And then there were the images of all the times he intended to have with her. The things he wanted to do to her. The adventures he wanted to have with her willing mind and body. She was such a passionate lover, such a sensual woman, whose body responded to his every touch. She gave herself freely; he could only imagine the paths they could continue to explore.

He stopped at the red light on the corner of Fifth Avenue. A mannequin in the window of a lingerie shop down the street beckoned to him, her barely-there lacy pink bra and panties like a goddamn magnetic force calling out to him.

“Fuck,” he seethed as the September sun beat down. These images were not helping the case one bit, nor was that strategically placed shop. As if it were there to tempt him. Taunt him. He needed to think of baseball players or bunnies, not of how enticing Michelle would look in that bra and panty set. Because of course she would. That was a given.

Focus, Jack. Get your mind out of the gutter.

He grappled at topics that were boner killers.

The Yankees were playing tonight. They were down by a game and a half, which meant they’d need to win tonight and then again tomorrow. Jack computed batting averages and RBIs and statistical likelihoods of no-hitters, given that there had already been two so far this season. By the time he reached the next block, weaving around a bicycle deliveryman riding on the sidewalk, Jack was a man on a mission.

Today’s mission? Politics. Henry had called this meeting with his brother-in-law, the city council candidate they were throwing gobs of support behind. Jack hated politics and was still outraged that Henry's brother-in-law was being attacked because Henry and Marquita owned BDSM clubs. Jack would be surprised if Paul Denkler had ever been to a BDSM club. He seemed to be straight-laced, and trying to do some good things for the city.

He reached McCoy’s in mid-town, a favorite spot for late afternoon power lunches. A shot of air-conditioning blasted him as he opened the door. The cooler inside air was a relief. He joined Henry, Marquita, Paul Denkler and Casey at a plush red booth in the back, cloth linen napkins spread across laps, silver utensils gleaming.

After orders were placed, Henry clasped his hands together. “We have a problem.”

Jack nodded. “I figured as much. Unplanned lunch meetings usually stem from problems.”

Paul cleared his throat and opened his tablet, clicking open a news article from a prominent NY blog site. Conroy Blasts Denkler for East Side Fire.

Casey’s jaw twitched and her eyes burned. “Now you’re responsible for a fire?” she said, narrowing her eyes as she bent closer to Denkler to read the post.

After a fire broke out last night on 88th and Madison in the basement of an apartment building that had been hosting a sex-themed bondage party, former litigator and city councilman candidate Jared Conroy called anew for closures of all the BDSM private clubs that have sprung up on the Upper East Side.