I bought the black lingerie set I’m wearing on a whim a few weeks ago, purchased with the hopeful, optimistic intent to possibly use it with the mystery man. Wearing it under my dress all night gave me an added confidence and I feel sexy for the first time in my life.

Smiling, I take a deep breath and turn toward my bed. Staring at it quizzically, I wonder what position I should take. Do I lie down? Lean on one elbow?

I settle for perching on the edge of the mattress and crossing my legs, hoping I don’t look uncoordinated.

A gentle rap on the door causes me to suck in a breath, and my body is alight with nerves and an excited anticipation.

“Come in,” I say, squaring my shoulders back. The knob turns and Henry opens the door, standing in the threshold of the room.

His gaze pierces me as it travels from my face down my body, eyes progressively widening the farther south he goes. When he reaches my feet, he exhales and stares at the ceiling. It’s silent in the room for an agonizing length of time. He’s unspeaking. I’m unmoving, afraid to disturb whatever is happening in his head.

Henry’s jaw flexes. He mumbles something to himself. His chest rises and falls before his chin drops, leveling me with a look that knocks the wind out of my chest.

“Stand up,” Henry says. It’s not a command. It’s not a demand. It sounds like… like he’s begging me to oblige.

I rise from the bed on unsteady feet, happy to do what he asks. He crosses the room in two long strides, reaching out to lightly grip my elbow and steady me before dropping his palm to my stomach, thumb running over my ribs.

“Emma. Is this… Is this for me?” His voice cracks at the end of the question, an awed expression taking over his face.

“I thought you might like it.”

It’s a two-piece set; the sheer top crisscrosses over the swell of my breasts and enhances my cleavage, nipples on full display. The lace doesn’t hide anything. The bottom portion sits high on my waist, attaching across my stomach to flimsy underwear that might as well be nonexistent. The back exposes my ass, covering only a small part of my cheeks. It’s the hottest item of clothing I’ve ever worn, and watching Henry watch me makes me want to live in it forever.

“Baby,” he starts. He swallows, staring at my chest. His hand skates to my hip, finding a small sliver of bare skin. The pad of his finger brands me, barely a touch but hot enough to scorch every inch he’s yet to reach. “I fucking love it. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Even though I don’t wear thigh-high stockings under my work skirts? Present attire excluded.”