Chapter 1: Service with a smile
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final *snap*, and Richard Harrison stood in the dim, honeyed light of Chloe’s apartment, shrugging off his tailored wool coat. The scent of sandalwood and leather clung to the fabric, mingling with the faint floral musk of candles flickering on the coffee table—expensive ones, the kind she only burned when she was *really* trying to please him. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back as if shedding the weight of the business day—fraught conversations, a board meeting that dragged on too long, the way his wife’s fingernails had tapped impatiently against the wineglass at dinner.
But none of that mattered here. Not in this room. Not with her.
His polished black dress shoes thudded against the hardwood floor, each step measured, deliberate, as he moved deeper into the apartment—past the soft glow of the lamp in the corner, past the glass-topped coffee table where a half-empty bottle of vintage champagne sweated in an ice bucket, past the sleek, modern bookshelf lined with nothing but paperbacks of romance and erotica, their spines creased from being handled over and over. Most of them were his—he’d picked out a few for her, titles he thought would *educate* her, titles that left nothing to the imagination. She’d read every single one.
More than once.
Richard’s gaze flicked to the living room, where Chloe was already on her knees—just as he’d demanded in the text he’d sent her an hour before he left his office. Not his office, really. *His life.* The one thing that still had the decency to behave like an obligation rather than a goddamn chore. His wife’s voice slithered through the back of his skull—*Why are you late again? Who’s the girl this time?*—but he shoved it aside, savoring the way the blood rushed south as he imagined what was waiting for him.
Chloe was more than he’d expected when he found her at that café, three months ago.
She was young—too young, maybe—but the way she’d looked up from her iced latte with those big, doe-eyed blues, the way her lips had trembled when he’d brushed his fingers against her wrist, the way she’d said *"You’re so handsome"* like she meant it… it had made something dark and hungry twist inside him.
He had been a fool to think he could resist her.
And now she was on her knees—*waiting*—as he always found her when he came over. Dressed in that goddamn pink lace thing he’d bought her last week, the one that barely covered anything, the one that made her tits spill over the top like a damn offering.
The matching panties were already somewhere on the floor—he could see the lace pooled beside her knee. Her thighs were pressed tight together, but not tight enough to hide the wet sheen glistening on the inside of her thighs. She was wet. *Good.* She’d been holding out for two weeks now, like he’d told her to. No orgasms unless he said so. And he *never* said so unless he felt like it.
Richard unbuttoned his cuffs, the fabric whispering against his skin as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he loosened his tie, let it dangle unknotted around his collar.
Chloe’s breath hitched when he unbuckled his belt, the dull *clink* of metal sending a shiver through her. She licked her lips, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she stared at the growing bulge behind his slacks. She couldn’t help it—she fucking *ached* for him, every nerve in her body thrumming with need.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough, amused. “Two weeks with no relief, and you’re already dripping.” He stepped closer, his shoe tapping against the hardwood just before he stopped, close enough that she could smell the musk of his cologne mixed with the faint tang of sweat from his long day.
His finger lifted her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his. ”You’ve been a good girl, waiting on your knees like this. Almost afraid to breathe without my permission, aren’t you?”
Chloe whimpered, her fingers trembling against the hem of her lingerie before she remembered herself and dropped them to the floor again. She nodded frantically. “Y-yes, Sir. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Richard smirked, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip before pressing it inside. She opened immediately, sucking it gently, her tongue curling around the pad of his thumb just like she’d practiced.
She knew—*knew*—every flick, every twist of her tongue, every tight pull of her lips would be studied, judged, *rewarded*. She had spent hours perfecting the way she could swallow him without gagging, how to hollow her cheeks just right, how to tease the tip with the very tip of her tongue until he groaned and fisted her hair.
But tonight, he didn’t push her mouth down. He didn’t force her. He just let her worship him, his thumb still resting on her tongue as his other hand unbuckled his belt with slow precision.
The zipper rasped down, and Chloe’s breath hitched, her eyes flicking down to watch as his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already half-hard, the tip glistening with the first bead of pre-cum. It twitched as she stared, like it was *begging* for her mouth.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, finally pulling his thumb free and replacing it with two fingers pressed down on her tongue. “You love the way my cock looks in your mouth. The way it’ll look *filling* your throat.” His hand slid to the back of her head, not forcing, just guiding, his fingers tangling in her long blonde hair.
He let her lean in, let her take him inch by inch, her lips parting around the thick head, her tongue already swirling, already teasing the slit before he’d even settled into place.
Chloe moaned around him, the vibration sending a shudder through his cock, making it twitch against the back of her throat. She gagged—just a little—but caught herself, hollowing her cheeks as she pulled back, letting him slide out with a wet, obscene *pop* before diving back down, taking more this time, her throat fluttering around him as she fought the reflex.
“Fuck, there she is,” he groaned, his hips giving a little involuntary thrust.
His free hand slid down to grip the base of his shaft, holding it steady as she worked him, her tongue swirling around the underside before she took him to the back of her throat again. This time she didn’t pull back—she stayed, breathing through her nose, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, her throat fluttering in a way that made his balls tighten.
His fingers tightened in her hair, not pulling—just anchoring her, letting her know who was in control. ”That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “Take it all.” And she *did*.
She took every inch of him, her throat stretching around his shaft, her eyes watering as he held her there too long, just to punish her for breathing without permission. When he finally pulled back, she gasped, saliva dripping from her chin, her lips swollen and red.
Richard chuckled darkly, wiping the mess away with his thumb before pressing that same thumb between her lips. ”Clean it up,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal.
Chloe obeyed immediately, sucking his thumb clean, her tongue swirling around the pad before he slid it free to drag down her throat again, pressing just hard enough to make her gag.