It’s a pleasant evening and I look out toward the Hudson River from where Arsen and I are sitting at dinner. We’re at an outdoor restaurant called Southwest New York that serves Tex-Mex near the South Street Seaport. With our table literally right next to the water, it's been a pleasant evening.

I look at Arsen. He’s staring back at me.

God, he’s so freakin hot. I swear, just staring into his smoldering eyes is enough to get my panties wet. The way those eyes seem to look into my soul. The way that face is shaped—it’s so lean and tight. And then there’s that body. You’ve heard me go on and on about his body before, I know, but it’s so good it’s worth saying again and again. If I could, I’d tell everyone I know. I mean, I wouldn't tell my Dad or anything, but aside from him, I’d shout from the rooftops how much I enjoyed Arsen’s bulging biceps, his 8-pack abs that are oh so defined, his powerful legs, his wonderful pecs, or his strong back.

But while his body is great to run my hands over and lick, I think what is completely unforgettable is basically that 12-inch cock that dangles from his legs. When that thing gets hard, I can barely wrap my hands around it. It’s as thick as my wrist. And it's so painfully delicious when it stretches my insides out.

“What are you thinking?” Arsen asks me, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I can see the tattoos go up and down his arm. “Tell me.”

I take his hand and smile at him. I’ve never had a man sit across from dinner and ask me what I’m thinking. To take an interest the way that Arsen has.

He’s wealthy, cute, and considerate.

How is it that I'm not head over heels in love with this guy?

I can’t believe I’m sitting here complaining to you about this. I must sound like the world’s most spoiled girl or something.

But it’s true; I can't say that I’m in love with Arsen. And I know the one major reason for that.

Henry. Client 5.

It’s been two days since the last time we spoke at noon. Two days since I’ve heard his powerful, commanding voice. A voice that basically says fuck the world—these are his rules and you can either obey them or get off the bus. Two days since he basically made me his over the phone.

Do you want to know something? I haven't told anyone yet, because I’ve kept it a secret.

Two days ago, when we were together on the phone, when he told me he wasn’t going to let me touch myself, I got so turned on just listening to himself telling me what I could or couldn't do. When he forced me to call him “sir” or “master” or "king," and started telling me to imagine Lower Manhattan and imagine his cock and how it would feel to have him plunge into and out of me, I swear to God I was dripping wet. I was panting. I could tell my heart rate had increased just from hearing his voice.

But that’s not what I have to tell you.

What I have to tell you is this. As I got him off with my words, it was turning me on like nothing else too—to the point where listening to my words and the effect it was having on him was only making me hungry to hear more. When he finally came, my body was a quivering mess. I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself and it was like desire was overwhelming every aspect of my body.

When King Henry finally let me touch myself, I desperately brought my fingers to my clit underneath my panties. And it took me maybe five seconds and three flicks before I exploded.

That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last 48 hours. What kind of a man can get me so keyed up, so on the brink already, that it took absolutely nothing to push me over the edge?

It’s like he can make me cum with just the sound of his voice.

You’re probably shaking your head at me. Thinking I’m just a stupid little girl, but I swear to God, I honestly think that if he wanted to, he could get me to cum just by talking to me.

But it's not just about cumming. He said something to me the last time we talked. He talked about how his Dad would take him out to the Empire State Building to give him a view of the city. Telling him that anything was possible. It sounds almost like…

“It’s like you’re a million fucking miles away,” Arsen says again and I snap back to reality.

I shake my head and smile at him.

“I was just thinking about work,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. I don’t want to lie to Arsen. I don’t want to throw away what I have with him. Because it's good. He’s a good man. He may have been a bad boy before this, but I know he’s trying for my sake to rein it in.

We haven’t had the conversation yet about being exclusive. And I’m glad. Because as much as I like Arsen, I can’t explain it but my mind keeps going back to Client 5. To Henry.

“You mean the guys who call in to talk to you?” Arsen asks and gets up.

We’ve finished dinner and decide to take a walk down the waterfront. It’s a nice evening and the water is peaceful.

“I have maybe about 6 regulars who call in,” I tell him as I grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

I may not be completely sure about Arsen, but he’s here, with me, right now. The sex is phenomenal. I would have never imagined sex could be this good before I met him. And he’s kind, considerate, and open. I don’t want to lose him because of Henry, who I’ve never met.

But I’m still looking forward to the Client 5 call I have penciled in for tomorrow morning.

“Well, you’re regulars probably see you the same way I do,” Arsen says, looking at me. “They probably know a girl like you doesn't come by every day and they’re doing whatever they can to hold onto you.”

It’s like he’s not jealous at my job at all, and that’s the surreal part. Does he know that my words are supposed to get other men’s cocks hard? That I tell them the nastiest things I can think of so that these men shoot loads of cum all over themselves? That even more than porn, the act of talking dirty over the phone is perhaps the most intimate one can get before actually having sex in person?

“It’s such a nice night tonight,” I say out loud, trying to change the subject.

Arsen looks around, and humors me with a smile. “Ever since they finally finished construction around the Freedom Tower, this area has gotten a lot nicer without so much construction,” he says to himself.

“Did you follow the construction or something?” I ask him. “I’ve never really had strong opinions on it one way or other.”

He sighs. “I’ve always wanted to build things,” he says out loud, more to himself than anyone. “I just never got the chance.”

I’m silent for a moment, but I think about Arsen. A son who wanted to do so much, but raised by his father in a completely different way and now managing reluctantly a family business he wanted no part of.

I squeeze his hand. “Well, soon you’ll have sold everything your Dad left you, and you’ll be able to spend your time the way you want to,” I tell him as we slow down and he faces me. “Maybe you can go build a building somewhere somehow.”

Arsen looks at me as I smile at him. I’m trying to make my face look cute. He breaks into a bittersweet smile and takes a step closer.

“I want to spend that time with you,” he tells me and I can feel his breath on my face.

I want him to wrap his arms around me and pull me close to him. To hold me and never let me go. I want to squirm against his body, feel his cock grow hard. I want it to poke into my crotch. I want to feel it against my ass. I want to boil his blood with my body. To tempt him. To tease him.

All that may happen with this kiss.

But then, there’s always going to be Client 5 in the back. Because no matter what I do with Arsen tonight, no matter how many ways I give myself to him—no matter how much I let him own me, in the morning I’ll be rushing out the door to take the call from Client 5.

Arsen brings his face down to meet mine.

And I take a step back.

He looks at me with concern and tears start to come down my eyes.

There’s only one thing for a lady to do in this situation.

I turn around and start to run away.