He ramps up his attentions, squeezing and plucking. I let my eyes drift closed to more fully absorb the hits of sensation, my head dropping back against his shoulder. With his head bent, his breath is warm on my jaw. He releases one nipple and drags his palm down my front so he can snag the hem of my dress and burrow beneath it before cupping my pussy hard, his fingertips pressing right against my entrance.

If I thought having him touch my nipples was shocking, this is so much more: confronting and dirty and hot, especially because he’s still rolling my left nipple around as best he can through the fabric.

‘Legs wider,’ he grunts against my jaw, and I widen my stance, keeping my palms clamped to the glass for balance as his fingers flex against the scrap of lace that constitutes my underwear this evening.

‘So much to play with.’ His voice is more of a purr now. ‘I just bought a catamaran, but I can already tell you’re going to be a lot more fun, love. I want to see it all.’

The ominous threat has my heart rate ratcheting up, because fuck, this is really happening. He releases my pussy, and I think he’s going to go for the concealed zip at the side of my dress, but he takes a step back and slides the slinky fabric up over my bottom until it’s completely bared to him.

I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips together, because it’s so blatant, so shameful and excruciating and unseemly, being exposed like this to a man who’s paying terrifying amounts of money for the privilege. But the deeply buried part of me that liked the way he grabbed me just now is also forging bravely to life, a tiny, tough seedling bursting into existence with little wisdom and even less heed for the dangers ahead, dangers that seem more imminent when he lets out an anguished, carnal groan.

‘Jesus fuck, love.’ He gives the slippery fabric an impatient push upwards, and then both his big hands are stroking and grabbing at my cheeks. I can’t even imagine how I must look to him like this, skin and lace and heels on display for him, my hands braced against the glass.

He hooks one finger under the string of my thong and runs a calloused knuckle lightly down the cleft of my bottom, abandoning it before he gets too far south and letting the lace snap back into place. His breath is audibly ragged.