the skillful way with which Eric touched her was already reawakening her desires.
She pushed back against him, rolling her hips slowly, and was rewarded with a groan that sounded like Eric Oswell's vaunted control was slipping entirely. She did it again, and his hand stopped stroking her side and anchored itself to her hip, so he could move with her.
"I'm going to assume you have condoms on you today," she breathed out on the next roll, because the feel of his hard cock was getting too distracting to ignore.
Eric's voice was considerably less assured than it was when he answered her in the affirmative, and she saw an opportunity.
"Give me one then," she said, twisting in his grip so she faced him.
He was still fully clothed, but she pushed up his oh-so-soft cashmere sweater, skimming the pads of her fingers on his skin, deliberately grazing his nipples with her nails, which made him twitch. Wordlessly, he dug into one pocket and handed her a condom which she took after unbuttoning his half-open fly and freeing the impressive bulge in his shorts. He was hot and heavy in her hand, and leaking under her thumb as she ran it over the tip. God help her, but she wanted this.
Emmy licked her palm a couple of times, making sure to look at Eric through her lashes as she dragged her tongue along the skin before wrapping her hand around his cock and giving him a few firm strokes. He held her gaze, but only just; he looked halfway gone already, his eyes clouded with lust, so she let go long enough to tear open the wrapper and unroll the condom on him, concentrating so she didn't mess it up.
The minute the glove was on, Eric swooped in for a sloppy, openmouthed kiss, and then spun her around, both hands on her waist, and nudged a leg between hers.
"Are you ready for this?" he panted into her ear, and he was so hoarse. Emmy just nodded, braced herself against the window again — she could see her earlier palm prints — and spread her legs wider.
Her whole body was on fire, her sex aching for him, she was wet and slick and needy like nobody's business, as ready as she would ever be. When he guided himself into her and thrust — slowly, she could tell he was holding back with the remaining shreds of his willpower — she cried out, because it felt so absurdly good and right.
"So fucking hot," he growled behind her, and she didn't know whether he was talking about the feeling, or their reflection in the glass surface, like a shadowed but explicit porno, which made her wonder quite how many people actually could see her right now. Not that she cared anymore — they could be in the center of Times Square and she'd still be wrapped up in the delicious, rising feeling between her legs, the coiling spiral of heat building with his every thrust.
Between her hands she could see the darkness that was Central Park spread out, laced with brightly lit paths, surrounded by skyscrapers with twinkling windows like inset precious stones, as far as the eye could see. She wondered whether she was even a speck at the window for anyone looking up or across, until a particularly deep stroke from Eric cut all her thought processes and focused her exclusively on her impending orgasm. He had a hand on her breast, tweaking a nipple that felt directly connected to her clit, and he was whispering filthy entreaties in her ear in a broken voice, urging her to let go, to come for him, to be a good girl, and maybe it was because he'd been teasing her all evening, playing the boss, but she gave into her need and let it overwhelm her.
"Oh my God. Oh my God, Eric, oh God," she babbled as she went under, until her rambling turned into a long moan, magnified as his hand left her nipple and pressed firmly against her clit.
He seemed determined to wring as much pleasure as he could out of her and as Emmy tipped forward, her whole forearms now resting on the glass to prop her up, he kept pounding into her, rubbing her oversensitive bud and coaxing her into a new, almost painful, climax that had her screaming in pure animal pleasure before he let himself pulse his release into her.