Nii's Client Services

**Author's note:**

When the boss told Nikki to keep the client happy, he should've been more specific. A drink, some dinner, polite conversation? Sure. But Nikki's idea of "client satisfaction" comes with heels on, tits out, and a performance that seals the deal every time.

This is her introduction - the corporate bombshell/executive assistant with a dirty streak, and zero shame. Welcome to the world of Nikki Love.

--

Nikki's Client Services

Nikki Love stood at the arrivals gate of Heathrow's Terminal 5, corporate iPad tucked under one arm, figure-hugging navy zip dress clinging to every curve. The neckline plunged just enough to draw attention without breaking company policy. Her electric-blue heels clicked smartly on the polished floor, sunglasses pushed up into her fresh blonde blowout.

No one would dare challenge her dress choices anyway. Not when she ran the CEO's office like a war room. Or when she booked the travel, smoothed the egos, massaged the margins - and knew more secrets than HR. Whatever anyone thought, she was unashamedly good at her job. That's why her boss, Tom, the company's chief exec, simply refused to hear a bad word against her despite whatever

indiscretions

there might be.

She was probably in her late thirties or maybe early forties - though no one seemed to know for sure. Her age was a tighter-kept secret than her sex life, which seemed ripe and plentiful from the many office stories.

Whatever her age she looked good in it. The kind of woman who knew her best angles, and made sure you saw them. Her tits were impossible to ignore: big, surgically perfected, and framed to provoke. A silver pendant nestled just above the swell of her cleavage, catching the arrivals hall light like bait. Her legs, toned and tan, poured out from the dress's high-cut hem and into stilettos that looked more like instruments of destruction than footwear choices.

Ink curled along the top of one arm and peeked from under the edge of her dress - florals, serpents, and dirty little secrets. She wasn't classically beautiful. She was something far more dangerous: sexy as fuck, self-assured, and fully aware of the power she carried in her walk, her smile, and her no-nonsense attitude to everything - and everyone - she did.

Nikki didn't need approval. She collected reactions and weaponised them. And right now she was on the clock, which meant someone was about to be very well looked after.

The arrivals board flickered: BA335 from Paris - LANDED.

A few minutes later, she clocked him.

Luc Moreau. French. Mid 50s. Distinguished without being too polished. He moved like a man used to long-haul flights and better-than-average upgrades. His suit was creased just enough to be real. His hair was touched with grey at the temples, and he had eyes that were alert and curious - the type that noticed more than you expected.

Nikki stepped forward with a warm smile and a practiced flick of her wrist.

"Mr Moreau? Nikki Love. Executive Assistant to Tom Warwick."

He shook her hand - firm grip, brief smile, no wasted motion.

"Luc, please," he said, voice rich with Parisian edge. "And thank you for coming to meet me."

"Welcome to London," she said. "The car's waiting. Let's get you checked in before you melt."

***

The Thursday evening traffic crawled as usual, but Nikki didn't mind. The company pool car had aircon, leather seats, and a bluetooth speaker she could control from her phone. Luc sat in the passenger seat, quietly watching the city unfurl through tinted windows while Nikki narrated it with the easy rhythm of someone who knew the patch and owned her role.

He asked a few polite questions. She answered them smoothly, with just enough humour to keep things light.

But occasionally - when she thought he wasn't looking - she'd glance across and see his eyes on her legs, or the outline of her tits beneath the straining material of the dress. She didn't adjust its hem, nor did she pull her neckline higher.

She just smiled to herself and kept driving.

Luc didn't flirt. But he didn't look away either.

Nikki pulled up outside the Granville Hotel in Soho just before seven. Smart but not flashy, it was a solid four-star corporate favourite. She parked the car and escorted Luc through check-in with quiet efficiency.

Once he had his keycard, she walked him to the lift.

"Room 604. You've an hour until dinner. Tom apologises for not being here to meet you on arrival, but he's travelling back from meetings in the Midlands. I'll meet you in the bar downstairs at eight to take you through."

Luc gave her a faint smile. "Not joining us?"

"Just the chauffeur tonight, I'm afraid," she said with a wink. "Tom will be waiting in the restaurant so you can get straight down to business. We know how busy you are."

But when eight o'clock struck, there was no sign of Tom Warwick.

Nikki checked her phone again. Nothing. She and Luc waited at the marble-topped hotel bar, each with a drink in hand. Hers was a gin and tonic, extra lime. His, a neat whisky.

"He should be here by now," Nikki murmured, glancing at the door.

Luc took a slow sip. "Maybe he's running fashionably late."

"Not normally his style," she said, biting the inside of her cheek.

Then her phone rang.

She saw the name and excused herself, stepping outside into the warm evening air.

***

"Tom? What's going on?" She asked.

A pause. Then her boss's voice came down the line in a flustered rush.

"Massive accident on the M25. Jackknifed lorry. Nothing's moving. I've been sat here for forty-five minutes and there's no end in sight."

"Shit," she muttered scanning the hotel lobby, already knowing what was coming.

"I'm not going to make it. Can you...."

She interrupted. "I've got him here at the hotel. He's already had a drink."

Tom exhaled, and Nikki could hear the panic soften into resignation. "Right. Look, just explain. Apologise for me, will you?"

"Course, Tom."

"And maybe...maybe sit and have dinner with him? Keep him company, unless you have somewhere to be?"

Nikki hesitated. She

had

made plans, but the job came first. Most of the time.

"No problem, Tom," she said. "I'll look after him."

Then came the caveat.

"But just dinner and drinks, yeah? Not...Nikki-style entertainment."

She laughed, low and unbothered. "You wound me."

"Just...don't fuck the client. Please."

She smirked. "No promises, boss. Wouldn't you like me to close the deal?"

***

Back at the bar, Luc was still sipping slowly. He turned his head when he heard the clickety-click of Nikki's heels beating out the tune of her approach.

She picked up her glass and drained it in one go, then signalled for another.

"Problem?" he asked, simply.

She sighed. "Change of plans, I'm afraid. Tom's stuck on the M25. Won't make it for hours."

Luc lifted his eyebrows, but didn't look particularly disappointed.

"He sends his apologies. And asked if I'd stay. Keep you company over dinner."

Luc smiled - small and sharp. "A tragedy for him. But for me..." He looked her up and down, not crass, just appreciative. "A significant upgrade, if I may say so."

Nikki let the compliment land without a flinch. She accepted the fresh drink from the bartender and lifted it to clink his glass.

"To unexpected pleasures," he said.

She clinked. Then, with a throaty laugh, said: "Let's see if you're any good at dinner conversation."

Luc grinned. "That depends how well you behave."

Nikki leaned in, playful but with just the edge of something sharper lurking underneath. "Don't worry, monsieur. I'm very well-trained."

***

The maître d' led them to a quiet corner table, tucked beneath a soft pool of amber light. Nikki clocked the glance - a quick flicker from the man's eyes to her chest, then back to his bookings ledger - and offered a polite smile that said: yes, you looked, no, I'm not offended, and maybe I liked it.

Luc waited until she was seated before lowering himself opposite her. Always the gentleman.

The waiter arrived and Luc ordered a bottle of Châteauneuf du Pape. Nikki also ordered another bourbon, neat this time. Menus were offered but barely glanced at. Luc insisted on choosing for both of them, and Nikki let him - she had to admit to liking a man with conviction, even if he wore it politely.

"I wasn't expecting to be here," she said, lips brushing the rim of her glass. "Just meant to hand you over like a parcel, then disappear."

Luc smirked. "Then I'm grateful for your boss's poor planning."

"Poor planning and a jack-knifed lorry on the M25."

"London welcomes me with open arms," he said, smiling.

She tilted her glass. "Among other things."

Luc chuckled, then leaned back in his seat, appraising her with that effortless Gallic curiosity. "You're not quite what I imagined when he said you'd be collecting me."

"Oh?"

"No. I thought...corporate, beige, clipboard. Maybe a blouse that buttons all the way up."

Nikki feigned a gasp, placing a hand to her chest - which, in this particular dress, only drew more attention to the deep line of cleavage framed by gold chains. "I'm hurt," she murmured, barely more than a whisper, but with a clear twinkle in her eye.

"On the contrary," Luc said, "I'm intrigued."

She sipped, eyes on his. "You're not exactly what I imagined either. I pictured someone greyer. Grumpier. Fatter."

He laughed, deep and warm. "So we're both pleasantly surprised."

"Pleasant might be putting it mildly," Nikki said, letting the words hang, then tugging them back just before they landed.

They ate - slow, indulgent courses. Seasonal dishes that cost too much and provided too little - though neither of them paid much attention. Their focus was already drifting elsewhere.

Luc asked questions: where she was from, what she did before the agency, how she ended up as executive assistant to a man twenty years her senior who couldn't even open his own calendar.

Nikki deflected when she wanted to. Teased when it suited her. She told him just enough: that she'd worked at a car dealership once. That she'd done a bit of promo work. That the suits upstairs thought she was just the mouthy blonde who kept the boardroom coffee hot and the client list happier than it probably should be.

Luc didn't blink. He just refilled her glass and said, "I doubt there's ever been anything just about you."

She bit the inside of her cheek to hide the grin. The bastard was good, she had to give him that.

By the time dessert arrived - something sweet and sharp with spun sugar and a smear of caramel - Nikki wasn't pretending anymore. Warmed by the wine, her legs were crossed under the table, one heel kicked off, her toes slowly brushing his shin like she didn't know they were there.

Luc didn't move. Just smiled faintly, sipped his wine, and let it happen.

"You're a much more preferable dinner companion than your boss," he said, voice low. "I like Tom very much, we've done business for many years, but I don't think this evening would have been anywhere near as agreeable."

"Careful," Nikki said. "I might start thinking you're flirting with me."

Luc paused, only for a moment, but enough for Nikki to clock the short silence. "Would that be so terrible?" he asked, slightly tentative.

She held his gaze. "Depends what you're hoping for."

There was another silence then. Not awkward or hesitant, just a moment for both of them to size up the possibilities.

Nikki set down her glass. "Excuse me a second."

She stood and walked toward the restroom - hips swaying, back straight, eyes forward.

Inside, she checked her reflection. Lipstick: still perfect. Hair: wild but deliberate. She smoothed the front of her dress, straightened the hem, and looked herself dead in the eye.

You know what this is.

And you want it.

Even if Tom said no.

She exhaled sharply, and gently lowered the zipper on the front of her dress. Not a lot, but enough to allow a fresh swell of cleavage to appear.

When she returned, Luc was still seated, glass in hand, eyes unreadable.

She didn't sit. Instead, she walked behind him, slow and close, and brushed an invisible speck of dust from the shoulder of his blazer. Her voice found his ear.

"You've got a nice room upstairs, don't you?"

He turned his head toward her, amused.

She smiled. "Be a shame for it to go to waste."

Then she turned on her heel and headed for the lifts without looking back - confident, hungry, every step a promise.

As she walked she heard Luc pushing his chair back from the table, standing, and following her. She smiled, inwardly. Inevitable. Because of course it was.

***

Luc unlocked the door with a soft beep and pushed it open. "After you," he said.

Nikki stepped past him with a smile, heels clicking over the polished floor. The room was business-travel chic. King-size bed, pale linen sheets, soft lighting, and a view of the city skyline stretching out beyond the windows.

"Not bad," she said, slipping off her stilettos. "Bet the minibar's overpriced though."

Luc laughed, easing the door shut behind him. "Would you like something proper? I have wine. Or whisky?"

"Whisky," she said, unzipping her dress just a fraction more and rolling her shoulders. "Neat."

He poured while she wandered - touching things, surveying the space like she was reviewing it for a feature spread. She stopped by the mirror, checking her reflection, then turned back to take the drink from him.

"To unexpected evenings," Luc offered.

Nikki clinked her glass to his. "And even more unexpected company."

They drank. He looked at her over the rim, but she was already moving, slowly but deliberately, toward the bed. She sat on the edge, crossed her legs, and took another sip.

"I think you've been trying not to look at my tits since I picked you up," she said matter-of-factly. "Polite of you."

Luc chuckled, caught. "I'm French. We believe in...restraint."

"Mm," she purred. "And I believe in honesty."

She reached up and unzipped the dress a little more. Then more still. She kept going until the front hung open, the gleaming swell of surgically perfected tits spilling free.

"There," she said. "Now you can stop pretending."

Luc stepped closer, whisky still in hand. "You're...very beautiful."

"Beautiful, I don't know," Nikki said, finishing her drink and standing. "Sexy, yes. And I like being watched. So you just keep your eyes where they are."

She unzipped the dress all the way now, letting it slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor. Underneath, just black lace panties - and a body built to ruin men's concentration. Curvy, soft, womanly. Tits that begged for hands, hips made for fucking, and a stomach with just enough give to remind you she was real. No gym-honed abs or airbrushed perfection - just thick thighs, a teasing roll here and there, and the kind of raw sex appeal that had made many cocks twitch and morals blur.

Luc reached for her. She caught his hand and placed it on her hip - firm, direct, and guiding. "Not so fast, honey. We're doing this my way."

Her fingers slipped to his belt, unfastening it with practiced ease. She pulled down his zipper and freed his cock, already half hard.

"Nice," she murmured, stroking him once, then twice.

She knelt, but not all the way. Just enough to tease. Her lips brushed the tip, warm and wet, a flick of tongue that made him gasp - and then she pulled back.

"Not yet," she said, standing again. "You don't get dessert before the main."

Luc swallowed, eyes hungry, his hands magnetically drawn to her tits - round, heavy, and proud - the kind of chest that turned boardroom whispers into locker-room fantasies.

She stepped out of her panties and onto his lap, one knee either side, straddling him as he sat on the bed. His hands moved to her thighs but she caught them again, pinning them to the mattress.

"Good boys don't rush," she whispered.

Their eyes locked. Her pussy hovered just over his cock now, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

"Let's see if your cock's as good as your accent."

She took a condom from her bag, tore open the gold wrapper, and placed it over the tip of his cock. Then she leaned down again - lips warm, deliberate - and used her mouth to roll it down the length of his shaft.

Nikki smiled. The real performance was just beginning.

***

Nikki didn't wait for an invitation.

She pushed Luc back against the pillows with a casual palm to his chest and climbed onto the bed, straddling him in one graceful move.

Her heels stayed on.

So did her necklace, dangling between her tits like a countdown. She settled her body over his, grinding gently against his cock without letting him in, a slow slide of wet heat that made him gasp.

Her eyes met his - calm, collected but full of promise. The kind of look that said: you are about to be ruined.

"You comfortable, darling?" she murmured, shifting just enough to tease the tip against her entrance.

Luc nodded, lips parted.

She guided him in with one hand, inch by inch, her body sinking down in deliberate control. No moan, no drama - just a deep, satisfied exhale as she took him fully.

And then she began to move.

Slow, steady, and rhythmic. She rode him like he was paying for every second - hips rolling in tight figure-eights, her palms braced lightly on his chest. Her tits bounced just enough to taunt. Her expression never broke.

Luc grunted, eyes half-shut, his hands hovering awkwardly like he wanted to touch but didn't dare.

Nikki leaned down, bringing her mouth close to his ear.

"You can put your hands on me, Luc. This is for you."

His fingers found her hips - tentative at first, then more confident as she moved faster, fucking him with heat and precision. She adjusted the angle, making sure every stroke hit deep. She watched him carefully. Every flicker of breath. Every twitch of his jaw.

"Like that?"

He groaned. "Putain de merde!...yes...fuck yes."

She smiled, a flicker of pleasure at the corner of her lips - not because she was close, but because she had him exactly where she wanted him. His head rolled back. He was hers now and she knew it. Helpless and grateful.

She slowed, letting him feel every inch on the way out and in.

"You're doing so well, honey," she whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead. "Don't rush. Let me take care of it. This is for you."

He groaned again, hands gripping her tighter.

When she felt him start to shake beneath her, she pressed a finger to his lips.

"Uh-uh. Not yet."

She eased off, letting his cock slip free, glistening and flushed. He gasped, bucking upward, hungry for more.

She turned onto her side, back to him, and gave her arse a slow, deliberate wiggle. "Come here."

Luc didn't need telling twice. He moved in behind her, one hand guiding himself back inside her, the other sliding around her body to claim a handful of tits - squeezing, stroking, and worshipping. Nikki moaned this time, low and honest, as he began to fuck her in smooth, eager thrusts, his cock gliding deep from behind.

His hand moved to her mouth - fingers tracing her lips, slipping inside. She sucked them slowly, never breaking eye contact with the mirror across the room. She wanted to see this. Wanted to watch the way her own body moved as he fucked her.

Luc grunted into her neck, hips rocking steadily. His free hand kneaded her tits like he couldn't get enough of them, fingers catching on her necklace, tugging it with every thrust.

"That's nice," she whispered, pushing back into him, matching his rhythm with lazy, decadent precision.

He groaned, overwhelmed again.

And just as he started to unravel - breathing ragged, thrusts becoming erratic - Nikki slipped free once more, leaving him exposed and twitching behind her.