down the hall to my bedroom. She’s reclining on the bed, her long, bare legs stretched out in front of her, her candy apple red five-inch heels that scream “fuck me” still on her feet. As I cross toward her, she kicks the shoes off and starts to unbutton her shirt.


“Why?” She undoes another button, and her shirt falls open. “I thought you wanted me naked.”

She’s wearing a lacy lavender bra that matches her panties and makes her tits look fantastic, and for a split second I consider joining her on the bed.

But I have other plans for her. “I do. But not there.”

“Then where?”

“Stand up. Shirt off.” My eyes flick to her do-me heels, discarded on the floor. “And put the shoes back on.”

She follows my instructions, a damn goddess in her lacy lingerie and sexy stilettos. I lead her to the wall of windows overlooking the street below and the Hudson River beyond.

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Her eyes widen to greenish-gold saucers. “Here?”

The corners of my mouth twitch. “Worried someone will see us?”

“Are you?” she asks, one delicately arched brow lifting.

“We’re on the twelfth floor. The chance of any pedestrians looking up here is slim.”

She bites her lip and stares out the windows, her gaze going left then right. “What about the people in the building across the street?”

“It’s only seven stories, so we’re a little higher than they are. But I suppose someone could still see us.”

I press my hand gently into her lower back, urging her toward the glass. “Does that bother you? Or excite you?”

“A bit of both, I guess.” My hand slides down, settling on the sweet curve of her ass, and she shivers. “Isn’t that what makes it so hot? The sense of urgency. The risk of getting caught.”

Fuck, this woman. She makes me want things—do things—that are totally out of my comfort zone. Things I’ve never contemplated—much less done—with any other woman. Like semi-public window sex.

If I think too much about the psychology of it, it’ll freak me out. Me, Connor Dow, abhorrer of attention, shunner of the spotlight, fornicating in plain view of all of lower Manhattan.

So I don’t think about it. And I don’t answer her question. Not with words, anyway. Instead, I let my hands do the talking.

One grabs her wrists and pins her arms above her head, palms flat against the glass. The other slips under the edge of her panties, my index finger grazing her clit.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wet,” I growl. “You weren’t kidding when you said the thought of getting caught excites you.”

“I never kid about sex.” She arches her back, begging me without words to penetrate her. “Or what makes me feel good.”

“Does this make you feel good?”

I push my finger inside her, and she moans. Her hot breath forms a steamy circle on the window, and I can feel sweat beading at my brow even though my thermostat is permanently set to a comfortably chilly sixty-two.

“How about this?”

I add a second finger and bend down to nip her shoulder. She sucks in a ragged breath and closes her eyes, resting her forehead on the glass.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She moans again, and that’s all the encouragement I need to go further. I kick at her feet in those fuck-me pumps, nudging them apart.

“Open your eyes,” I demand.

“What if I don’t want to?” she asks, eyes still closed.

I withdraw my fingers. “Then I won’t let you come.”

“Bastard,” she hisses. But her eyes open and she lifts her head off the window.

“That’s better.” I grab the thin lace of her tiny panties and tear them off in one quick move, the sound of ripping fabric echoing in my cavernous bedroom.

“Hey,” she protests even as her breathing quickens and she widens her stance. “I liked those.”

“So did I.”

“You could have asked me to take them off.”

“I could have. But I didn’t want to wait that long.” She sighs as my hand returns between her legs, my fingers pushing into her again. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Hell, I’ll buy you a hundred new pairs.”

“What do I need a hundred pairs of underwear for? Unless you’re going to keep tearing them off me.”

“Better make it two hundred.”

“They’re not cheap, you know. I have expensive taste in lingerie. It’s my one indulgence.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m filthy rich.” I suck her earlobe between my teeth and bite down. Not hard, just enough to draw out a sexy little gasp from her pouty lips. “Now stop complaining so I can make you come.”

She wiggles her ass, pushing back against me, fucking my fingers. I can see her seductive smile reflected in the glass, and her next words make my answering grin even broader and my dick impossibly harder.
“As you wish.”


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