Georgia's POV
I lifted each piece of lingerie from the bag slowly, my breath growing shallower with every touch of fabric against my fingertips.
The bra—if I could even call it that—was nothing more than a whisper of fabric. Sheer lace, delicate flowers embroidered across cups that don't really veil my nipples. It was made to showcase, not conceal.
Then came the stockings, smooth as silk, paired with a garter belt that screamed temptation. I could already imagine how it would hug my hips, frame my thighs, and make me look like I belonged sprawled across a velvet chair, waiting for him.
And then came the final piece—I nearly dropped it.
The underwear.
If you could even call it that.
My jaw slackened, heat surging to my cheeks as I held it up. The underwear wasn't underwear at all.
