I spun around a bit awkwardly and way too quickly, almost spilling my dreadful champagne. Shit, I thought. My game had been interrupted and I had made...a fool of myself. I was going to have to pick another girl.I pretended to study a nearby painting. The painting actually wasn't too bad. It was a stylized portrait of a woman, nude, turned to the side, painted in burnished gold hues and earthy reds and browns on a rough piece of wood. The artist had accentuated the grains in the wood by painting. He doesn’t realize it yet, but every time I see him, I’m wearing something lacy under my clothing. It helps me feel confident and, I must admit, a little bit naughty. A part of me wants him to catch me. I love how his voice gets deeper and his eyes smolder when he wants me. I want to see that in his eyes and most of all, I want him to fuck me with the pent-up need of a man who is driven crazy by a woman. He leads me to his motorcycle and I bend over to place my small overnight bag in the side. More

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