Serving the Billionaire (12 page)

I grinned helplessly, unable to keep feeling sorry for myself. Sadie’s energy practically radiated out of my phone. She was always able to make me feel better. “Sorry,” I said. “Man emergency.”

“Man? Man emergency?” she said. I heard rustling in the background, and then she said, “I’m up. I’m making coffee. Tell me everything.”

I told her the whole story, minus a few intimate details. I told her about waking up in Carter’s bed that morning, and our awkward conversation over coffee, and the way he pushed me against the door of the car and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. I told her about how I was going to see him again the next day, and how it would be too easy to let myself fall into his orbit, and how I was scared.

“Oh girl,” she said, when I was finished. “You are so screwed.”

I nodded sadly, even though she couldn’t see me. I knew I was.

I
dressed up on Sunday.

I always dressed up for work, but that day I made a special effort. I wore the black wiggle dress that Sadie had strong-armed me into buying. My body was cut pretty straight up and down, but the dress hugged my body so snugly that it made me look like I had curves for days. I left my hair down and curled it at the ends to give it some extra volume and make it coil lushly over my shoulders. I sat at my mirror with liquid eyeliner and makeup remover until my winged liner looked the same on both sides. I even wore lipstick.

Examining my reflection in the full-length mirror, even I could admit that I looked hot.

It was my battle armor. I was going to tell Carter, in no uncertain terms, that it was over. I needed to look flawless and untouchable on the outside, because maybe then I would feel the same way on the inside.

Three separate men asked for my number on the subway, so maybe I didn’t look quite as untouchable as I’d hoped.

I got to the club only a few minutes before 4, and it was already bustling with waitresses and dancers. A few of the girls greeted me as I put down my things, but everyone was already so busy that nobody stopped to chat. That was fine with me. I wasn’t really in the mood for chatting.

The door to room 4 was slightly open. I went over and poked my head into the room. Carter was there, as I’d known he would be, but he wasn’t looking at his phone as he usually was. Instead, he was holding a glass of amber-colored liquid and gazing blankly at the wall.

I walked noiselessly into the room, my heels muffled by the thick carpet. I didn’t know what I was doing, or why, or what I was feeling. I could have stayed behind the bar and avoided Carter all night. But here I was, drawn to him inexorably, a moth beelining for the flame.

He turned his head as I entered his peripheral vision. For a moment, he stared at me the same way he’d been staring at the wall, devoid of all expression, but then he seemed to realize who had disturbed him, and smiled. “Regan. You’re here.”

“I told you I would be,” I said. I stood in front of him, hands clasped. “Are you having company tonight?” My heart hammered in my chest. I was determined not to let him see the effect he had on me. He already had too much power over me.

“Yes. They’ll be arriving shortly.” He leaned forward and looked at me intently. “Will you serve drinks for me tonight?”

I opened my mouth to tell him no, to tell him that I was going to keep my distance, that we shouldn’t spend more time together; but when I spoke, I heard myself saying, “I will.”

My own body had betrayed me. There was no going back.

I squeezed my hands together, bone digging into bone.

It was inevitable, really. I’d been kidding myself, pretending that I would be able to distance myself from Carter. I hadn’t dressed up tonight to protect myself; I’d done it so that he would look at me the way he was looking at me now, lids heavy, mouth curled to one side. I wanted him to approve of me.

He cocked his head to one side. “I wish I could tell what you’re thinking,” he said. “You watch everything, and you say so little. What are you thinking about, behind those dark eyes?”

Did he really think I never talked? He sounded like he didn’t think I had a personality. Most of our interactions had happened at the club, where I wasn’t
supposed
to be talkative. Annoyed, I said, “I’m an introvert. Is that okay with you?”

“Is that what it is? I thought you were just shy,” he said. “Go close the door.”

I obeyed without thinking, my heart beating faster just from thinking about why he might want privacy. The door was heavy, and made a solid, satisfying noise as I shut it and turned the bolt.

“No, don’t lock it,” he said.

I hesitated. “But—someone could come in.”

“That’s the idea,” he said.

I exhaled and unlocked the door. The thought of someone walking in on us was more arousing than it should have been. Public sex had never appealed to me, but Carter was bringing out my inner exhibitionist.

More accurately, he was bringing out my inner
everything
.

“Good,” he said, as the bolt audibly retracted into the door. “Now come here.”

I walked back over to him, swaying my hips deliberately as I placed my feet one in front of the other. The way he was looking at me made my mouth go dry. I stopped in front of him, between his spread legs, and planted my hands on my hips.

“That’s good,” he said. “Stay just like that and don’t move.”

I nodded, feeling heat gather between my legs. It still amazed me that Carter had this effect on me—that he could reduce to me gibbering arousal with a few commands and a meaningful look. He could overcome all of my reservations, make me break my own promises to myself, keep me waiting on his every word. No man should have that sort of power, but Carter did, and I was beholden to him.

He leaned forward in his seat and took the hem of my dress in both hands. Slowly, he dragged it up my thighs, up to my hips, and around my waist, his fingers skimming teasingly along my thighs as he went. I breathed through my mouth, shallowly, trying to keep my pulse even. I was glad I was wearing tights. Even with their protection, I still felt stripped to the bone.

And Carter wasn’t finished. With my dress out of the way, he tugged at the elastic waist of my tights, drawing it away from my body, and carefully shimmied my tights down around my knees, hobbling me. Underneath, I was wearing my usual silky underpants. Carter pressed his face against them, against my mound, and
inhaled
.

I moaned aloud, unable to help myself. God, he was
smelling
me, and I was sure he could; my panties were wet, and his face was right there, nose tucked up against my clit. I slid my hands into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and curled my fingers around the slope of his skull.

“You smell incredible,” he said, each word a warm gust of breath. “And your little bikini briefs—Christ, it makes you seem so
innocent.
But of course I know that you’re not.”

But I
had
been innocent, not so long ago. Not innocent in general, of course; I’d known for years that life was solitary, poor, and brutish, but until very recently I had been completely innocent about men, and about the sorts of things that Carter had taught me: the way my body responded to his, the molten desires churning deep within me, waiting to be unearthed.

I would never admit it to him, though.

Instead of replying, I tilted my hips toward him, a clear invitation. I wanted him to touch me, and I knew he would tease me all evening if I gave him the chance. I was too shy around him, still, to ask him for what I wanted, so I would let my body do the asking instead.

It didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of pulling down my panties and putting his mouth on me, he drew back and smirked at me. “We don’t have time for that tonight,” he said. “You’ll have to settle for second best.”

I couldn’t imagine what
second best
was—his cock? The vibrator again? I was about to gather my courage and ask him when he curled one hand around my thigh and teased the other along the elastic binding of my panties, arcing along my hip and thigh and then down between my legs.

Oh
. I shifted my feet slightly, spreading my legs further, giving him full access. He looked up at me, eyes dark, mouth curved into a private smile, and held eye contact as he pushed the crotch of my underpants out of the way and slid his fingers into my wet slit.

My fingers dug into his scalp without permission, and I hastily snatched my hands away, afraid I would hurt him. “It’s okay,” he said, but I had already moved my hands to his shoulders, balancing myself with my fingertips against the crisp fabric of his shirt.

His hand moved expertly. He stroked my wet folds, setting every nerve ending alight, and then slid his hand up to roll his thumb over my clit.

My knees buckled. I bent over at the waist and planted my hands firmly on Carter’s shoulders, relying on him to keep me upright. With each subtle shift of his fingers, sparks of pleasure shot through me, agonizing delight.

“You’re so responsive,” he said. “It’s incredible. Every man alive dreams of this. You were made for me, weren’t you? To come on my fingers, my tongue, my cock—”

“Please,” I said, nonsensically, and he laughed softly, a low, warm sound, and started rubbing my clit in fast circles, my own favorite way to touch myself. He wasn’t teasing, now. He was actively trying to make me come.

I breathed through my mouth, pulsing my hips toward him in time with the movements of his fingers. He was, God, so good at this, both at touching me and the way he’d set up the scenario: the door unlocked, my tights around my knees, my dress shoved up around my waist. I was completely exposed, and if anybody walked into the room, there would be no uncertainty as to what was going on. I was getting fingered by Carter Sutton, and loving it.

He pushed two fingers into my body, gently but firmly, and I cried out as I felt myself opening around the intrusion. He twisted his fingers and pressed them into me, touching at something inside me that sent unexpected heat flowing through my veins. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I wanted more of it, and I wanted him to keep touching me forever, to keep me in that state of ecstatic delirium, where I didn’t care about anything but him and his body and the way he felt against me.

And then, just as I was thinking that, he pulled away.

He drew his fingers out of me and extracted his hand from my panties. He tugged the fabric back into place and kissed my thigh and said, “I think that’s enough.”

“No,” I protested, my voice a weak scrap of sound.

He laughed and began tugging my tights back up my thighs. “My guests will be here soon. You don’t want them to catch you like this, do you?”

He was right: I didn’t. I forced myself to straighten up and tried to help him fix my clothing, but my hands were trembling and useless, and he gently pushed my hands out of the way. I stood there like a child while he re-dressed me and smoothed the wrinkles out of my dress.

“There,” he said. “Good as new.” He lifted his hand to his face, the one that had been inside my body, and sniffed his fingers, closing his eyes with exaggerated pleasure. I stared at him, mesmerized, and when he opened his eyes again, our gazes locked. “I’m not going to wash my hands,” he told me. “I’m going to smell you on my skin all night.”

I never knew how to react when he said things like that. I looked down at my feet, cheeks flaming, and picked an imaginary piece of lint off the skirt of my dress.

“Shy, or introverted?” he asked, teasing me, returning to the conversation we’d been having before he.... before.

“Aren’t they basically the same thing?” I asked.

“You tell me,” he said. “You’re the expert.” He stood and wiped his hand on a napkin, then handed it to me. I took it, mortified, pussy still throbbing from his touch. “Scotch, please, as usual,” he said. He looked me up and down. “I’ll make you come later.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and reveled in the sudden flare of heat in his eyes.

By the time I returned from the bar with a bottle of Scotch, the first of Carter’s guests had already arrived. We’d cut it too close; another few minutes, and the man would have caught us in the act. Maybe that was the idea. Carter had, after all, told me that he liked to watch. Maybe he liked to
be
watched, too.

I hoped he wouldn’t ask me to do that with him. The idea of strangers—or not even strangers, of
anyone—
watching us have sex gave me tremors. I liked the idea more than I wanted to. Safer to just not go there at all.

The party that night was larger than usual. On the other nights I’d served for him, Carter had only had a handful of guests, maybe five at the most; but this time, there were closer to fifteen. I didn’t have time to keep an exact count. They kept me busy, running back and forth to the bar with drink orders, so that I barely had time to deliver one drink before I was sent off to fetch another.

There were three dancers in the room, women I knew by sight but had never spoken to, and by the time the final guest arrived, maybe half an hour after the first, the dancers were all naked and perched on a man’s lap, with other men fondling their breasts and bald pussies and shapely asses.

Carter’s parties were usually pretty sedate, with the men focusing primarily on their discussions about business and only secondarily on the dancers, but the atmosphere this evening was different. The guests were paying more attention to the dancers than usual, stroking them more demandingly, urging two of them to make out with each other. One of the men directed a dancer to straddle his lap, and began grinding his hips up against her with every appearance of intending to get himself off.

I set down a tray of drinks and glanced at Carter. He was in close discussion with one of his guests, and didn’t seem to notice the direction his party was taking. The dancers seemed happy, laughing with the clients, pressing their breasts against a man’s face, letting him suck on their nipples; but I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Germaine had told me, back before the first time I waitressed at one of Carter’s parties, that Carter’s guests were all very vanilla, and that I had nothing to be concerned about. But it looked, now, like a few of them were going to try to have sex with the dancers, right there in front of everyone, and Carter didn’t seem to be paying any attention.