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Welcome to Cosmo Red-Hot Reads, where you'll find a steamy erotica excerpt every Saturday night at 9 p.m. EST. This week: Her Last Wild Ride by Abby Green.

I WOKE UP DISORIENTED. I wasn't in my own bed. I blinked and looked around: Johnny's apartment. Damn. I'd fallen asleep before I could leave. And then, despite what an amazing night it had been, I cringed. I'd just sworn off men to focus on some me-time, and here I am. But now that I'd gotten that out of my system, I resolved it wasn't going to happen again. Definitely not.

---

After a late breakfast together in a cool-kid Williamsburg diner, Johnny and I decided to take a sightseeing detour before I had to go into work. I'd tried to argue that Johnny didn't have to go with me to the bar, hoping to avoid the temptation of him, but he'd quelled me with one dark blue look.

I wrinkled up my nose to think for a second, trying to conjure up a safe plan and then said, "Have you been to the High Line yet?"

He frowned. "The high what?"

"It's an old disused railway line that runs above the ground on the West Side, around the Meatpacking District. They've turned it into a city park."

"Nope, sounds great. Let's go. I want to feel you up while we ride the bike there."

I looked at him, ready to deliver some witty rejoinder, and my mind went blank as a voice screamed at me, What the hell are you still doing here?! But the inner rebel was back in force and helped me ignore the voice.

As we rode over the Williamsburg Bridge on the motorcycle I'd borrowed from my brother, all I was aware of were his powerful thighs around mine and those big hands resting far too close to that place.

When I got off the bike at our destination, I was seriously jittery and turned on. Johnny looked the same: his jaw tight with tension, his eyes burning. But I was determined to be the tour guide and not give in to the compulsion to find the nearest enclosed private space.

I put away the helmets and said grimly, "Come on."

When we emerged at the top of the steps onto the High Line itself, I heard Johnny breathe out in admiration, taking in the old track as it wound its way north, likely gathering inspiration and mentally designing his next piece of high-end, bespoke furniture. We walked with the Hudson River sparkling in the bright autumn sunshine on one side and the very hip Meatpacking District below us on the other.

In the near distance, a tall building dominated the raised railway line, with hundreds of windows. It looked like a cross between a '60s Eastern Bloc office building and a futuristic design, straddling the High Line on two massive concrete blocks.

"What is that?" Johnny asked curiously.

"It's a cool hotel. The Standard."

We walked underneath it, and Johnny stopped to look up, clearly fascinated by the design. When we emerged from the underpass, I spotted an empty seat, and we went over to sit down. It was partially hidden by tall bamboo growing nearby.

Johnny pulled me in front of him between his legs, and we were looking straight out to the sparkling Hudson. His hands rested almost indecently between my legs, and he exerted a little pressure. Enough to get me tingling and very horny.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Look up there." He had lifted a hand and was pointing up to the hotel.

I squinted to see, and when I could make out what we were looking at, my breath stalled in my throat.

It was a woman, full frontal and naked, with her arms raised and palms spread on one of the hundreds of windows. I could make out hands on her hips and a man behind her, forcing her hips forward and back as he thrust powerfully in and out.

Johnny's head came close to mine, but I could sense he was still looking up at the couple too. Both hands pressing against my crotch now, exerting ­stronger pressure.

This was so erotic. On a bench in broad daylight with Johnny all but sliding his hand down between my legs.

"What time do you have to be at work?" Johnny's voice sounded rough, slightly breathless.

My whole body clenched. I looked at my watch feeling slightly dazed. "In three hours."

He muttered something indecipherable, and then he was standing up and all but dragging me back down the High Line, under the hotel, retracing our steps.

I gripped his hand. "Where are we going?"

He barely glanced at me. "You'll see."

And then we were going back down the iron-girded stairs to the street level, and Johnny was looking around for something. I only got an inkling of what he was doing when I saw the discreet entrance of The Standard hotel appear ahead of us down a cobbled side street.

Struck dumb, I could only follow as Johnny greeted the doorman jauntily. We went into the hotel, and my shock dissipated and my excitement spiked when I heard him ask the receptionist for one of their best corner rooms.

I couldn't quite believe what he was doing, even when the receptionist sent me an obviously envious glance as she checked the credit card, and then Johnny was pulling me behind him.

Once we were alone inside the elevator, I turned to him, still in shock and pulsing with anticipation.

"I can't believe you just did that."

He smiled at me wickedly. "You'll believe it in about 10 minutes when your legs are wrapped around my waist and we're giving a mile-high show to everyone across the river."

Johnny led the way down a corridor, looking for the right room. Then he was opening the door onto an impressive corner room with spectacular views over the Hudson.

Oh my god. This isn't a dream.

No guy had ever done anything so spontaneous.

I followed Johnny into the room as he went to the floor-to-ceiling window and beckoned me over. I slipped out of my leather jacket and let it drop to the ground.

He'd taken off his top layer too, and now he was wearing a white tee shirt that was so thin I could see nothing but ripped muscles, a tantalizing sliver of flat belly, and that delicious line of dark hair that led down underneath the top button of his low-slung jeans.

I felt reckless and wild. And free. The past was dropping away, and I welcomed it.

"You're wearing too many clothes, Johnny."

He arched a brow. "So are you." We stripped within seconds, until we were both naked. I was so ready after that bike ride and watching the explicit show in the window.

Johnny's hot gaze dropped down over my body. The huge windows around us heightened everything. I stepped up to him and took his cock in my hands. It was already hard and got harder as I stroked it in my fist. He put his arms around me and lifted me up on tiptoe, kissing me deeply and so thoroughly that I got even wetter.

Within minutes, he had me facing the window, arms spread wide. He pressed against me, his hands explored me thoroughly, coming around to reach between my legs.

His other hand cupped a breast and tweaked a nipple to stinging hardness. And then he put his hands on my hips and dragged me back toward him, making me bend forward slightly as he entered me deeply in one smooth move, making me groan loudly.

I was so turned on that I gasped.

A sightseeing boat chugged past along the river, far enough away that we couldn't make out the people. As if reading my mind, Johnny said gruffly, "Imagine if they have binoculars, Ash … they're probably looking up here right now…"

I moaned, the thought making my muscles clench around him even tighter.

He moved so that I was more upright, closer to the window, his arms wrapped around me, and when one hand went back down between my legs, he sent me into orbit.

"Look, Ash, look."

I opened my eyes and felt dazed. The boat was closer now, we could see small shapes, people were obviously taking pictures of the High Line and the hotel. And that's what did it.

I came in a blinding leg-trembling rush, just as the flash of a camera went off and I imagined our carnality caught forever on some unwitting person's vacation snap.

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Excerpted from Her Last Wild Ride, by Abby Green. © 2015 Harlequin Enterprises Ltd. Available in ebook, and audio.

Follow Abby onTwitter.

This article was originally published as "A View From the Top" in the February 2015 issue of Cosmopolitan.Click here to get the issue in the iTunes store!

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