The next morning, he left a note on my nightstand.
Wear the black dress. No bra. No panties. Be downstairs by ten. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.
My fingers trembled as I read it. The handwriting was sharp, clean. Just like him. There was no name signed, because he didn’t need one. His voice had already carved itself into my thoughts.
I stood slowly and peeled off the oversized shirt I had worn to bed. My body still ached from the night before, especially my knees, but the ache only added to the arousal pulsing low in my belly. I didn’t question the instructions. I didn’t hesitate.
The dress clung to me like sin, thin and sheer in the light. Every step I took made my breasts sway slightly, the fabric teasing over my n*****s until they peaked. Between my thighs, I was already slick.
