Who can resist a packed tight Speedo?

The pool party was in full swing, and I was ready to find myself a stud who's up for some double-teaming action. My husband is over there in his mouthwatering jeans and torn ball cap, keeping a close eye on me. He doesn't want to miss a thing. I know my type, and he's standing right there. Tattoos wrapped around his biceps and chest, a faux-hawk running down the crown of his head, and scars on his knuckles. He's a fighter, and I like it rough.

It isn't a party unless I'm bent double, taking two men at once. Time to take that bad boy around the corner where my husband can join us for some hot and sweat ground and pound.

Am I prepared for the rough loving, tattooed, muscle-bound fighter, or have I gone after a ride I can't handle?