I’ll put money on you. Twenty thousand dollars. Just flash those gorgeous tits. Your opponent will go down without a fight.” Trent reached over and squeezed my left breast. I had changed into a tank top and jean shorts before we left the office. It was Friday night. We drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, thumping over bumps and swishing over slick pavements. The moon hung high in the heavens, a pale watcher. A few brave stars winked through distance and time. “I’m sure those guys have seen plenty of gorgeous tits.” “A man can never see enough gorgeous tits.” Trent’s tone was low and serious, as if he were uttering a moral law of the universe. His eyebrows knit into a solemn scowl. I couldn’t help but laugh. He cracked a pleased smile and laughed along with me. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re here to support me.” He rubbed his palm over my bare thigh. The contact with his flesh was unbearably enticing. His fingers inched in between my thighs, playing with a frayed thread on the hem of my shorts.
