Chapter 3: Time For Some Upgrades

The city lights blurred into streaks of red and gold as I drove, a hypnotic river of taillights that for once didn't fill me with the usual soul-crushing dread of rush hour traffic. My fingers tapped an energetic rhythm against the steering wheel, a stark contrast to the slow, oppressive crawl of the cars around me. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I had a promotion. I had a fifteen percent raise. And I had a secret that made all of it feel like pocket change. What a fucking day.

I practically bounded up the stairs to my apartment, the key fumbling in the lock with my giddy impatience. The door swung open and I tossed my messenger bag onto the floor with a satisfying thud. It landed next to the couch, a mundane object containing an impossible power. The thrill of the afternoon was still thrumming through my veins, a high more potent than any ****. I had been so worried, so hesitant about this whole thing. Being a girl? Letting men look at me? It had seemed like a nightmare. But it wasn't so bad. Half the damn species lived that way every day. And what had it gotten me? A career boost I’d been chasing for years and a wallet full of cosmic currency.

I sank onto the couch, a wide, stupid grin plastered on my face. I pulled the journal from my bag and set it on the coffee table, placing the simple gold ring beside it like a trophy. Thinking back, maybe I got a little carried away. Flashing that guy in the cafe… that was probably a bit much. A chuckle escaped my lips. But who cares? That was her. That was female Alex. It wasn't me.

Was it?

The thought was a strange, slippery thing. I had been in that body, making those decisions. The line between ‘him’ and ‘her’ was getting blurrier than I was comfortable with. But then again, I’d used my own name. Alex. It was perfect, a neat, gender-neutral bridge between my two selves.

Curiosity piqued, I stood up and walked to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I was still in my work clothes, the jeans, white t-shirt, and the brown button-up I’d hastily thrown back on. I slipped the ring on.

The familiar, dizzying compression washed over me. My reflection rippled, softened. My shoulders narrowed, my height dropped, and the soft weight of breasts settled onto my chest. The button-up, which had been a trim fit on my male frame, now hung on me like an oversized jacket. I looked at the woman in the mirror, at her dark, shaggy hair and my own brown eyes staring back from a softer, prettier face.

“Yeah,” I said, my new alto voice a soft hum in the quiet room. “You look like an Alex.” A smirk played on my lips. It felt right. I grabbed looked down and grabbed my tits. “You girls did splendidly today” I said to them. I slipped the ring off, the world stretching back to its proper proportions, and sat back down on the couch, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

I looked at the ring on the table. The tiny number etched into its side was a glowing, beautiful 11. Eleven points of pure, unadulterated power. Let's see what this can enhance about myself. I opened the journal to a fresh page, my heart thumping with the sheer, giddy potential of it all. I was about to play God with my own body.

I thought about my physique. I wasn’t out of shape, but I was soft, a product of a sedentary office job and a general lack of motivation. I wanted more. I wrote:

Alex Winters has 2x more muscle.

The ink settled, and a number appeared beside it in angry red. 12.

Damn it. Just out of reach. The numbers seemed a little arbitrary. I flipped to the ‘Questions for the Matron’ page, a new question forming in my mind.

How is Influence calculated?

The phantom pen began to write, its script elegant and chilling.

When a request is written, I shall decide in that moment what it is worth based on the degree of change and how much the change may entertain me.

Entertain her. This ancient succubus was literally just making it up as she went along, pricing my deepest desires based on her own demonic amusement. The thought was both infuriating and strangely liberating. There were no hard rules, just the whims of a bored deity. I wrote another question.

Will the price ever change?

The answer was immediate.

Yes. If I feel like it, the same request may cost a different amount at a different time.

Interesting. So, the market was volatile. It confirmed my suspicion. The system was designed to push the user. Highly desirable things would be priced just out of reach, forcing you to go back out, to complete more challenges, to delve deeper into the seductive, corrupting world she’d created. But I didn't mind. I could just bank up the easy ones. A free drink here, a kiss there… I could steadily earn plenty without diving into the deep end. The thought of some of those higher-tier challenges… seducing a man for a sex tape, sleeping with a father and son… a shudder went through me. That seemed… ****. At least for now.

I flipped back to a blank page, undeterred. I just needed to be more reasonable. Not double my muscle, just… a tune-up.

Alex Winters is 50% fitter

The number that appeared was a beautiful, affordable green. 6.

I grinned, my heart hammering against my ribs. Without a second of hesitation, I underlined the sentence.

Alex Winters is 50% fitter 6

The feeling was instantaneous and profound. It wasn't a painful stretch or a violent shift. It was more like a deep, satisfying hum that resonated through every cell of my body. A warmth spread through my muscles, a subtle tightening and hardening. My chest broadened slightly, my shoulders felt squarer. My stomach, previously soft, felt like it had been pulled taut, a new, firm layer of muscle settling just beneath the skin. I took a deep breath, and the air seemed to fill my lungs more easily, my cardiovascular system clicking into a higher gear. It felt… amazing.

I jumped up from the couch and ripped my shirt off, tossing it aside. I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes wide. It was still me, but an idealized version of me. It looked like I’d spent the last year hitting the gym five days a week and eating nothing but chicken and broccoli. The change was subtle enough that it wouldn't raise any question… people would just assume I’d been working out. But shirtless, the difference was undeniable. My pecs were defined, my abs were visible for the first time in my life, and my arms had a toned, vascular look that I’d only ever seen in magazines.

This is fucking crazy. I just enhanced myself. The thought was so powerful, so intoxicating, I felt lightheaded. I loved it.

I wasn’t done. I grabbed the journal again, a new, more primal desire taking hold. I flipped to a new page, my hand steady this time, and wrote the sentence that had been nagging at me since Sunday.

Alex Winters has an 8 inch penis

The cost materialized: 2. The same as before. Fuck yes. I underlined it with a flourish.

Alex Winters has an 8 inch penis 2

The sensation was… unique. A hot, heavy pulse shot through my groin. It wasn’t painful, just an intense feeling of pressure and expansion. My boxer briefs suddenly felt a size too small. While flaccid, the difference felt minor, just a bit more weight and length hanging between my legs. But the real test…

I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down, my hands moving with a feverish excitement. I took myself in hand, my fingers wrapping around a shaft that was noticeably thicker, heavier.

As I stroked myself, I watched in the mirror as I grew, and grew, and grew. My already decent six inches swelled to a full, thick eight. The head was wider, the veins more pronounced. It was a beautiful, intimidating piece of biological engineering. Holy shit. This is going to drive the ladies nuts.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. If I ever even saw the ladies. All I had lately was Claire, and we hadn’t even…

WAIT. CLAIRE.

My eyes shot to the clock on my phone. 6:32 PM. Wednesday. My date with Claire was at seven.

“Oh, shit!”

The euphoric high of self-modification evaporated, replaced by a surge of pure panic. I had completely forgotten. I scrambled, throwing my clothes back on. I rushed into the bathroom, splashing water on my face, running a comb through my hair. I threw on a fresh outfit: a pair of trendy, baggy black jeans, a clean white tank top, and a stylish, boxy-cut button-up shirt that I left open. I looked good. The new fitness was subtle, but it made the clothes hang on my frame in a way that just… worked.

I grabbed my keys and my wallet, about to sprint out the door when my eyes fell on the table. The ring and the journal. A part of me screamed to leave them, to have one normal, magic-free night. But the other part, the new, powerful part, couldn't bear to be separated from them. At the last second, I snatched them up. I shoved the ring in my pocket. It had 3 Influence left. I quickly flipped open the journal. The only challenge left in Tier 1 was the one I’d skipped:

Get asked out on a date by a new man: 5 Influence.

Below it, the first entry for Tier 2 was still there:

Receive oral sex from a man you just met: 6 Influence.

Gross. I wondered what else was in Tier 2. Give a man oral sex? The thought of a penis in my mouth, even a female mouth that wasn’t technically mine, was a hard, visceral no.

Not really sure why I was bringing them, but acting on instinct, I tucked the journal into the back of my jeans, hidden by the loose-fitting shirt, and headed out the door.

The Italian restaurant was one of those places with dim lighting, white tablecloths, and waiters who looked at you like you were interrupting their study of classical literature. It was far too fancy for my usual budget, but Claire had insisted. I was five minutes late, and I spotted her at a small table for two, her attention on her phone. She wasn't overdressed for the fancy place, but she looked effortlessly cool. She wore a pair of dark-wash, high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips nicely, paired with a simple black top, the fabric staying perfectly smooth against her skin. The square neckline showed off her collarbones, and the long sleeves were a sheer, dark mesh. Delicate gold necklaces rested in the space above the neckline, catching the dim light. She looked pretty, but in a comfortable, approachable way.

As I approached, she looked up.

“You’re late,” she said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact.

“Sorry,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite her. “Work was crazy today. But in a good way.”

That seemed to pique her interest. The annoyance in her eyes softened into curiosity. “A good way?”

We ordered, and as we waited for our food, the conversation started to flow. She talked about her day at the coffee shop, the usual mix of rude customers and funny encounters. Then it was my turn.

“So, you’re not going to believe this,” I began, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “Frank promoted me. Marketing Associate. Fifteen percent raise and my own office.”

Her eyes lit up. “Alex, that’s amazing! Congratulations!” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Her touch was warm, and it sent a pleasant jolt up my arm.

The rest of dinner was great. The tension from my tardiness had completely dissolved, replaced by a light, fun energy. We laughed, we flirted, and at one point, she leaned forward, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You know,” she said, “you feel different tonight. More… energetic. More confident.”

I just smiled. “Just had a good run of luck lately.”

The night went on, and after dinner, we migrated to a sleek, modern bar next door. It was the kind of place with exposed brick and Edison bulbs, casual but undeniably expensive. As soon as I saw the wine list, my heart sank. Even with my new raise, these prices were astronomical. I was about to suggest we go somewhere else when Claire’s eyes lit up.

“Oh my god, they have the ’18 Valbuena Vega Sicilia! That’s my absolute favorite. Can you get me a glass?” she asked, pointing to a line on the menu.

I followed her finger and my blood ran cold. Fifty dollars. For one glass of wine.

Before I could formulate a polite way to say ‘hell no,’ she smiled brightly. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back!” And with that, she was gone, leaving me alone at the bar with an impending fifty-dollar hole in my wallet.

Goddamn it. I wanted to sleep with her. It had been way too long since I’d gotten laid, and tonight felt like the night. But this… this felt like a test. Why is it always the guy who has to buy the drinks? My eyes scanned the crowded bar. It was filled with well-dressed men, many of them in groups, all of them trying to catch the eyes of the few single women present. Guys always buy girls drinks…

An idea, reckless and thrilling, sparked in my mind. It was probably the wine from dinner talking, or the residual high from the day's events, but the clock was ticking. Claire would be back soon.

Fuck it.

“Hey,” I said to the bartender, “can you save my spot? Just gotta step out for a smoke.”

He nodded, and I slid off the barstool, making a beeline for the exit. I didn’t go out front. I darted into the quiet, dimly lit alley that ran alongside the bar. It was empty. Perfect. My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked around one last time before pulling the ring from my pocket and slipping it on.

The world compressed. The button-up shirt, already loose, now felt comically oversized, but my white tank top… that was a different story. It clung to my new form, and the soft swell of my small tits pushed against the fabric, creating a hint of cleavage that was both startling and undeniably hot. Wait, that’s my body. This is such a mindfuck. I quickly shrugged off the button-up. The tank top and baggy jeans worked well enough.

I took a deep breath and walked back into the bar, the journal a secret weight in the back of my pants tucked under the tank top against the small of my back. I hung my shirt on a nearby coat rack. Time to act.

I saw a group of loud, finance-bro types by the window. As I watched, one of them broke away from the pack and headed to the bar. He was my mark. I slid onto the empty stool next to him. He noticed me immediately, his eyes doing a quick, appreciative scan of my body.

I did my best to stick my chest out, trying to look cute and a little lost. It worked.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a smooth, practiced baritone. “You here alone?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a soft, slightly melancholy alto. “No guy to buy me a drink, unfortunately.” It was cheesy as hell, but my god, it was like a cheat code. He absolutely ate it up.

“Well, that’s a crime,” he said, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth. “What are you having? It’s on me.”

I pretended to scan the wine list, then pointed. “Two glasses of this, please,” I said to the bartender, indicating the fifty-dollar vintage. “One for me, and one for my friend.”

The guy didn’t even blink. “Make it two,” he said to the bartender, pulling out a wallet and flashing an American Express Black Card. He was trying so hard to impress me. Being on this side of the mating ritual was a revelation. It was so transparent, so obvious. I played along, smiling sweetly.

While the bartender poured the expensive wine, the guy introduced himself as Chase. I told him my name was Alex. We shook hands.

“Look,” he said, leaning in a little closer, “you got an Instagram? I’d love to take you out sometime.”

My first instinct was to say no, but then I remembered. The challenge. A slow smile spread across my face. “Uhhh, no Instagram,” I said, thinking of my very male-centric photo grid. “But you could have my number. You know, the old-fashioned way?”

He grinned, clearly pleased. “I like that.” We exchanged numbers, his real one for a fake one I made up on the spot. Just as he finished typing it into his phone, the ring on my finger pulsed with a familiar, satisfying buzz. YES.

“Thanks for the drinks, Chase,” I said, picking up the two glasses. I gave him a little wave and walked away, leaving him looking hopeful at the bar.

I headed back to our original spot and my heart lurched. Claire was already there, looking around with a confused expression on her face. Shit. Think fast.

I walked up to her, putting on my most helpful, girl-next-door expression. “Excuse me… um… Claire?”

She looked at me, confused. “Yeah? Do I know you?”

“No, sorry, this is random,” I said, my voice breezy and light. “But your date, the guy in the white tank top? He had to step out to take a call, but he ordered these for you. He saw me standing here and asked me to let you know if you got back before him.”

Claire’s confusion slowly melted away, replaced by a pleased smile. “Oh! Wow, okay. Thanks, girl.”

“No problem,” I said, setting the glasses down. I gave her a quick smile and walked away, heading straight for the door and back into the alley. I leaned against the cold brick wall, my heart pounding. That was too close. I quickly took the ring off to change back, noting the number had jumped to 8, then slipped back inside, grabbing my shirt from the rack on my way. I slid it on and sat back down opposite Claire.

“Hey, sorry about that,” I said, sliding back into my seat. “Work stuff.”

“It’s fine,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “A really nice girl told me you’d ordered. She was cute.” She paused, a sly look in her eyes. “You know, I was kind of testing you with that wine. I wanted to see if you were a cheapskate. I’m impressed.”

I just chuckled, picking up my glass. “Only the best for you, Claire.”

A few more drinks and several hours later, the bar was starting to thin out. A pleasant, warm buzz from the wine had settled over me.

“It’s getting late,” Claire said, finishing her last sip. “I should probably head home.”

This was it. The moment of truth. “Or,” I suggested, trying to keep my voice casual, “you could come back to my place.”

She looked at me, her whiskey-colored eyes searching my face. I held my breath. A slow, sensual smile spread across her lips. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

The Uber ride back to my apartment was a blur of charged silence and stolen glances. The moment we were inside my door, the tension broke. She pressed me against the wall, her mouth finding mine in a hungry, passionate kiss. We stumbled towards the bedroom.

Her black top came off next, pulled over her head in a fluid motion to reveal a pair of modest, pale breasts that perfectly suited her frame. They were soft, natural B-cups, unbound by a bra, with small, pink nipples that were already hard with anticipation. They reminded me oddly of my own. Wait. I mean the female Alex. Fuck, that was a weird thought…

I fumbled with the button of her jeans, and she helped me, kicking them off as we stumbled toward the bed. I saw her in her panties, illuminated by the sliver of moonlight coming through the window. She was hot, and to be honest a little better than I was expecting, in a real, attainable way. Her hips were a little wider than her shoulders, curving out into a soft, nice ass that I couldn't wait to get my hands on. Her stomach wasn't perfectly flat; there was a soft, feminine curve to it. My god, it had been so long since I’d been with a woman. I was fucking ready.

Then it was my turn. My button-up was the first to go, followed by my tank top, and Claire pulled back for a second, her hands still on my waist, her eyes widening as they took in my chest and stomach for the first time. “Whoa… okay,” she breathed out, a small, impressed laugh in her voice. “I did not realize you were this ripped.” Her fingers, which had been fumbling with my belt, now traced the lines of my abs, her touch both curious and appreciative. “You’ve been holding out on me, Alex Winters.” I just grinned, pulling her closer. Thank you, magic succubus! I crashed my lips back onto hers, the exploration continuing as we stumbled toward the bedroom.

We tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and mouths. Finally, the last piece of clothing, my boxer briefs, came off. Claire’s eyes widened as she looked down.

“Holy shit, Alex,” she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “You’re also… packing.” She reached out a hesitant hand, her fingers wrapping around my new, impressive length. “I’m… I’m not sure that’s going to fit.”

A confident smirk played on my lips. “We’ll make it work.”

She went down on me then, and it was incredible. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue skillful. She took her time, exploring every inch of me, her eyes locked on mine. The intensity of it, combined with the sheer novelty of my enhanced size, was almost too much. I was close, dangerously close, but I held back.

Then it was my turn. I went down on her, parting her folds and finding her clit with my tongue. She tasted sweet, like wine and arousal. She moaned, her hips bucking against my mouth as I brought her to the edge.

Finally, it was time. I lay on my back, and she straddled me, her knees on either side of my hips. She looked down at me, a nervous excitement in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “Here we go.”

She slowly lowered herself, guiding the wide head of my cock to her entrance. She gasped as I pushed inside her, just the tip. “Whoa,” she breathed. “It’s so big.” She tried to take more, sinking down another inch, but then she winced, a sharp intake of breath. “Ow. Alex, I don’t know. It’s starting to hurt.” She couldn’t get all the way down.

My heart sank. I hadn’t considered this. My selfish desire for a bigger dick had made me incompatible with someone I actually wanted to use it on. But then… an idea…

“Hey, it’s okay,” I said, my voice calm and reassuring. “This happens sometimes. It just takes a second to warm up. Trust me. Let me just grab some lube.”

She pulled off me, looking a little unsure, but she nodded. I got up and walked out of the bedroom, my mind racing. I didn’t have any lube. But I had something better. I snatched the journal from the coffee table and flipped it open. I had 8 Influence thanks to that guy asking me out earlier. I wrote quickly, my hand flying across the page.

Claire Corbin has a pussy that can expand and contract to perfectly fit any penis 3

The number appeared: 3. Perfect. I underlined it. My influence dropped to 5. But I wasn’t done. I was drunk, I was horny, and I was on a power trip.

Alex Winters can sync his orgasm with when his partner cums 2

Another 2. Underlined. 3 Influence left. I was about to stop, but one last, selfish, overwhelmingly potent desire took hold.

Claire Corbin craves the taste of cum 5

It cost 5. I winced. I was one short. Maybe something less intense?

Claire Corbin desperately craves the feeling of a man’s hot seed filling her up 3

The number that appeared was a beautiful, affordable 3. The Matron was clearly amused. I underlined it, my Influence dropping to a perfect zero. I shoved the book under the couch cushion and hurried back to the bedroom.

Claire was lying on the bed, looking impatient. “Well? Where’s the lube?”

Shit. I’d forgotten my excuse. “Oh, uh, couldn’t find any,” I said, improvising. “But I think we should just try again. Go slow.”

She looked skeptical, but she straddled me again. She took a deep breath and began to lower herself. This time, there was no resistance. Her eyes went wide as she slid down, her body stretching, expanding, molding itself around me with impossible ease. She sank down, and down, until I was buried to the hilt inside her.

“What the hell,” she whispered, her voice filled with pure, unadulterated shock. She looked down, placing a hand on her lower stomach, feeling the incredible fullness. “This is… this is incredible. I’ve never felt someone so deep…”

Her initial shock melted into pure pleasure. She started to ride me, her movements slow and deep at first, then faster, more frantic. The feeling was indescribable, a perfect, seamless friction. She threw her head back, moaning my name.

We fucked for what felt like hours. She commented on my stamina, my latest upgrade seeming to work perfect. We moved from one position to another, a frantic, passionate dance. I felt her body tensing, her orgasm building, and because of my little enhancement, I felt my own climax beginning to stir, perfectly in sync with hers.

“I’m about to cum, Alex,” she gasped as I pounded into her from behind.

“Me too,” I grunted, my control slipping as our orgasms synced.

“Cum inside me!” she screamed, a primal, **** command. She reached back, her hands gripping my hips, pulling me deeper, ensuring I wouldn’t pull out.

And then we both exploded. Our orgasms hit at the exact same instant, a tidal wave of shared ecstasy. I roared as I emptied myself deep inside her, my seed flooding her, and she screamed, her inner muscles convulsing around me in a series of mind-shattering contractions.

It was spectacular. We collapsed onto the bed, a sweaty, panting mess. She rolled over, cuddling into my side. “That,” she breathed, “was the best sex I have ever had.”

The afterglow was perfect, a warm, blissful haze. We lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, my hand stroking her hair as she rested her head on my chest. Then, she broke the spell.

“Wow,” she said, her voice a soft murmur against my skin. “We probably shouldn’t have done that.”

A shot of pure, ice-cold adrenaline jolted me from my blissful state. Fuck. I came inside her. Pregnancy. My heart, which had just returned to a normal rhythm, felt like it had stopped beating altogether. Before I could spiral into a full-blown panic attack, a sound I didn’t expect bubbled up from her. A laugh. It was a light, airy chuckle that completely deflated the tension in the room.

“Guess I’ll be making a trip to the pharmacy tomorrow,” she said, pushing herself up on one elbow to look at me, a playful smirk on her face. “Morning after pill, here I come. Just as a safety precaution. I’m already on birth control anyway.”

The relief that washed over me was so profound I felt lightheaded.

She flopped back down, her expression turning thoughtful, a little puzzled. “It’s weird, though,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never… needed a guy to cum inside me like that before. It’s usually the opposite, you know? But tonight… god, it felt so good. So much better than any other time.”

She dismissed it with a shake of her head, attributing it to the wine or the heat of the moment, but I knew the truth. Claire Corbin desperately craves the feeling of a man’s hot seed filling her up. The words from the journal echoed in my mind. I had not just altered her body; I had reached into her mind and rewired one of her most fundamental desires. The power of it was terrifying and exhilarating. I needed to be more careful. A little more subtle.

She stretched, a long, languid motion that made her breasts press against my arm. “Okay, I really do have to pee now,” she announced, sliding out of bed. The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the rumpled sheets and my racing thoughts.

My eyes fell to the nightstand, where I’d tossed the ring before Claire and I had started. I reached over and picked it up. The gold was cool against my skin. I turned it over, my thumb tracing the smooth, seamless band until I found the tiny, etched number.

0

I’d used it all up. Every last drop of power, spent on myself, on her, on crafting this perfect, unbelievable night. And god, it was so cool to use it. Maybe tomorrow I’d go out and earn some more. Experiment a little.

On a whim, driven by the lingering buzz of power and arousal, I slipped the ring onto my finger. I was lying on my back, naked, and I watched the transformation happen from a new, intimate perspective. The world didn’t just compress; my own body seemed to melt and reshape itself. My newly defined muscles softened and shrank, my torso narrowing. My legs grew more slender. The heavy weight of my enhanced cock and balls vanished, a terrifying and thrilling lightness replacing it as my groin reconfigured itself into a soft, feminine mound. And on my chest, two perfect, pale breasts swelled into existence, their nipples tightening in the cool air of the room.

I was her again. Naked. Lying in the aftermath of a sexual encounter that this body had no memory of, yet somehow felt the phantom echo of. A strange, narcissistic thrill shot through me. I reached up my new, slender hands and cupped my own breasts. They were soft, sensitive, real.

Click.

The sound of the bathroom door lock turning.

My hands flew to the ring, fumbling with the smooth band. The doorknob was turning. I yanked, pulling the ring free just as the door began to creak open.

The world stretched, my body snapping back to its male proportions with a disorienting lurch. Claire stepped back into the room. She looked over at me, a soft, satisfied smile on her face.

“What a night.” she said, her voice warm and content.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “What a night.”

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