Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred, willing my finger to press down, to make the decision my rational mind screamed was the only sensible choice. Yet my body rebelled, refusing to obey this simple command. Instead, my awareness shifted traitorously to the silky fabric of the nightgown still draped across my other hand.
What would it feel like against my skin? Surely even the physical sensation would be different from what I had felt in the photography studio, when I knew that I had put it on for a man who had paid me for the privilege. How would he look at me when he saw me in it?
The questions floated irresistibly through my mind, bringing with them images that made heat pool low in my belly. I imagined his hazel eyes darkening with desire, his elegant hands reaching for me…
I tossed the phone onto the couch as if it had burned me and dropped the nightgown back into its box. This was insanity. I needed to think clearly, to make decisions with my head, not with the confusing, shameful heat between my thighs.
I paced the apartment, trying to organize my thoughts. I could take a shower, clear my head. That’s what I needed—cool water to wash away this feverish indecision.
The bathroom’s bright lights felt accusatory as I stripped off my clothes. I avoided looking at my reflection, afraid of what I might see there—the flush spreading across my chest, the hardened nipples that betrayed my arousal despite my mental protests.
Under the shower’s spray, I tried to think logically. This arrangement with Pierre was strictly business, wasn’t it? A transaction. He would pay generously for a night of my time, during which he would… what? Introduce me to the principles of the New Modesty? The very phrase sent another unwelcome surge of heat through me.
By the time I emerged from the shower, my skin pink from scrubbing and hot water, I was no closer to a decision. I wrapped myself in the plush towel provided by Selecta and padded back to the living room, where my phone still lay on the couch, the decision still waiting.
Revoke access… or not…
Put on the babydoll… or not…
Seven fifty-five. Five minutes until Pierre would arrive.
I sat perched on the edge of the sofa, my heart hammering so hard I felt lightheaded. I hadn’t revoked his access. I hadn’t put on the babydoll nightgown either.
Instead, I wore a simple green dress from the wardrobe Selecta had provided. It was modest by most standards—knee-length, with a neckline that revealed only a hint of collarbone—yet it fit me perfectly, emphasizing my slender waist and the gentle curve of my hips. I’d spent an absurd amount of time on my makeup, surely—I realized now—trying to distract myself from thinking about what lay ahead.
I’d told myself I would just talk to him first. Lay out boundaries, find a compromise that wouldn’t leave me feeling like I’d completely surrendered my dignity. If he agreed to reasonable limits, then maybe—just maybe—I’d consider putting on that scandalous nightgown and maybe even seeing if I could earn the First Intimacy Premium.
But as eight o’clock approached, I found myself drawn to the bedroom where I’d laid the white babydoll nightgown on my neatly made bed earlier, smoothing it with nervous fingers. The sheer fabric caught the light, seeming to glow against the dark blue bedspread. Beside it lay the tiny white thong, a scrap of lace that would cover almost nothing.
“This is crazy,” I whispered to myself, but even as the words left my lips, my hands were reaching for the hem of my dress, raising it and then reaching underneath.
Blushing furiously, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my everyday panties and pushed them down my legs, stepping out of them with a strange sense of shedding more than just cotton underwear.
With trembling fingers, I picked up the white thong. The lace felt delicate, almost weightless in my hands. I stepped into it, pulling it up my legs until it settled against my freshly waxed skin. The still-unfamiliar sensation of the narrow strip between my buttocks made me shift uncomfortably.
I bit my lip as I realized I was already very wet. The evidence of my arousal was unmistakable, dampening the thin fabric of the thong. I felt a flash of shame at this betrayal by my own body, followed quickly by a surge of heat that only intensified my condition.
I heard the unmistakable sound of the apartment door opening. My heart leapt into my throat. Had I lost track of time?
I stepped into the hallway just in time to see Pierre standing in the entryway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the corridor outside. He wore a different suit than he had at the café—this one a deep charcoal that emphasized his broad shoulders. His long brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, giving him an aristocratic air that made my mouth go dry. He looked like a man from another era.