I remember the thrill of sending that text, knowing what I was wearing—or rather, what I wasn’t. The elevator doors closed behind me, and I could feel the cool air on my bare skin, the fabric of my crop top barely containing my nipples, the skirt riding up to show off my ass. I checked my phone, a smug smile playing on my lips. Thirty minutes, and I’d be at the bar, ready to play. No panties, no bra, just me and my high heels, a walking temptation. I could already picture the looks, the whispers, the way my husband would watch from across the room, knowing I was his, but also knowing I was on display for everyone else. It was a game, a dance, and I was leading the way.
id fuck them all