Giving The Billionaire Curves (BBW, billionaire breeding erotica)

Free Giving The Billionaire Curves (BBW, billionaire breeding erotica) by Roxie Feurouge Page B

Book: Giving The Billionaire Curves (BBW, billionaire breeding erotica) by Roxie Feurouge Read Free Book Online
Authors: Roxie Feurouge
expensive suit whispering a bit as he moves. “Sarah, right?” He asks, addressing me. I nod and lower my eyes, not wanting to make eye contact. “No, honey, look at me.”
     
    Blushing, I do as I'm told and stare deep into those cool blue eyes. He seems to dive into my soul as he looks into mine, holding me captive. “Please understand this. You are beautiful, much more beautiful than Maria will ever be. Here's my card. Could you write down your address so I can have my driver pick you up around 8 for a home cooked meal at my house tonight?”
     
    Stunned, I don't know what to say. I begin to shake my head and say no, but he holds up his large hand. “I insist. You deserve to be treated well.”
     
    I give in, and write down my address on a post it note, handing it to him. He smiles and turns to leave, but turns back really quick to add, “Oh, and one other thing- Brett and Maria have exactly 30 minutes to get their things and leave. If they're not gone by then, see to it that security escorts them out.”
     
    I admit that left me even more stunned than being asked out by the richest man I know. I didn't have to call security though- 10 minutes later both of them were leaving with a box full of their belongings. Both glare at me, likely trying to kill me with their hatred. As Maria follows Brett out of the building, she turns to me and points. “Don't get to excited, bitch. I'll give you what you deserve.”
     
     
    It turns out that one of the few nice trainers we have was promoted to manager. As soon as Maria and Brett had left, he came out to shake my hand and apologize for what happened.
     
    I think of the shame on everyone else's face while I wash my hair in the shower. If I'm going to be having a home cooked meal with a billionaire, I have to look and smell good. I use my best shampoo and soap, both of which smell lightly of roses. I blow dry and curl my hair, pinning a few curls up for a more classic look. As for makeup, I decide to only put on some powder and eyeliner, leaving my face otherwise fresh and clean. The man saw me crying, so I'm sure he won't mind seeing me without a ton of makeup on.
     
    As I finish dressing, there's a knock on the door. I grab my purse that houses my phone and debit card and go to answer it. Standing outside is an older man, about 60, with a smile on his face. “Ms. Deliant? I'll be taking you to Mr. Calaway's home tonight, if you're ready.”
     
    I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose I am.”
     
    The drive to Calaway's house is beautiful, once I'm out of my neighborhood. He lives in a more rural area, where trees line the road and houses are few and far between. Turning onto a dead end road, we drive for another 10 minutes, the driver being silent the whole time. I wish he'd say something, but maybe he's not allowed to, so I don't pressure him. The black car slows as we approach a tall gate. Hitting the button on a remote, the gate opens and we drive through.
     
    After parking, the driver looks to me through the rear view window. “Don't be scared. Mr. Calaway is a great man.” He exits the car and opens the back door for me, helping me out and pointing the way of the front door.
     
    As I approach, I wonder if I should knock or not, but that's answered for me as the door is opened by Calaway himself. “Sarah! I'm so glad you decided to join me. Come on in, please take off your shoes.”
     
    I walk into the mudroom and remove my strappy shoes, silently happy that I gave myself a pedicure before I came. Calaway smiles at me and I return the smile. “Dinner is just about finished, I'll show you to the dining room.”
     
    The house is absolutely huge, and adorned with beautiful paintings and furniture, some of them obviously imported antiques. The hallway to the dining room has a few paintings on either wall, family portraits. As I reach the end, I begin to notice a trend- all of the mothers are as heavy as I am!
     
    Mr. Calaway opens the door

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