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The bedroom door clicks shut behind her, the sound soft and final against the quiet hum of the apartment. Sarah leans back against the wood for a moment, pressing her palms flat against it, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looks down at herself — pink tube top, black skirt, pink socks — and lets out a shaky breath.
She pushes off the door and crosses to the dresser. The lingerie is still folded where she left it the night before, wrapped in a piece of tissue paper on top of the dresser. She pulls the paper away, and the black lace spills out, delicate and intricate, the fabric thin enough to reveal but structured enough to hold her in all the right places. She traces her fingers along the edge, the texture soft beneath her touch.
She can't believe this is real. That she's actually about to do this. Not just for you, but for Alex — the man who called her fucking sexy while his best friend and her boyfriend watched. The man whose gaze she's been chasing all morning without even realizing it.
She strips off the tube top and skirt, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. The lingerie slides up her body, cool against her warm skin. The lace cups cradle her breasts, the straps resting on her shoulders. The briefs sit low on her hips, the edges trimmed with delicate scalloped lace. She looks at herself in the mirror, turning slightly, watching the fabric catch the light.
She feels exposed and powerful. Vulnerable and alive. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she lets her fingers comb through it, fluffing it just slightly before letting it settle.

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