Transit, 36, part 1

Lori approached the bar, her confidence building with every step. Her hips swayed naturally, her body feeling like it belonged to someone else—but someone powerful, someone in control. She spotted the bartender as he casually cleaned a glass, his eyes flickering up to meet hers the moment she neared.

He didn't seem phased by her exaggerated features, nor the glossy, swollen lips she could still feel tingling. If anything, his gaze lingered on them with a subtle hunger that made her feel even more certain of her decision.

Leaning forward, she let her cleavage catch his attention, the deep neckline of her outfit leaving little to the imagination. “I was wondering,” she purred, her voice lower than usual, “if you and I could meet somewhere more… private.”

The words slid from her lips effortlessly, and she could feel the power in them, in herself, as she watched him react. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. He leaned forward just a bit, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her lips before meeting hers again.

“Not a bad idea,” he said smoothly, setting down the glass. “I’m off in an hour. We can meet at the night bar downstairs… no one’s usually there at this time. Quiet. Private.”

His response was casual, as if he’d expected this moment. There was no surprise in his voice, no hesitation in his eyes. He was hooked. Lori smiled back, her glossy lips parting just enough to show a flash of teeth.

“Perfect,” she replied, her fingers brushing against the countertop as she turned to leave, giving him one last glance over her shoulder. “I’ll be waiting.”

As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, that same primal attraction simmering beneath the surface. Lori knew she had him right where she wanted him—and for the first time, the thought of using her new self to her advantage felt not only acceptable but thrilling.