Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
It doesn't make me feel sexy. It sends me straight to nights I spent crying over the state of my marriage.
Why do we believe lingerie will revive dormant passion? It's not as if sheer lace can convince someone they want something they don't.
You can't change the way someone feels. Or make them care. Or convince them your needs are worth prioritizing.
In the end, there's so little we can do if our partners aren't on board. I wish I could explain that better, on my podcast.
Sometimes, I want to grab a caller and yell, get out now honey, if he isn't trying, he won't. It's hard to give women advice to be patient, to communicate gently, to work harder. But women are the ones who call.
Women like me.
No. Women like who I was.
After all, I'm no longer Mrs. Ivy Vaughn, unhappily married woman.
No, tonight I’m stepping into my role as Doctor fucking O. And Doctor O always puts her desires first.
Always.
I do away with the bra and panties.
My eyes go to my reflection. I don't criticize my body, the way I did during the worst of it. Instead, I study myself without judgment. My body is on the slim side of average, but it's far from the Southern California ideal. That's not something that bothers me. Just an observation.
My shoulders are too broad. My stomach isn't defined. My breasts are too small. My hips are too wide. My stretch marks and cellulite are visible, even in the soft lighting.
At one point, these things bothered me. On bad days, they still do.
Right now, I can look at myself in the mirror and appreciate everything my body does. Even the way it feels pleasure.
Maybe I can tap into that with this Romeo fellow too.
Maybe I can let go an enjoy. Why not?
I slip into something between Ivy and Doctor O, some other part I can play, another person I can become. Cotton panties with less trim. Sexy yet practical wedges. Just enough makeup to make my features pop. A simple black dress.
Easy going glam.
Sexy yet carefree.
Does that describe me?
Maybe some parts, some way. Maybe some version of the person I want to be.
I take a deep breath and let out a deep breath. Simple. Easy. Calm.
He knocks.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
Okay, maybe calm is setting the bar high. Calmer.
I step into the living room casually. The person I want to be. A confident, in control woman who is totally casual about a night of sex with a pro. "It's open."
He turns the knob and steps inside. He's wearing a black suit and a crimson tie. And he's gorgeous.
Seriously. Meredith’s friend wasn't kidding. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Olive skin. Leading man frame and leading man looks. Classically handsome, but not too tall or too broad or too symmetrical, not in a way that makes him look untouchably perfect.
Even in the suit he looks very touchable.
He smiles, and his dark eyes light up. Somehow, he exudes just the right amount of attention. Enough to flatter. Not enough to scare.
He's good at this. Really good at this.
"You must be Ivy. Or do you prefer Doctor?" he asks.
"Oh god, am I one of those tedious people who always mentions I'm a doctor?" I don't remember saying that in my message, but maybe I'm on my way. I certainly know colleagues who can't let anyone address them as Mister or Ms.
"No. I suppose, I liked the image of it." He moves through the entrance, into the living room. His eyes move around the room. Looking for a diploma. Or just looking.
I can't tell. I have no idea how he really feels, what he really wants. I almost believe he really wants me. Maybe I should believe it. Why not? I'm paying him to pretend, after all. "It's nice to meet you, Romeo." There's no way I'm calling him Mr. Bonito. That can't be his real name. No parents would be cruel enough to name their kid Romeo Bonito.
I offer my hand.
He opens his arms for a hug.
I fall into the motion. Into his warm, hard body.
He wraps his arms around me in a full embrace. He pulls me closer, just enough I feel wanted and safe, then he releases me.
It's a quick thing, a moment, but it overwhelms me. It's been a long time since someone has held me. Since I've felt this sort of visceral desire. I like the way he smells. The way he smiles. The way he stands.
It's not that he's handsome, though he is. It's his presence.
"Can I get you a drink?" I fall into my manners as I release him.
He looks at me gently. "A drink sounds great. Whatever you're having."
"Really? Anything?"
"Try me."
"What if I drink pepper vodka?"
"I love it spicy." He lets just enough of a flirty tone fall into a voice.