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OTTO

The way Mr. Sinclair's voice sliced through the air still made me cringe, even though I’d dropped him off almost an hour ago. I just hated disappointing someone who was paying me to be reliable.

Above all things, I prided myself on being reliable.

While Mr. Sinclair seethed at my tardiness, completely ignoring that I even existed, I snuck glances at him in the rearview mirror. He was the hottest CEO I’d ever seen in person, and I saw a lot of sexy CEOs in Aspen. Every time I stopped a light, I stared at his sharp jawline and the way his full lips moved slightly when he read.

God, he was gorgeous. And so far out of my league it was laughable.

Especially since he was likely going to fire me by the end of the day. I was glad to be heading home now. Unless he called me for a mid-day ride, I wasn’t expected back at his office until five, and he’d told me that he rarely left before six. During the few days that I’d been driving the CEO, I’d begun to have delusions that he might recognize some great brilliance or leadership traits in me and offer me a job in his company. It was one of the movers and shakers in the tech world, and I’d give anything to a job with some kind of upward mobility.

I enjoyed working in the service industry but dealing with rich assholes was losing its novelty. On good days, the tips were great. But on bad days, I wanted to quit and head back to Denver where I had friends and a community that actually liked me.

In Aspen, I was completely alone. I moved for a change of pace, but that change hadn’t proven to be an improvement so far. And now it was clear this job wasn’t going to be my big break.

Once I got home, I stripped off my uniform and collapsed onto my lumpy futon. What a fucking disaster. The TV was a good distraction, but after a few hours of zoning out to boring game shows, I made a sandwich and then took a nap.

When I woke up, I still had some time before I needed to get back to the office and wait for Mr. Sinclair, so I pulled out my phone and clicked the bookmark to my favorite porn site. My body moved on auto-pilot when I was in decompression mode. A little relief was always a sure way to take the edge off before I had to face Mr. Sinclair again.

Just as I was settling into a movie about some cock slut begging to be spanked, my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, so I considered ignoring it, but then I worried it might be a colleague or associate of Mr. Sinclair, and I couldn’t risk pissing him off even more.

With my dick still in my hand, I hit accept. "Hello?"

"Hello. May I speak with Otto Klein?"

I sat up straighter, surprised by the official tone. "Yes, this is Otto."

"Hi, Otto. I'm calling from The Lactin Brotherhood. We have you listed as living in Aspen and open to gig work. Is that still accurate?"

I hadn't thought about the Brotherhood since moving to the bougie resort town. There wasn't exactly an active chapter among Aspen snobs and socialites. "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I used to attend meetings in Denver." I cleared my throat and let go of my softened cock. "Is this about a fundraiser or something?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Not exactly. We've had a request come in for an overnight wet nurse job in your area. You're the only registered member within a hundred miles, so we wanted to offer it to you. The pay is at our highest tier, and there’s a bonus structure in place for discretion and maintaining the client’s stated protocol."

“Protocol?” That sounded formal for letting some rich person drink from my nipples. Just thinking about it made my dick twitch. It had been months since anyone but me had coerced a single drop of my milk that letting someone nurse seemed almost foreign. The almost instinctive feeling of my milk letting down caught me off guard. “Um, what kind of bonuses?”

“If you’re open to consider it, I’ll send the details to your email. There won’t be personally identifiable information exchanged until after the execution of a non-disclosure agreement. But at least you’ll have a clear picture of what would be expected.”

I gnawed on my lower lip as I sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, go ahead and send it. I’ll take a look and get back to you.”

Just the thought of letting someone nurse from me sent a shiver of need through me. That kind of intimacy created a connection I wasn’t sure I’d ever find in Aspen. And even if it wasn’t real, it would still feel fucking awesome. Nothing was headier than being needed in that primal, visceral way that providing sustenance allowed.

"Of course, but we'll need an answer by eight tonight so we can confirm with the client either way."

“No problem.” Part of me wanted to immediately say yes, but I had responsibilities now. Even though Preston Sinclair was an asshole, I’d still made a commitment to him. If, by some miracle, he didn’t fire me tonight, I would still have to wake up early every day to drive him. Depending on whether I was able to sleep or not overnight, I might be able to get by with just sleeping between driving shifts, but that wasn’t sustainable long-term.

But I didn’t think anything was long-term with Mr. Sinclair.

Shit, Mr. Sinclair. I glanced at the clock and scrambled to get re-dressed. I didn’t think I’d be late, but with my luck, it would be the one and only day he decided to leave work early.

I raced out the door, still buttoning my shirt as the temptation of connecting with someone over my milk teased the back of my mind. But I’d deal with that after work. For now, I had a hot CEO to chauffeur.

While I waited in the loading zone for the call from Mr. Sinclair to tell me he was on his way out, I opened up my email. The message I’d been waiting for was there, so I scanned through the standard contract garbage until I got to the details. The rules that were alluded to but not spoken out loud during the call.

After a quick glance, I understood why.

1) Arrive at the client’s house at 10pm, bathed and in comfortable sleeping clothes.

2) Silently join the client in bed.

3) Leave by 6am.

4) No chatting.

5) Complete discretion at all times.

It wasn’t exactly bad, but it also wasn’t great. It was…impersonal. Just a job. Could I even do it?

Sharing my milk with someone directly from my chest always got me horny. And if I had to be silent and distant for eight hours every night with a hard-on I couldn’t relieve, I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

Then again, the three-digit hourly rate quickly convinced me that I could survive anything.

I was about to start on the background check paperwork when I got the text from Mr. Sinclair that he was in the elevator. It was only 5:15, which meant he actually was leaving work early.

I just hoped he was in a better mood than the morning or else it was going to be a long drive back.