The Billionaire's Pet - Forbidden Fun

But instead, I’m tempted to stay. I admit it: the house is lovely, and I’ve never had my own bathroom. I’ve never had a private pool to swim in, nor a library full of books. I didn’t even go to our local library very often because I had no time to read. But now, if I stay with Cameron, I’ll have plenty of leisure time to enjoy myself. What should I do?

Taking a deep breath, I muster up the last little bit of dignity I have, and slowly pick out a red lingerie set that does a lot more revealing than covering. But at least it’s less skimpy than the rest of the bunch, which says a lot. The bra is nothing but strings that wrap around my neck connected to two bits of cloth that barely cover my nipples. Then, the panties are like a piece of floss attached to two strings that wrap around my hips. Oh my god. I’m hanging out everywhere. My Double Ds are creamy and lush, and my pussy lips are barely shaded by the piece of cloth.

To complete the outfit, I contemplate putting on my dirty old sneakers. But then, inspiration strikes. I open the closet door again and sure enough, there are a bunch of shoeboxes in the back. I flip through them before finding what I’m looking for: the red stilettos are the same shade as my lingerie set, and as I step into them, my posture changes. My breasts are thrust forward, and my legs seem longer. Even my hips appear fuller and wider, as if ready to accommodate a man.

Oh god, what’s happening? I study myself in the full-length mirror. I’ve never seen myself like this: sexy and seductive. I don’t even usually wear lingerie, and especially not this kind of lingerie. I’m the type of girl who buys 3-packs of underwear from the drugstore, and not fancy French lace fripperies that probably cost a fortune.

But I’m surprised how hot this set makes me look. Bouncy hair, fresh makeup, red lingerie and heels… who am I? And what is Cameron going to think when he sees me in this? Does he usually make his women wear lingerie? Is this the norm for him? A small bit of jealousy bubbles in my stomach and I quickly push it aside. Of course, there have been other women in the past, but it doesn’t matter. My time here is just temporary.

The clock on the wall displays ten minutes to six and I start to make my way to the dining room since my room is a thousand miles away. The clack of my heels is loud on the wooden stairs, and I feel self-conscious. God, I wish I didn’t sound like a clip-clopping pony. Each step makes my stomach jittery. My teeth start to rattle with nerves the closer I get to the dining room and I feel like running back to my room and staying there for the night. This is embarrassing. This whole situation is embarrassing and shouldn’t be happening right now. What if one of his staff sees me on my way to the dining room? What will they think? That thought alone is enough to make me hesitate and I stop in the hallway. But then, I grit my teeth and keep going.

I can see the entrance to the dining room just ahead. I round the corner into the ornate room, and my eyes widen. The dining room is one of the darker rooms in the house. It definitely speaks Renaissance more than it does Modern French like the rest of the house, and the walls are a rich maroon shade. There’s an enormous oak dining table in the center of the room that’s big enough to sit twenty people. A golden chandelier drips from the ceiling, and I hear the crackle of the fireplace before noticing Cameron sitting in the seat at the end of the table, sipping cognac slowly.

My breath catches in my throat as I catch sight of the gorgeous man. He’s dressed in a dark navy suit and neatly pressed white linen shirt, looking at me with an inscrutable gaze. I notice his nostrils flaring as his blue eyes rake over my exposed body slowly from head to toe before sliding their way back up to my eyes. The way he’s looking at me spreads heat through my insides.

“You look exquisite,” he says in a low voice.

For one of the first times in my life, I’m speechless.

“Thank you,” is all I can whisper.

Cameron nods once at the seat next to his.

“Sit.”

I do as I’m ordered and try to appear confident as I teeter on the very high heels to my seat. Once I’m in the chair, sinking into the fabric of the cushions, the room falls silent, followed by the entrance of a butler. My body flushes and my cheeks redden as I know this man is doing his best to pretend like my breasts aren’t spilling out of the tiny bra as he places a plate of food down in front of me. God, I want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment.