Hot To Trot Hotwife

Amanda is a trophy wife and her husband isn't the man she needs in the bedroom. When she finds out that Clive is planning to sell her prize racehorse, she decides to get revenge! Can the lure of a horny hotwife inspire the men of Weatherstone Stables to victory? Find out in "Hot To Trot Hotwife!"

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

She slipped back into the owner’s lounge, above the second tier of stands, trying to be inconspicuous. Her stomach roiled with a combination of fear, excitement, and…

Arousal?

Yes, arousal, she decided. She hadn’t been laid in weeks, hadn’t had a climax which hadn’t been provided by her own fingers or her vibrator in even longer than that. If the price for breaking free of Clive and his cronies was screwing Bowie and Greg, then she could deal with it.

It didn’t hurt, she admitted with a wry smile as she asked the waiter for a rum and coke (heavy on the rum, light on the ice, please) that both men were good looking, albeit in completely different ways. Bowie, with his iron-grey hair, tanned face, and long, lanky body, reminded her of a cowboy out of an old western. All he needed was a hat and a six-shooter strapped to his narrow hips. Greg was all tightly-coiled energy, needing only a nudge to set it loose. The question was whether it would be in a fistfight, and all-night bender, a horserace, or with one of the squealing women who clustered around the track, drawn to danger and fame.

Bowie would be slow in bed, she thought, sipping her drink dreamily. Greg…would not. She closed her eyes, her mind spinning up fantasies. Could she bring them to the house when Clive was away on one of his business trips? He seldom invited her along these days, which suited her. He claimed it was work, but sitting in on a meeting of a board of directors in a conference room, sipping on Perrier, while someone gave a Powerpoint presentation, was not her idea of a tough job.

Cheating on her husband. It gave her a naughty, delicious thrill, deep in her belly, and she found herself growing wet. Under her dress, her thighs rubbed back and forth, setting up a wonderful friction.