Chapter 2: Building Tension
Marco ordered Lola to get dressed for the next show and left.
Tom was alone again, but now his body hummed with arousal. He was trapped in Lola’s curves and Lola’s life, and he had no idea how to navigate it—but he was learning fast.
He exhaled shakily, running his hands over his body. His fingers trembled as they traced the leather skirt riding high on his thighs. The material was cool against his skin, but the heat between his legs betrayed him. He was wet. *Actually fucking damp! In this body. With this body. His new body!
He couldn't stop admiring how his hips swayed as he walked, how his full breasts jiggled slightly with each movement. He looked like a fucking goddess from some sleaze magazine, and he'd been handed this body like a fucking birthday gift.
He needed to get ready for the show tonight. He needed control over this body before he had to perform. Right now, it felt like Lola had taken over and was calling all the shots.
Tom tried to mentally command his limbs, but they moved on their own—Lola’s muscle memory guiding his actions.
He padded into the dressing room, the cool tile biting at his bare feet. The scent of sweat, perfume, and something faintly chemical hung in the air, mingling with the musk rising from his own body. His breath quickened when he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror—a flushed, heavily made-up face with dusky lips slightly parted, eyes dark with hunger.
“Fuck,” he groaned aloud, his voice thick with something primal and unfamiliar.
His hands trembled as he reached for a bottle of massage oil—coconut and vanilla, Lola’s signature scent—doused his palms and slid them over his throat, down between his breasts.