A Young Wife's Wild Night - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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Dominic Richter—Tiffany Valentine's personal trainer—was a walking fantasy. At nearly 6'3" with arms thicker than my waist, he oozed raw, primal masculinity. The kind of guy who looked like he could ruin a woman in the best possible way.
And according to Tiffany? The rumors didn't do him justice.
Right now, those smoldering dark eyes were locked onto both of us, burning with an intensity that could've set the room on fire.
The guys at the table were shouting about the usual latecomer penalty—three shots. Tiffany and I exchanged a knowing look. We'd played this game before.
Pretty women at the table? Some guys would always find a way to turn things into a drinking contest. Didn't matter if they had a shot in hell—getting a girl wasted was step one in their playbook.
Tiffany didn't even blink. She threw back three shots in quick succession, slamming the last glass down with a smirk.
"Just drinking's boring," some guy I didn't know announced, pulling out dice. "Let's spice it up."
The rules were simple: losers drank or picked Truth or Dare.
Tiffany wiped spilled vodka off her chest, grinning. "Skip the foreplay. If you want a show, go straight to Dare."
My luck? Absolute trash. Three rounds in, and I hadn't won once.
First round—I took the drink.
Second round—they weren't letting me off that easy. "Dare!" they chanted.
Fine.
Worst. Possible. Draw.
A striptease.
Yeah, no. The bodycon dress I was wearing was basically painted on. Taking it off would've been a public indecency charge waiting to happen.
But I wasn't about to kill the vibe. So instead, I reached under my skirt, hooked a finger into my thong, and whipped it straight at the loudest guy's face.
Third round?
Two-minute French kiss with the man to my left.
Of course.
Dominic.
"Tongue! Tongue! Tongue!" Tiffany whooped, leading the chants.
Before I could even process it, Dominic's arm banded around my waist, his hand cradling the back of my neck as he dragged me into a kiss that felt more like a claim.
And according to Tiffany? The rumors didn't do him justice.
Right now, those smoldering dark eyes were locked onto both of us, burning with an intensity that could've set the room on fire.
The guys at the table were shouting about the usual latecomer penalty—three shots. Tiffany and I exchanged a knowing look. We'd played this game before.
Pretty women at the table? Some guys would always find a way to turn things into a drinking contest. Didn't matter if they had a shot in hell—getting a girl wasted was step one in their playbook.
Tiffany didn't even blink. She threw back three shots in quick succession, slamming the last glass down with a smirk.
"Just drinking's boring," some guy I didn't know announced, pulling out dice. "Let's spice it up."
The rules were simple: losers drank or picked Truth or Dare.
Tiffany wiped spilled vodka off her chest, grinning. "Skip the foreplay. If you want a show, go straight to Dare."
My luck? Absolute trash. Three rounds in, and I hadn't won once.
First round—I took the drink.
Second round—they weren't letting me off that easy. "Dare!" they chanted.
Fine.
Worst. Possible. Draw.
A striptease.
Yeah, no. The bodycon dress I was wearing was basically painted on. Taking it off would've been a public indecency charge waiting to happen.
But I wasn't about to kill the vibe. So instead, I reached under my skirt, hooked a finger into my thong, and whipped it straight at the loudest guy's face.
Third round?
Two-minute French kiss with the man to my left.
Of course.
Dominic.
"Tongue! Tongue! Tongue!" Tiffany whooped, leading the chants.
Before I could even process it, Dominic's arm banded around my waist, his hand cradling the back of my neck as he dragged me into a kiss that felt more like a claim.
End of A Young Wife's Wild Night Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to A Young Wife's Wild Night book page.