He held up his right hand, pressed on something with his thumb and flashed a satisfied smile. As soon as he hit the device in his hand, the buzzing stopped. She missed it; she wanted to grab hold of the remote, and bring that feeling back before it escaped her.

“I’m so sorry to have made you wait,” he murmured, dusting her cheek with his lips. He barely left an imprint; it was the softest, faintest kiss he’d ever given her and it made her crave so much more. It was a teaser kiss, a hint of what was to come.

“I didn’t mind waiting,” she said, raising an eyebrow, letting him know she could play along.

“Good. The philharmonic is going to start soon, but they have this great string quartet that plays rock songs in the plaza before the symphony begins. Dance with me.”

“Of course,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders as he brought her in close. His right hand was curled in a fist over her shoulder. The string quartet began playing “We Are Young” by Fun, and the upbeat anthem was in stark contrast to how she felt inside—like a torch-song was being sung by her body. A song of longing.

“You look stunning. Are you wearing the peach panties?”

“Yes.

“Anything else?”

“What do you think?” she countered, her blood still racing with the anticipation of when he’d hit the remote again and send a fresh rush of hot, fast vibration between her legs. He gave new meaning to the term “having the keys to her body.”

“What do you think about this September weather we’re having?” he asked, and it began again. The humming was faint this time. A low pulse, a flickering against her, like a teasing promise.

The pop song grew louder, nearing the chorus. She was grateful for the background noise. Perhaps it masked all she felt in her body. “It is quite hot for late September,” she said, and they weren’t talking about the weather.

“Fall is one of my favorite times of year in Manhattan,” he said, in a casual, offhand voice, as if he were musing on the vagaries of the sun and moon and stars.

“Me too,” she said, keeping her voice as steady as she possibly could, even as the pressure increased. She hadn’t realized he’d turned it up, so subtle was his touch against the tiny remote in his hand.

“And fall colors? The red, and gold and oranges,” he said, as he spun her in a circle, holding only her right hand. She felt terribly vulnerable, as if the world around her, the fancy crowds, the rich patrons, and the glitterati of Manhattan knew what he was doing to her. But they couldn’t, could they? She kept her face stony even as she wanted to unleash a guttural moan of primal pleasure. “They’ll be coming soon,” he added, returning her to his arms.

“Will they?” she asked in a ragged voice. Her bones felt liquid. Her body was electric as the vibrator thrummed against her wet, hot center. She wasn’t far off now. She was dying to throw her arms around him, to rub up against him, to yank him into a dark corner and let him have his way completely.