At His Service: Milk & Chains (A Lactation And BDSM Erotic Romance) Read Free

out."
     
    Bought out? This place? A backstreet office in an area of New York City that isn't exactly pleasant, let alone desirable? Fuck, I'd laugh if there weren't so many people in this room so terrified of losing their job.
     
    "What? This quickly? How did we get bought overnight?"
     
    Someone from behind us - Joseph, the guy I shadowed for six months while fresh from college - stands up to extract everything he can from the coffee machine while there's still time, patting me commendably on the shoulder as he does so, and answering my question for me.
     
    "I guess he just really wanted this shitty place, huh?"
     
    "He's seeing us one by one," Benavidez adds, finally putting his yellowed, tobacco stained fingers by his sides. "We've all been already. Guess its your turn."
     
    "He's here? The buyer?" For some reason, I can't rid the image of some consortium of property developers, or some deranged bar owner with too much money and too little sense from my mind, blissfully unaware of the truth. When Dr. Benavidez points me to my own room, the penny still hasn't dropped for me. Not until I find myself halfway down the corridor, and halting completely in my tracks, do I realize just who could be so rich, and so enigmatically, impulsively inclined to buy us out. I can see him through the frosted glass of the door; through the letters of my name, printed to the glass, he sits. Spencer Cole.
     
    Fuck this. I'm not going to fucking dance on a string for him. I charge through my door, finding him sitting in my chair, greeting me with a warm smile, cheekbones jumping energetically in his face, and motioning with his hand for me to sit in the patient's chair. What the fuck is all of this?
     
    "Mr. Cole," I say, a slight wavering in my voice, "I think I deserve an explanation."
     
    "Of course you do."
     
    And with that, he remains silent, pointing ever more aggressively to the chair. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and plant myself down, to discover him staring into me as intently as always. I can't help it; I admit, I feel warm just being here, being looked upon by those eyes. Dark, large, and looking right into me, as if I might actually matter in this crazy fucking morning, in this crazy fucking world.
     
    "I liked the look of this place, it's got a certain warm, homely glow to it, hasn't it?"
     
    Peeling wallpaper, stained ceilings, and filthy windows. Sure, it has a warm glow alright. Somehow I doubt him.
     
    "A lot of people are afraid for their jobs," I lean forward to tell him, placing my chin upon my palms, trying my best to look like the aggressive presence in the room. I already know it won't work.
     
    "And they shouldn't be, their jobs are safe. I've bought the building, and the business whole. Everyone's just fine, trust me, Miss Lacey."
     
    I try to think of an appropriate response, frowning a little too much, whilst trying to hide my palpably nervous excitement at the mere act of seeing him once more.
     
    "Why does no-one trust a billionaire?" he asks, raising one of those finely sculpted eyebrows high into his forehead, asking me a quite rhetorical question.
     
    "But -" I stumble, tripping over my words, hesitating to ask what I really, really want to ask, for fear of what I might learn. "Why? Why buy this place?"
     
    After a moment's reflection, I dig my nails into my chin, grit my teeth, and build up the courage to say it.
     
    "Why me?"
     
    Silence. We're back to where we started; him sitting defensively, staring right through me, each of us picking our words very carefully. The only difference is that we've switched seats. He's the one in power now.
     
    "You know, my business lacks honesty. No-one trusts me. And I can trust no-one. There's no truth. No truth at all in this city."
     
    Very profound. But I can't help but notice he hasn't answered the question. He bolts to his feet, causing me to recoil an inch or two in my position, before pacing around the room at full speed.
     
    "It's