Serving the Billionaire
Page 14
He stood abruptly, and stood before me, so close that our bodies almost touched, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Gorgeous creature,” he murmured, and I watched, frozen, as he lifted one hand and set it on my shoulder.
“Mr. Sutton,” I said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Every cell in my body yearned for him.
He drew his hand down to cup my right breast, and moved his thumb to slide over my nipple. I let out an involuntary gasp at the way it felt. My skin tingled just from the light pressure of his fingers, and as he toyed with my nipple, I was almost overwhelmed by the urge to slide to my knees and beg him to fuck me. I couldn’t think of anything I had ever wanted more.
“Your pussy’s wet, isn’t it?” Mr. Sutton asked me.
His voice was so gentle that it took me a moment to absorb what he’d said, but then it hit home, and my cheeks flamed. I shook my head, not denying it, but unable to answer. He couldn’t possibly expect me to agree with him.
“Tell me,” he said, still gentle, but insistent.
“Yes,” I whispered, humiliated beyond measure, but his thumb kept moving, teasing me, and I wanted him. I didn’t ever want him to stop touching me.
“Good girl,” he said, and the approval in his voice nearly undid me.
He took his hand away, as suddenly as he’d moved it there in the first place. “The others will be here soon,” he said. “Will you pour some drinks, please?”
I didn’t understand how he could switch gears so quickly. It took me a few moments to redirect my brain from thinking about sex and hunger and his fingers and my pussy. “Yes,” I said, after too long of a pause.
“Thank you,” he said. “I need to speak with Germaine.”
And just like that, calm as anything, he headed for the door.
When it clicked shut behind him, I shoved my hand down my skirt, inside my tights and underwear, and stroked myself until I came, thighs quivering, still standing in the middle of the room. It only took about a minute. That’s how aroused I was just from being close to Mr. Sutton, from him touching me a little.
I wondered what would happen if he ever touched me with more intent. I would probably melt, or explode. I definitely wouldn’t survive it.
By the time Mr. Sutton returned, I had wiped my hand on a napkin and smoothed my hair into place, and positioned myself beside the fireplace. I hoped I looked calm and implacable. Unreadable. I didn’t want him to know how he affected me. I was afraid. I was scared of how intensely I responded to him, and how intensely he responded to me. I didn’t know what would happen. I felt like I was hurtling down a mountainside in a car with no brakes.
He didn’t touch me again for the rest of the night. Aside from the fact that I was topless, it was more or less exactly like the last time I’d served for him. His guests paid more attention to me, their eyes greedily taking in my body as I moved around the room, but none of them bothered me or even spoke to me much. They were occupied with the dancers, and when there were two fully naked women in the room, a girl without a shirt on didn’t draw much attention. I was more or less left to serve drinks in peace.
Mr. Sutton, unlike his guests, basically ignored the dancers. Instead, he tracked me around the room all night, following me with his eyes even while he spoke with the other guests. His laser focus on me was both flattering and terrifying. I still didn’t understand what he saw in me—why he had chosen me for such particular attention, when I wasn’t beautiful or cultured or fascinating. And that threw me off balance. If I knew what he wanted, I would be on solid ground; but his motivations were totally mysterious to me, and I wasn’t sure what to do or say or think, or feel.
At the end of the night, he handed me a fat envelope and said, “You did very well tonight.”
I didn’t want his approval to matter, but it did. “Thank you,” I said, blushing.
“I want you again on Friday,” he said. “Will you?”
I didn’t have to think. I said, “Yes.”
Chapter 5
Two days later, on Friday, I went directly to room 4 when I arrived at the club. Mr. Sutton, as always, was intent on his phone, but set it aside as I came in the door and gave me his full attention.
“Regan, I want something very particular from you tonight,” he said. “If you aren’t willing, you can merely serve drinks, as before. But if you agree, I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars for the night’s work.”
I just stared at him. It was such a ridiculously large amount of money that his words didn’t mean anything to me. If he wanted to blow huge wads of cash on me, why not? Who was I to say no?
He ignored my lack of response. “I want you to... wear something.” He turned to the briefcase sitting beside him on the couch, and pulled out a small black package. He unwrapped it, and I saw that it was actually a lacy thong wrapped around a pink plastic oval.
“What is it?” I asked, mystified.
“It’s a vibrator,” he said. “It slips inside these panties, like so.” He showed me the flap of fabric inside the thong. “You can wear it.” He held up a slim black rectangle. “And there’s a remote control.”
I put one hand on the back of the chair beside me, to steady myself. “So you want me to...” I trailed off. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Yes, I want you to,” he said, with a brief flash of a smile. “You’ll wear it while you serve, and you won’t ever know when I’m about to turn it on. You’ll have to be very careful not to spill any drinks.”
I was shaking slightly, and took a deep breath in an effort to calm my racing pulse. I had never imagined anything like this. All of his guests would be able to see me coming apart at the seams, and the dancers, and him. They would all look at me and know. I didn’t know how I felt about giving him that sort of power over me, to force pleasure on me with the flick of a switch.
That was a lie. I knew exactly how I felt about it.
“So you agree,” he said, accurately reading my silence as consent.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to stay steady.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again and looked at me, the intense heat in his gaze made me feel like I was already stripped naked before him. “Put it on,” he said.
There was no question of asking for privacy. He obviously wasn’t going to leave, and I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to stay there and watch me as I undressed. I wanted him to long for me the way I longed for him. I wanted to feel his desire heavy in the room like the tension before a thunderstorm.
“Mr. Sutton,” I said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Every cell in my body yearned for him.
He drew his hand down to cup my right breast, and moved his thumb to slide over my nipple. I let out an involuntary gasp at the way it felt. My skin tingled just from the light pressure of his fingers, and as he toyed with my nipple, I was almost overwhelmed by the urge to slide to my knees and beg him to fuck me. I couldn’t think of anything I had ever wanted more.
“Your pussy’s wet, isn’t it?” Mr. Sutton asked me.
His voice was so gentle that it took me a moment to absorb what he’d said, but then it hit home, and my cheeks flamed. I shook my head, not denying it, but unable to answer. He couldn’t possibly expect me to agree with him.
“Tell me,” he said, still gentle, but insistent.
“Yes,” I whispered, humiliated beyond measure, but his thumb kept moving, teasing me, and I wanted him. I didn’t ever want him to stop touching me.
“Good girl,” he said, and the approval in his voice nearly undid me.
He took his hand away, as suddenly as he’d moved it there in the first place. “The others will be here soon,” he said. “Will you pour some drinks, please?”
I didn’t understand how he could switch gears so quickly. It took me a few moments to redirect my brain from thinking about sex and hunger and his fingers and my pussy. “Yes,” I said, after too long of a pause.
“Thank you,” he said. “I need to speak with Germaine.”
And just like that, calm as anything, he headed for the door.
When it clicked shut behind him, I shoved my hand down my skirt, inside my tights and underwear, and stroked myself until I came, thighs quivering, still standing in the middle of the room. It only took about a minute. That’s how aroused I was just from being close to Mr. Sutton, from him touching me a little.
I wondered what would happen if he ever touched me with more intent. I would probably melt, or explode. I definitely wouldn’t survive it.
By the time Mr. Sutton returned, I had wiped my hand on a napkin and smoothed my hair into place, and positioned myself beside the fireplace. I hoped I looked calm and implacable. Unreadable. I didn’t want him to know how he affected me. I was afraid. I was scared of how intensely I responded to him, and how intensely he responded to me. I didn’t know what would happen. I felt like I was hurtling down a mountainside in a car with no brakes.
He didn’t touch me again for the rest of the night. Aside from the fact that I was topless, it was more or less exactly like the last time I’d served for him. His guests paid more attention to me, their eyes greedily taking in my body as I moved around the room, but none of them bothered me or even spoke to me much. They were occupied with the dancers, and when there were two fully naked women in the room, a girl without a shirt on didn’t draw much attention. I was more or less left to serve drinks in peace.
Mr. Sutton, unlike his guests, basically ignored the dancers. Instead, he tracked me around the room all night, following me with his eyes even while he spoke with the other guests. His laser focus on me was both flattering and terrifying. I still didn’t understand what he saw in me—why he had chosen me for such particular attention, when I wasn’t beautiful or cultured or fascinating. And that threw me off balance. If I knew what he wanted, I would be on solid ground; but his motivations were totally mysterious to me, and I wasn’t sure what to do or say or think, or feel.
At the end of the night, he handed me a fat envelope and said, “You did very well tonight.”
I didn’t want his approval to matter, but it did. “Thank you,” I said, blushing.
“I want you again on Friday,” he said. “Will you?”
I didn’t have to think. I said, “Yes.”
Chapter 5
Two days later, on Friday, I went directly to room 4 when I arrived at the club. Mr. Sutton, as always, was intent on his phone, but set it aside as I came in the door and gave me his full attention.
“Regan, I want something very particular from you tonight,” he said. “If you aren’t willing, you can merely serve drinks, as before. But if you agree, I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars for the night’s work.”
I just stared at him. It was such a ridiculously large amount of money that his words didn’t mean anything to me. If he wanted to blow huge wads of cash on me, why not? Who was I to say no?
He ignored my lack of response. “I want you to... wear something.” He turned to the briefcase sitting beside him on the couch, and pulled out a small black package. He unwrapped it, and I saw that it was actually a lacy thong wrapped around a pink plastic oval.
“What is it?” I asked, mystified.
“It’s a vibrator,” he said. “It slips inside these panties, like so.” He showed me the flap of fabric inside the thong. “You can wear it.” He held up a slim black rectangle. “And there’s a remote control.”
I put one hand on the back of the chair beside me, to steady myself. “So you want me to...” I trailed off. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Yes, I want you to,” he said, with a brief flash of a smile. “You’ll wear it while you serve, and you won’t ever know when I’m about to turn it on. You’ll have to be very careful not to spill any drinks.”
I was shaking slightly, and took a deep breath in an effort to calm my racing pulse. I had never imagined anything like this. All of his guests would be able to see me coming apart at the seams, and the dancers, and him. They would all look at me and know. I didn’t know how I felt about giving him that sort of power over me, to force pleasure on me with the flick of a switch.
That was a lie. I knew exactly how I felt about it.
“So you agree,” he said, accurately reading my silence as consent.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to stay steady.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again and looked at me, the intense heat in his gaze made me feel like I was already stripped naked before him. “Put it on,” he said.
There was no question of asking for privacy. He obviously wasn’t going to leave, and I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to stay there and watch me as I undressed. I wanted him to long for me the way I longed for him. I wanted to feel his desire heavy in the room like the tension before a thunderstorm.
