Hal's Mistake The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

The remote felt hot in Hal's hand, like it was alive and eager. Marge—still inside Brooke Logan—was grinding down on Ridge with shameless enthusiasm, Brooke's red dress hiked up around her thighs, hands tangled in Ridge's silver hair as she rode the wave of sensations she'd probably forgotten existed. The camera angle was tastefully oblique, but the sounds... the soft moans, the rustle of fabric, the wet slide of lips... were unmistakable.

Hal's pulse hammered in his ears. "Screw waiting," he muttered. "I'm not sitting this out."

Vic snatched for the remote. "Hey, wait your turn—"

Too late. Hal aimed at the screen, finger trembling over the big red ACTIVATE. He tried to line it up with Ridge—tall, rugged, shirt half-off, muscles flexing as he gripped Brooke/Marge's hips—but the picture shifted at the exact wrong second. Ridge turned away to murmur something filthy in Brooke's ear, and Hal's target slid off-center, catching Steffy Forrester just as she strode into the Forrester mansion foyer in the background, heels clicking, expression stormy.

She was wearing a sleek black power suit that hugged every lethal curve: long legs, narrow waist, full breasts straining against silk, dark hair tumbling in perfect waves. Jacqueline MacInnes Wood in her late 30s playing a woman who looked perpetually 28—sharp cheekbones, pouty lips painted crimson, eyes like green fire. The camera lingered on her as she paused, sensing the heat in the living room.

Hal pressed the button.

Whump.

Hal's body collapsed forward onto the coffee table with a thud that knocked over Vic's Ensure. Vic yelped, jumping back.

On screen, Steffy froze mid-stride. Her hand flew to her chest—feeling the rapid heartbeat, the sudden rush of youth and vitality flooding veins that had known nothing but arthritis and beta blockers for decades. She looked down: cleavage heaving in the low-cut blouse, hips swaying involuntarily as she took a step. A slow, stunned smile spread across those famous lips.

"Holy... shit," Hal breathed in that husky, commanding voice. He ran his palms down his sides, over the flare of hips, then up to cup his own breasts experimentally—firm, heavy, sensitive nipples hardening under silk. A low groan escaped. "These are... incredible. And no goddamn back pain."

Inside the mansion, Marge pulled back from Ridge, glancing toward the foyer. "Steffy? Honey, you okay? You look... different."

Hal turned, eyes wide with predatory glee. "Oh, I'm more than okay, Mother." The word dripped with irony. He sauntered forward, hips rolling like he'd been born in stilettos. "In fact, I feel fantastic."

Vic stared at the TV, mouth open. "You... you idiot. You were supposed to go for Ridge!"

Hal—now in Steffy's body—laughed, the sound rich and feminine and utterly delighted. "Look at me, Vic. Look at this body. Twenty-something? Thirty? Doesn't matter. No wrinkles. No sagging. And feel this—" He flexed one leg, admiring the smooth, toned muscle. Then he slid a hand between his thighs, pressing against the sudden, insistent ache through the fabric of his skirt. "Jesus Christ, it's like a live wire down there. Constant. Wet. Ready."

Marge bit her lip, eyes darkening. "Hal? That you in there?"

Hal winked at the camera—knowing, somehow, that his friends were watching. "In the flesh, Marge. Quite literally. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He turned back to Ridge, who was looking between the two women like a man who'd died and gone to heaven. "Daddy," he purred, stepping close enough that Steffy's breasts brushed his chest. "We need to talk. Privately."

Ridge swallowed hard. "Steffy—"

Hal grabbed Ridge's tie, yanked him down for a bruising kiss. No hesitation. Tongue. Teeth. One hand sliding down to palm the growing bulge in his trousers. Ridge groaned into Hal's mouth.

Marge laughed—low, wicked. "Well, this just got interesting."

Back in the common room, Vic clutched the remote like a lifeline, staring at the slumped bodies of his two friends. On screen, Hal was dragging Ridge toward the elevator while Brooke/Marge followed, hips swaying, already unbuttoning her dress.

Vic licked dry lips. "They're... they're gonna—"

The camera cut to the elevator doors closing on three bodies pressed together: Ridge sandwiched between mother and daughter, hands everywhere, mouths hungry.

Vic's hand shook as he pointed the remote at the screen.