An update on the sequel to “Serving the Billionaire”

posted in: Writing updates | 1

Word count as of yesterday evening: 58,000! I’m halfway through chapter 16, out of a planned 20. I’m still on track to have it published by the end of the month. Writing is going well and I’m excited to share the finished product!

Here’s a short excerpt from an early chapter:

The apartment was dark, lit only by the usual orange glow of the city sky. I walked into the living room, moving carefully in my high heels, and came to a stop, trying to remember where the sofa was.

Behind me, I heard Carter set down his keys, and then a lamp clicked on, bathing the room in warm yellow light. I took the last few steps toward the sofa and sat down, feeling my pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of my throat. I crossed my legs and then uncrossed them again, folding my hands together in my lap. How was one supposed to sit, wearing nothing but a bra and panties in a billionaire’s apartment?

Carter moved around the room, placing his wallet and phone on the desk, draping his coat over a chair, turning on a few more lamps. He took his time and ignored me completely as he performed his getting-home ritual, and I sat and watched him, skin prickling, waiting for whatever would come next. His show of disinterest heightened the anticipation I was already feeling. I didn’t know when he would turn the laser focus of his gaze on me, but I knew from experience that it would be like staring into the sun.

He moved behind me and placed his hands on my bare shoulders, stroking his fingers lightly against my collarbones. I shivered at the sensation. He trailed one hand down my bra strap and along the lacy edge of the cup, down to the small satin bow resting between my breasts. “Very nice,” he said.

“It’s the only underwear I have that matches,” I said.

“I wasn’t talking about your bra,” he said. “I’m more interested in what’s beneath it. Why don’t you take that off and let me have a look at you?”

I didn’t know why I felt nervous. It wasn’t like he’d never seen me naked before. He had touched me everywhere, watched me come; there weren’t going to be any surprises. He wouldn’t watch me take off my bra and suddenly decide that my breasts were too lumpy for him to want anything to do with. But even still, my heart was in my mouth as I raised my hands behind my back and unclasped my bra.

Part of it was that I couldn’t see his face. I was so used to reading his expressions—the quirk of his mouth, the way his eyelids lowered—that not being able to see him had me feeling a little off-kilter. I wanted to be able to see how he reacted.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he wanted me to be uncomfortable.

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