Swapped by Brynn Paulin, Keaton Quist

 
    Chapter One
     
     
    Tom seemed tense. We’d fought over my clothes before the party. According to him, everything I wore just wasn’t sexy enough.
    “What does it matter?” I argued. I smoothed the straight black skirt I’d put on.
    “You look like a librarian, Malory,” he replied.
    “We’re meeting your work associates at your boss’ home. I’d rather no>To Mr. Inspiration: Thank you for not being Tom.tsh ht look like a hooker,” I snapped.
    “Like you could,” he grumbled snidely.
    Furious, I stormed away. What the hell was wrong with him? For some reason, my husband was being a dick. Maybe he was nervous—who the hell knew?—but this would be the first company party we’d attended since he’d started his job with Newman and Associates last year. It was a small firm of five lawyers, including Tom, so I could see why he wanted to make the best of impressions. So why on earth did he want me to wear my smuttiest clothes? Not that I had anything too sexy. My wardrobe is trendy-conservative at best.
    Grabbing my upper arm, he dragged me back toward the master bedroom of our ranch-style home.
    “Let go of me,” I demanded as I yanked away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
    Rubbing my arm, I glared at him. Tom wasn’t abusive, per se, but when he was stressed, he tended to be rougher than usual. That seemed to be more and more lately, and I was nearing the edge of my tolerance.
    With a huff, he stormed over to our closet and threw open the doors. Rifling through the clothes, he came to a clingy, red dress in the back. It would hug my curves and fall barely to mid-thigh. I’d worn it to a club once but had never had it on again. Tom had been pissed about the male attention it had drawn that night. And now he wanted me to wear it to a work function? It made no sense.
    “This one,” he insisted.
    I crossed my arms over my chest. “You hate that outfit.”
    “Not really. You look fantastic in it.”
    “Whatever.” I shook my head and took the hanger from him. This called for entirely different undergarments than I had on—as in just about none. “Fair warning, if the other wives think I’m a slut, you’re getting a new job. I’m not putting up with them whispering about me at every function.”
    “They won’t.”
    I made a disbelieving sound, gathered alternate lingerie then disappeared into the bathroom. I shut the door firmly behind me, making it clear with my final look at him that I was thoroughly disgusted at him.
    I had a good body, slim but curvy. My hips, breasts and tiny waist formed a classic hourglass worthy of a fifties-style pinup. I secretly loved the way it looked in clingy clothes, but being a lawyer’s wife, I avoided dressing provocatively. My husband’s aspirations demanded my diligence to modesty.
    At the moment, he suffered from a bout of insanity from which I should save him, but I was just pissed off enough about his dickish behavior that I was letting him make his own bed.
    I stripped off the sweater and skirt I’d planned to wear then shoved off the cotton panties, bra and pantyhose. Carefully, I rolled on gossamer-like thigh-high stockings then pulled on a skimpy silk bra that clung to my skin, giving my breasts enough support without leaving more than the faintest of lines.
    There would be no panties, leaving me vulnerable and increasingly worked up. If Tom wasn’t suffering from disinterest tonight, maybe I’d jump him. Lately though, my dildo was getting more time than he was. He never seemed turned on enough to get really hard or excited, which made me feel like crap. Apparently, he’d pretty much lost all attraction to me.rem;
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    Tom wasn’t in the bedroom when I came out. Shocker. I figured he was probably in the living room pacing because I’d taken so long, but when I got there, he was nowhere to be found. Just when I’d decided he’d left without me, he came in from the garage.
    “Ready?” he asked, barely looking at