Free In Service To The Billionaire by Heather Chase

he was carefully peeling off—completely drenched from the rain outside. Underneath, he looked as sharp and distinguished as ever. His face, though, was haggard and tired, with a day’s build-up of  blond beardy growth.
    “Oh good, you’re here,” he said, carefully handing her his dripping coat as she stood up to greet him. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had. Brinker and Boyd are going nuts out there.”
    She emoted as much as she could. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”
    “I just came to drop off some paperwork and maybe knock out an hour or two of work.” He stopped, stroking his head. “You can go home, of course. You’re here late already, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, Sir. I thought that, with you unable to be here today, I would take care of some extra duties so that your load would be slightly lighter when you came back.”
    “Ah, good. Good work.”
    He gave her a curt little nod. Her entire body swelled with pride from the slight praise—and her breasts swelled forward, nearly spilling out of her tiny dress.
    Without a doubt, he noticed that. “Do you have a...” he trailed off, watching her fingers as she dangled with her tight necklace.
    For a few seconds, the only interaction they shared was through her expansive bust—her showing off and him taking it in. Her green eyes glittered with lust, letting him know that she knew he was looking, and she wanted him to do it more.
    He coughed, finally. “Do you have time to make me a cup of coffee before you leave?”
    “Of course , Sir. I’m so happy to do that for you.”
    For the first time, he seemed to notice the eagerness in her voice. Her heart thumped as he looked her over once more, very slowly. She straightened her back and pushed back a stray strand of glossy dark hair, allowing him to get a better look. Smiling small, he stepped into his office.
    In a few minutes, she had followed him into his office with his coffee in hand. Trying to make her strut as obvious as possible, her green eyes fixated on his position. She placed one foot right in front of the other—deliberate and hot. She had been watching models on runways for reference. He watched her the entire time as she approached, appearing to enjoy the show. His eyes devoured her form.
    Bending over at the waist, she delivered his coffee in what had become her usual way, with her breasts on full display. The bronzed roundness of them so incredibly advertised by the tight, clingy fabric of her dress.
    “Here you are, Sir. ” She made love to the word as it slipped out from her mouth again.
    He tilted his head. “You’re wearing...violet.”
    “Yes, Sir. I thought it was a color that complimented me well. I thought it looked...rather proper.”
    He leaned back in his chair. “It does. You look...very good, girl.”
    Her breath was hot, shuddery. A low, needy whimper filled her throat—she struggled to keep in her—and failed. God, she wanted to drop to her knees so bad! He was so strong, so in control. She wanted to give up all of herself to him. Everything that she was, right under his thumb.
    And his wording, fuck. The closeness there of “good” and “girl”...so very close to calling her what she burned to be called.
    He seemed happy to wait, though. Watching her. Drinking in her beautiful, dolled-up image.
    “Thank you, Sir.” She breathed at last, her tits expanding as she stood back up. “I-I will...I will go and take care of the rest of the work for Monday.”
    Trembling, she began to strut back to the door of the office.
    “Stop,” he said.
    She stopped, obedient as ever. It gave her such a thrill to do what he said.
    “Turn around.”
    She did, her heartbeat increasing. The specificity of the order—that he told her nothing more than to turn around—was cause for another thrill. On top of that was the thrill of the question—had he figured it out?
    “Approach me.”
    She began to walk forward.
    “Not like that. Strut, like you were.”
    Her mouth moved for a