form, especially after what we just did several feet from here. I only have a few hours before I have to get ready for dinner and I really need my rest.
I set my alarm and then crawl under the covers, thinking about Mr. Merrick’s lickable lips and sultry smirk, hoping that dinner tonight will provide me with all of the answers I’m looking for.
Chapter Five
They say every woman needs a little black dress in her closet. I bought my first two prior to my graduation from nursing school. The first one was sexier than my usual style and revealed a little more skin than I’m used to showing. I told myself I was a college graduate and needed to start dressing more like a woman, so I purchased it despite my trepidation.
The morning of my graduation ceremony, I put it on to make sure I made the right choice. After analyzing my appearance for over an hour in the mirror, I ran back to Macy’s and bought something more conservative. The first dress has been sitting in my closet ever since.
I brought it with me to New York because the dress, like my cross-country move to a big city where I didn’t know anyone, intimidated me. Tonight, it makes its big debut for my dinner date with Mr. Merrick.
My major concern at the moment is undergarments. A strapless bra is a must, but I’m not sure if I should go for the plain black one or the sexier lace option. And do I opt for granny panties or a black sheer satin thong?
If I choose the homely underwear, it gives me additional incentive not to jump into bed with Mr. Merrick. I need all the help I can get not to cave. But there is also the notion that sexy underwear empowers women, whether a man is going to see them or not, and I could use the confidence.
I hold up both sets in front of the mirror. In keeping with the sexier dress choice, the black thong and racier bra win. A pair of strappy black heels that make my legs look longer completes my outfit.
After fumbling with the zipper at the back of the dress, I face the mirror. The dress clings to my body in all the right places, and although it’s not haute couture or Audrey Hepburn-esque, it looks classier than its sixty-dollar price tag. I pay good money for my gym membership so it’s nice to see it’s worth it. I owe my physique to good genes, too—five-feet, five-inches tall, and a size four, like my mother.
As I survey my appearance from every angle, I feel confident and sexy —a drastic change from the way I felt the last time I tried it on—and I know I’ve made the right choice. I may not be sleeping with Mr. Merrick tonight, but I still want him to find me attractive.
I get a birth control shot every three months because a girl has got to be safe, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy. At the same time, I’m not super picky, either. All I ask is for the guy to be more than a fling. There must be mutual respect and we have to care about each other on some level, which is why I haven’t had sex since my senior year in high school with my first and only boyfriend. I dated sporadically during college, but nothing warranted taking such a big step again.
I apply more makeup than usual, style my brown hair in loose waves, and dab some perfume on my wrists —the stuff I reserve for special occasions only. I’m hoping to redeem myself since Mr. Merrick has only ever seen me in my work clothes and boring yoga pants.
By the time I finish getting ready, it’s just after six. Butterflies flutter in my stomach while I sit on my couch and wait to be picked up. At exactly six thirty, the intercom buzzes. At least the driver has enough courtesy to notify me of his arrival instead of showing up at my front door unannounced like Mr. Merrick did.
I walk toward the intercom and press the button. “Hello?”
“Miss Peters, my name is Randall.” The voice sounds deep and carries a strong British accent. “I’m here to pick you up for your evening with Mr. Merrick.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“My orders, madam, are to
I set my alarm and then crawl under the covers, thinking about Mr. Merrick’s lickable lips and sultry smirk, hoping that dinner tonight will provide me with all of the answers I’m looking for.
Chapter Five
They say every woman needs a little black dress in her closet. I bought my first two prior to my graduation from nursing school. The first one was sexier than my usual style and revealed a little more skin than I’m used to showing. I told myself I was a college graduate and needed to start dressing more like a woman, so I purchased it despite my trepidation.
The morning of my graduation ceremony, I put it on to make sure I made the right choice. After analyzing my appearance for over an hour in the mirror, I ran back to Macy’s and bought something more conservative. The first dress has been sitting in my closet ever since.
I brought it with me to New York because the dress, like my cross-country move to a big city where I didn’t know anyone, intimidated me. Tonight, it makes its big debut for my dinner date with Mr. Merrick.
My major concern at the moment is undergarments. A strapless bra is a must, but I’m not sure if I should go for the plain black one or the sexier lace option. And do I opt for granny panties or a black sheer satin thong?
If I choose the homely underwear, it gives me additional incentive not to jump into bed with Mr. Merrick. I need all the help I can get not to cave. But there is also the notion that sexy underwear empowers women, whether a man is going to see them or not, and I could use the confidence.
I hold up both sets in front of the mirror. In keeping with the sexier dress choice, the black thong and racier bra win. A pair of strappy black heels that make my legs look longer completes my outfit.
After fumbling with the zipper at the back of the dress, I face the mirror. The dress clings to my body in all the right places, and although it’s not haute couture or Audrey Hepburn-esque, it looks classier than its sixty-dollar price tag. I pay good money for my gym membership so it’s nice to see it’s worth it. I owe my physique to good genes, too—five-feet, five-inches tall, and a size four, like my mother.
As I survey my appearance from every angle, I feel confident and sexy —a drastic change from the way I felt the last time I tried it on—and I know I’ve made the right choice. I may not be sleeping with Mr. Merrick tonight, but I still want him to find me attractive.
I get a birth control shot every three months because a girl has got to be safe, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy. At the same time, I’m not super picky, either. All I ask is for the guy to be more than a fling. There must be mutual respect and we have to care about each other on some level, which is why I haven’t had sex since my senior year in high school with my first and only boyfriend. I dated sporadically during college, but nothing warranted taking such a big step again.
I apply more makeup than usual, style my brown hair in loose waves, and dab some perfume on my wrists —the stuff I reserve for special occasions only. I’m hoping to redeem myself since Mr. Merrick has only ever seen me in my work clothes and boring yoga pants.
By the time I finish getting ready, it’s just after six. Butterflies flutter in my stomach while I sit on my couch and wait to be picked up. At exactly six thirty, the intercom buzzes. At least the driver has enough courtesy to notify me of his arrival instead of showing up at my front door unannounced like Mr. Merrick did.
I walk toward the intercom and press the button. “Hello?”
“Miss Peters, my name is Randall.” The voice sounds deep and carries a strong British accent. “I’m here to pick you up for your evening with Mr. Merrick.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“My orders, madam, are to
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