It wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
I don’t have a wingman, I have a wingwoman. She’s by my side when we take on the world, picking up and heading home for a little bit of nightly entertainment.
It was just a stupid fight. I shouldn’t have taken this bet.
When I told her that because she was a woman she had an easier time getting someone to go home with her she challenged me to prove it. She told me she could make me into a woman, and then it would be up to me to back up my claim with proof.
Out here in the club I can feel their interest. All these men looking at me. All of them want me.
The moment I stepped through the door I knew winning the bet would be easy. I knew it would be simple to find some guy willing to take me home and I knew that I didn’t need to bring him to bed to prove my point.
But I want to.
This feminine body feels so good on its own I want to know what it’s like when it’s lost in the throes of passion.
I want a man who can give me what I need. I want to know how much I can take.
Excerpt
“Don’t worry,” she reassured me as she wrapped her arm around my waist and led me off the dance floor to a darkly shadowed booth that was occupied only by the little VIP sign in the middle of the table, “The boys will follow. Trust me.”
She pulled me into the booth and as she did she cautioned me not to be too obvious and look for them and she held my gaze, pretending to talk and doing her best to hide that wicked smile she had. We both sensed when they approached, standing above us just at the edge of the table.
“Can we sit?” the one she’d been dancing with asked, and I followed her lead as she graciously allowed the men to join us.
I got it. It was playing hard to get. It was playing the side of the game that admittedly she knew better than I did but I was frustrated and not just at her interruptions and insistences. I was frustrated that the game was set up for me to lose, not the bet we’d made but the end.
What good is winning if you don’t get the fucking trophy?
And the man who slid in next to me, the one whose hands had been all over me, he was a goddamn gold medal. I was bigger than him, stronger in all the right ways and far more showy, but in his dark suit with his intense eyes he was what I wanted right now. He was exactly what could satisfy the craving that was roaring with need.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
“Molly,” I said shyly, a little intimidated by his forwardness, “Yours?”
“Trent,” he told me and when he did his eyes moved deliberately up and down my body. It was shockingly invasive. It was absolutely a move. And it fucking worked.
Because my eyes followed his eyes and his eyes set off a shudder of passion in me, a shiver running up and down my body that ended with me biting my lip by the time he got back up to my face and left me breathing a little heavier.
“Oh come now,” Alexa said behind me in mock indignation, “I’m a lady. You have to wine and dine before we get to that point.”
I turned to look but Trent reaching out and taking my hand in his made me stop, the sudden shock of it. His skin was so cold but the touch of it was like fire on my body.
“What is she-” I asked.
“Mike is probably just asking her to come back to our place,” he smiled, “My guess is he said this club is so loud and our apartment is nice and quiet, has a great view, and free drinks to boot. He always tries that too soon.”
I chewed my lip, “Is it?”
“Is it what, beautiful?” Trent asked me.
“Is it too soon?”
His eyebrows raised. His hunger for me doubled.