It was an ordinary Friday night at the bar. I was having drinks with my girlfriends from the office. I slammed down my empty shot glass for the second time that evening, and proudly proclaimed: "No man will ever turn ME into a housewife!"

"Here, here!" cheered my mates, as the sound of clinking glasses and the pouring of my third fireball filled my personal space. I was so drunk, I almost didn't feel his eyes boring into me.

I directed my attention away from my noisy table toward the bar. An older, good-looking gent was smoking and staring at me. I pushed out my chest and licked the rim of my glass. He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"Nickie? Nickie!" I suddenly realized my friends were calling to me.

"Are you all right? Ooohhh…" The girls knew of my partiality to older men, as well as how chicken-shit I was to approach them.

"He was looking at you, Crystal," I blurted. And with her body, why wouldn't he? But we both knew he wasn't.

Then the silver fox stood up and made confident strides toward my table, allowing me an improved view of his tailored suit. He looked just like a man who had been in the paper. I couldn't place him.

"I need to powder my nose," announced Crystal. "Me too," said the rest of the group. Then it snapped into place.

"Do you know who that man is?!" I panicked. The gent eyeing me was Jimmy the Gent, or the suspected mastermind behind the Lufthansa heist.

"Get some diamonds for me!" shouted one so-called friend. "Fur coat!" yelled another.

""Bitches," I muttered. I was counting on them to prevent me from making a fool of myself. Now I'd be putty in his hands. In truth, I didn't give a fuck about his reputation. I hated the airport; they deserved to get ripped off. Besides, no one was killed. But primarily, I'd been getting off on fantasies of being a mobster's mistress since puberty. But how to play my cards right? I wasn't sure whether to dumb it down or be myself. Without my friends to guide me, I was lost.

I decided what to do as he greeted me and took a seat. "Please sit down, Jimmy," I said flatly. He started at the sound of his name. "I know who you are," I smirked. The fact that the sexiest gangster in New York City was interested in me gave my ego a huge boost.

He took a drag off his cigarette and smiled. Clearly he had me pegged for a floozy and seemed pleasantly surprised that I wasn't.

"You're a beautiful woman." He paused.

"Nicole. I go by Nickie."

"That's easy to remember."

"I know. Your wife goes by Mickey."

Again he paused. "Do you want to go for a ride in my Cadillac?"

"Where would you take me?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Your bed."

He leaned back in his chair and smiled at me.

"Women's Lib has made me blunt," and I swallowed the last of my fireball.

He took another drag. That's when I realized how aroused I was. My pussy was drenched and I almost started playing with my boobs right there.

He stood up and extended his hand toward me. "Come with me." Without a word I put my hand in his and we walked to his car.

I gasped and my nipples erected in response to the cold. Shit. I forgot my coat, I thought. But before I could say anything, warmth from my own coat enveloped me. Jimmy had remembered my coat. I might have forgotten my head at that point.

After less than a minute, but what felt like an eternity, we reached his pink Cadillac. I whistled as he opened the passenger door for me.

"This is sweet," I said in a cringe-inducingly high tone.

"The original owner didn't need it anymore," he said brusquely.

I felt cold again. I'd heard stories about Jimmy and his fondness for murder. What if he only picked me up to murder me? Would he do that? Kill me just for fun?

That train of thought melted from the heat of his lips on mine. Another lifetime passed as our tongues became acquainted. Finally he drew back.

"I always wanted to fuck a gangster." I was equal parts drunk and horny, with a dash of scared. But I was going to have my way.

I watched him assess me coldly, with a warm smirk. "We'll go to my apartment."

"Is that where you take your mistresses?"

"You got a problem with that?" His harsh tone contradicted the hot lust in his brown eyes.

"After tonight we'll see," I purred mischievously. I snaked my hand up his thigh, finding his quickly-hardening cock. "How can your wife sleep without you? I couldn't last a night until you pounded me with your hot Italian sausage."

"If you don't shut up," Jimmy growled as he punched the gas, "I'll have to pull over and fuck you right in the car."

"I was hoping you'd fuck me in the pussy, but okay," I grinned. He looked even sexier when frustrated, if that was possible.

Silence reigned for the remainder of the trip. Verbal silence, that is—our eye contact was as loud as the bar we had left.

When we reached his apartment, I tried to get out of the car, but Jimmy rushed to open the door for me.

"What?" he inquired in response to my quizzical expression.

"I just like to open my own doors, carry my own bags—"

My feminist commentary was cut short by his tongue in my mouth. I stumbled slightly as he pushed me away. My eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust as I took in his handsome features.

"Just so you know, I won't pay for it," he said firmly.

I rolled my eyes as I recalled he was from a very different generation. "I'm on the pill. I don't want to get pregnant."

He smiled. "Are you perfect, or what?" He turned the key with one hand and stroked my cheek with the other. Then he led me inside.