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That was ludicrous. Absolutely insane.
But maybe that’s what rich guys expected on private flights. Maybe they expected the stewardess to feed them peeled grapes, just like aristocrats in ancient Rome.
So with a trembling hand, I picked up the small dish and took an almond out, raising one hand towards his lips. Oh god. This was weird, and yet I was strangely turned on. Could this really be happening?
But we were seated too far apart, so I leaned forward in my chair, reaching once more towards those sculpted lips.
“Stop,” came that deep voice.
I stopped immediately, hand still raised. Oh god, oh god, had I screwed up entirely? Had I completely messed up? Was I going to be fired on my first day?
But his voice was silky, those eyes filled with intense blue fire that made me burn from the inside out. In betrayal, my body flushed, insides going wet and warm. Oh god. I hadn’t done things wrong, but the alpha wanted something else.
And a corner of that beautiful mouth pulled up cruelly.
“Feed them to me off your tits,” he commanded.
I couldn’t move for a moment. What? Had I heard right? What in the world?
Those blue eyes never left mine.
“You heard me,” came that silky voice. “Now do it. Feed. The almonds. To me. Off your tits.”
A gasp escaped my mouth.
“What?” was my breathless cry. “What? How?”
Why was I even asking how, like it was a possibility to be entertained? There shouldn’t have been a how.
But the billionaire merely smiled lazily again, that big form relaxed yet poised to strike.
“Undo your dress,” he commanded in a raspy voice. “Let those tits out. Press them together so they’re like a shelf, and then scatter the nuts on top. I’ll snack on them as I see fit.”
What? My cheeks were scarlet now, burning with fire.
Because he wanted me to use my boobies like a platter. A white serving dish that he’d caress with his fingers each time he brought a nut to his mouth.
It was true.
Dirty and filthy, but absolutely true.
And the billionaire looked right back at me, blue eyes daring.
I couldn’t.
I was being paid well, but not that well.
But shamefully, my hands began to obey. They reached behind my back and fumbled for the zip of my dress, pulling it down in slow motion. And gradually, the navy material fell from my curves until my girls were revealed in their full glory, white sacks of cream with pale pink nipples, already large and distended.
Because the worst part of all this was that I aroused, and now the proof was there for him to see. And to my embarrassment, there was no bra. During the fitting, the seamstress had insisted that I go without.
“What?” I’d protested. “Who doesn’t wear a bra?”
But Thelma had merely clucked and made some excuse. Her English wasn’t so good, so I was sure I’d misunderstood at first.
“The men, they don’t want,” she’d said. “They don’t want.”
I’d gaped, certain I was hearing wrong. But Thelma shook her head again.
