Serving the Billionaire(20)

“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.#p#分页标题#e#

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.

All my life, I had thought of myself as a pretty boring person. I never had a teenage rebellion; I didn’t sneak out of the house or smoke pot or listen to music that made my parents frown. I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol until I turned twenty-one. I worked hard, paid my taxes, and recycled. I’d never done anything daring.

Being around Mr. Sutton made me feel bold.

I stepped out of my heels first, to make sure I didn’t do anything ungraceful like wobble or fall over. I had gotten much better at walking in heels, but I still didn’t feel completely confident. In my stocking feet, I stepped closer to Mr. Sutton. He looked up at me, hands resting on his splayed knees, and the heat in his gaze made my breath catch.

“What do you want me to wear?” I asked. He hadn’t told me if he wanted me topless again.

“Everything,” he said. “All of your clothes. You’ll look all buttoned up on the outside, but I’ll know the truth, won’t I?”

“Yes,” I said, a whispered scrap of a word. I reached around to unzip my skirt. It slid off my hips and puddled at my feet. I stepped out of it.

Mr. Sutton watched, saying nothing, as I bent over and peeled off my tights.

Wearing nothing but my blouse and underwear, I moved even closer to Mr. Sutton, standing between his spread knees. He lifted his hands to my hips, curling his palms around them, and used his thumbs to trace the red lines on my abdomen that my tights always cut into my skin.

“That looks painful,” he said.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said. “It just looks ugly.”

“Nothing about you is ugly,” he said.

I didn’t know how to respond. I looked down at his hands against my skin, white against brown. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my underpants and peeled the silky material away from my hips. I inhaled sharply. He looked up at me, and our eyes met.