Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance Read online

  VIOLENT CRAVINGS

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  by

  Linnea May

  Content

  VIOLENT CRAVINGS

  Copyright © 2017 by Linnea May

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Also by Linnea May

  Sneak Peek: VIOLENT DELIGHTS

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Continue reading

  Copyright © 2017 by Linnea May

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

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  “Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me.”

  ― Friedrich Nietzsche, ‚Thus Spoke Zarathustra‘

  Prologue

  Ryan

  This girl is trouble.

  I knew it from the first moment I saw her, and I’m an idiot for thinking that my obsession would sort itself out once I had her.

  She’s kneeling before me, her body marked in various places, sweaty strands of brown hair sticking to her face, her make-up smeared across her pale cheeks, her bruised chest heaving under heavy frantic breaths, and the vibrant green of her eyes locked on me – asking – no begging – for more.

  She’s not ready to leave, and I’m not ready to let her go.

  But I will have to release her back into the world soon.

  Just an hour, that is all we have left. An hour before I have to remove her collar and the leather shackles from around her wrists.

  An hour before she will cease to be mine.

  The thought is gut-twisting.

  But I will make that final hour count. I have to make it count.

  Every moment with her is cherished. The same thing applied to all the others before her, but not a single one of them made my chest ache so painfully at the thought of having to let them go. Everything has been different with her from the get-go.

  She was never supposed to be here. She wasn’t part of the menu that usually serves to satisfy my cravings.

  I broke the first rule by bringing her here, and I’ve broken so many more rules since.

  This has to stop.

  I drop down to my knees in front of her. We connect at eye level, the intensity of my expression matching her vivid gaze when I bring the palm of my right hand up to brush her cheek. She leans instinctively into my touch, and under all the dried-up tears and the traces of pain, she smiles at me.

  No words are needed for me to know that she feels it, too, that magnetic attraction pulling us together. Yet my heart nearly bursts when she parts her lips to whisper the words that can bring a man like me down to his knees.

  “Thank you, master.”

  Her voice is soft and full of forgiveness, piercing like a blade right into my shielded heart.

  I never should have bought her.

  I promised myself that I would never lose control again. My addiction has almost ruined my life before, and I vowed to never let it happen again. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I paid her to be with me for just this one night. That’s why I will have to say goodbye to her as soon as our time is up.

  We have one hour.

  The same as an alcoholic can’t simply just have a drink anytime he wants, I can’t have sex like a normal person.

  I can only allow to indulge in my cravings once a year.

  A twisted annual retreat in the company of a new girl each time. I need the change. After all, what’s the point in exclusivity if I can only do this once every twelve months? Only an idiot would stick to having sex with the same woman every time.

  And only an idiot would ignore the alarming warning signals surrounding me left and right. I’ve been hearing them ever since I first spoke to her, and I’ve been ignoring each and every single one of them, confident I could handle this.

  I knew there was risk. There always is when an addict gets a taste of what he should stay away off.

  But I may have underestimated her.

  My doll.

  She’s capable of ruining my life.

  I have no other choice than to go cold turkey after I’m done with her, no matter how agonizing it may be for me.

  I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

  I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine.

  But until then, I will make her mine in every way possible, leaving my mark on her perfect body, on her open heart, and on her brilliant mind.

  I may have to forget about her after we part ways.

  But one thing is for sure.

  She sure as hell won’t forget me.

  Chapter 1

  Laura

  Tonight is a four-hour event. Four long, draining hours full of pretentious assholes, leering glances assessing and undressing me, and ungrateful ignorance, while I serve the richest of the rich, hurrying around in an uncomfortably tight uniform. The short pencil skirt moves up my thigh with every step I take, forcing me to constantly adjust it as I graciously balance a small, round serving tray. The starched white blouse and the black vest are so tight on my diaphragm that I can hardly breathe. The material is heavy, and I start breaking into a sweat after only a few minutes on the floor. I hate wearing this uniform and can’t wait to get out of it.

  But the event just started. The waiters are lined up behind the bar, ready to serve, each of us shifting around as we try to get comfortable in the restrictive outfits we’ve been forced to wear. The girls had been asked to wear black heels, and I got scolded for my choice of shoes as soon as I walked in the door. Because I’m so tall, I don’t even own a pair of high heels, and I refuse to spend any of my limited savings on fancy shoes that I would only ever wear for this job. Even in my black ballerina flats, I tower several inches above every other serving girl here, and most of the guests. If I wore heels, I’d likely be the tallest person here, man or woman. My friend Layla, who’s standing next to me, is a petite girl. She‘s trying to make up for her small stature by wearing five-inch stilettos. They may make her almost as tall as me, but it also adds a tremendous amount of physical pain to an already strenuous evening.
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  We watch in silence as the room starts filling with guests, waiting anxiously to be called upon by Angelo, our boss tonight. He’s standing across the festive hall, his hands locked behind his back and his chin up, a focused smile unique to him affixed on his face.

  “Ten bucks says he’s hoping to go home with one of the moneybags tonight,” Layla whispers. She winks at me, and we giggle.

  “We should make a bet on who it’s going to be,” I whisper back, careful to make sure that she’s the only one who can hear me. “Most of them are going to be old as dirt.”

  “Pretty sure he likes that,” Layla retorts. “To have himself a silver fox sugar daddy.”

  I bite my lips to suppress another giggle. Getting up to nonsense with Layla makes this job way more bearable, especially when it includes making fun of Angelo, who tends to be overly strict about minor things. I don’t know what I would do without Layla. She’s my very best friend and always there, and I’m glad to know that she’ll come with me, ready to take on another town, another chance. We’ve been planning our escape for a while now, but lately things have started really falling into place.

  This city holds nothing but dark memories for me. It has become an even more sorrowful place since my mother died.

  It’s time to move on.

  But first I need to save up a little more money in my bank account. I’m getting there, albeit slowly. I’ve been working as a hostess and server with this company for almost a year now. The money isn’t great, but it’s better than what I used to make as an ordinary waitress at a restaurant, and if it wasn’t for these uncomfortable uniforms, I would even go as far as to say this job is less exhausting and stressful, especially when it comes to occasions like tonight.

  Tonight’s event is a fundraiser hosted by the Onyx Corporation, the biggest business empire in town. I don’t know much about Onyx because it doesn’t interest me, but I do know they oversee at least two very upscale hotel chains. They’re places I will never be able to afford and only get to see from behind the scenes when I’m serving at one of their events.

  Like tonight. Even though I don’t get to enjoy any of it firsthand, jobs like this provide me with a dreamy glimpse of a life I will never have. A life full of lavish amenities, pricey champagne, and ridiculously small hors d’oeuvres passed around on silver platters by girls like me.

  We’re always eyeing the food and drinks, hoping to snag some of the leftovers, just like starving dogs on the street. It’s not that I can’t afford to buy my own food, but every penny I don’t have to spend on basics is one more I can save towards a little luxury, once I’ve paid my monthly debt installment. Like a new pair of pants. Or paying my cell phone bill.

  I never said I dream big, did I?

  More and more guests are arriving, filling the hall with fancy evening gowns and tailored suits, a fancy mass of human obstacles for us to meander through as we serve drinks. Layla and I always manage to steal a bottle for ourselves. We’re the only ones on the team sneaky enough to do it, and no one ever seems to notice. Sometimes we stash the bottle away in one of our bags and bring it home unopened, but on other nights, we open it while still on the job, sneaking out once every so often to catch a little break and sip from the bottle, like the classy ladies we are.

  Tonight is one of those nights. Both our cheeks are glowing from champagne-induced heat. We exchange mischievous grins every time our paths cross. The wealthy guests barely notice us. We’re faceless servants to them. I smile at them, knowing they will forget my face as soon as I turn to the next guest. Most of them don’t even looks at us, let alone say ‘Thank you’ when I offer a glass of champagne or a Mimosa. Many of those who do make eye contact only do so to complain about something.

  I don’t care. I’m used to it, and I’m here to make money, not friends.

  I glance up at the clock. Three hours and eleven minutes to go.

  My tray is empty except a single glass of champagne, when I’m stopped so abruptly that I almost let the glass tip and spill the liquid on one of the many costly suits.

  A suit hugging the broad shoulders of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.

  The collision was so sudden, I have to tilt my head back to find the man‘s eyes. I start to utter the customary apology, almost stopping mid-sentence when I’m faced with his rugged handsomeness. He’s tall, a couple inches taller than me. Next to his height, it’s his stance and confident carriage of his broad shoulders that draw my attention. His suit jacket fits snuggly around his upper arms, suggesting a strong set of muscles underneath the designer brand fabric. The deep blue hue of his eyes seems surreal, but it blends nearly perfectly with the navy blue of his suit, and his charcoal black hair only emphasizes the vibrant color of his eyes. His strong, chiseled jaw is shaved clean, and the hint of a smile plays around the corner of his mouth as he looks down on my surprised expression.

  He’s unsettlingly gorgeous. I almost follow the urge bubbling inside me to touch him, just to see if he’s real.

  “If I may,” he says, his deep voice churning the inside of my chest into heated goo, and he reaches for the last glass on my tray.

  I know I’m gawking, but I can’t help it. He’s so freaking beautiful that it almost feels like an insult to be standing next to him.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I stutter again, wishing for nothing more than to get away from him before his good looks completely absorb my soul.

  “For what?” he asks. “For almost spilling that drink on me, or for gawking?”

  Shit.

  Oh my God, I have to get out of here.

  I feel inclined to say sorry for the third time, but realize that it would only worsen my predicament.

  So instead, I opt for the grown-up thing to do and scurry away.

  Chapter 2

  Ryan

  Three fucking hours and twenty fucking minutes to go.

  This is the part I hate most about my job. Socializing, networking, and pretending to be this generous-hearted guy, all the while shaking their greedy hands with a fake smile plastered on my face. I know what most of them want from me, and they can’t hide their intentions behind friendly smiles, no matter how hard they try. Most of them want a piece of my success. They propose deals and play nice for their own benefit.

  I don’t blame them. It’s the smart thing to do, and I know because I was in their shoes not too long ago. I’m not the heir to a fortune; I‘m a self-made man, who did the right thing at the right time. Toss in a little luck, and you can grow big very quickly.

  Five years ago, I was nothing but an eager college graduate, a young entrepreneur willing to go into debt to get where he wanted to be. It could have gone terribly wrong, but it didn’t.

  I had an idea, I invested in it, and then I sold it to someone who was willing to grow the business into something bigger. Selling came easy to me. Many say that selling your first company feels like selling your baby, but it didn’t to me. My heart was never set on advertising automation, it was just something I understood and so I came up with a good idea. One that someone was willing to pay a lot of money for to buy. It was a means to an end, because selling the company left me with enough money to switch sides. I was no longer the one who needed to find someone to invest, but the investor. I have a knack for business and can tell which idea will succeed and which one won’t. The Onyx Corporation has prospered under my leadership, spanning its web further and further across the country.

  I know how to make deals, and I know how to work the human psyche in my favor.

  It’s what I do. And I’m damn good at it.

  But I’m not good at socializing.

  I can act, shake hands, smile, engage in redundant smalltalk, but none of it comes as naturally to me as business does. Evenings like this feel more like work than what I do during actual business hours.

  I take every moment of peace and quiet I can get, retreating after almost every conversation, just to be able to breathe and rid myself from the idiotic
conversations I’m forced to have in order to do business.

  There’s nothing and no one here who holds my attention for longer than a few forced seconds.

  Except for her.

  The long-legged fairy who meanders through the crowd with mechanical movements that make her appear as if she was in trance. Her pretty face is perfectly oval, her chin too small for her pouty, doll-like lips, and her eyes are strikingly prominent and big. They are green, I can tell that even from across the room. I’ve never seen an eye color like that before, a dark fir green that stands out against her porcelain skin. She’s long and lean, towering over all the other waitresses and most of the guests, and the uniform she’s wearing fits tight and short on her slim body. I caught her fixing her skirt with one hand as she tried to balance the tray with her other one several times, but it keeps hitching up her leg as soon as she starts moving again, giving her an inadvertent sexy look.

  She stands out in the crowd, and I’m not the only one who notices.

  Unlike the other girls, she doesn’t look like a waitress, discreetly offering drinks while moving in the background and hardly drawing attention away from the conversation, as she should.

  No. Not her.

  She looks like a girl who dressed up in a naughty waitress costume for Halloween, pulling the gaze of almost every person she passes. I’ve seen heads turning, men leering, women rolling their eyes and ruffling their noses at her in jealous disgust.

  And she doesn’t even try. There’s nothing particular about the way she walks, nothing seductive in her motions, or the expressions on her face. She moves almost like a robot, careful, deliberate, and reserved. She’s trying to blend in, but her tall and naturally alluring appearance doesn’t let her. It doesn’t help that her blouse is stretching seductively over her full breasts, leaving little to the imagination, even in a purposely conservative outfit like the one she’s wearing.

  I can tell she’s a timid girl, quiet, and careful. She’s not seeking the attention she’s drawing. Unlike the other girls, she’s not striding around on too-high heels, swaying her hips provocatively to lure her prey. No, there’s none of that.