Blue Velvet

by Linnea May

  I’m even more confused when I step outside and find Rowan’s driver already waiting outside, despite the fact I’ve ended my shift more than three hours early. For the past few weeks, he’s picked me up after every shift. At first, I didn’t like the idea of giving up so much of my hard-earned independence just because my boyfriend was loaded and all too happy to share his wealth with me. But fighting him was futile. He didn’t want me to drive, and he thought it was silly for me to take a cab to his place.

  Our place.

  Our place and our driver.

  I still haven’t gotten used to it.

  Things have moved so fast, objecting any reason, any caution. But as surreal as it still appears, it feels so right, too.

  In general, that is.

  Tonight is weird.

  “How did you know I was already done for the night?” I ask the driver, Jim, as I hop into the black limousine waiting for me outside the club.

  He looks at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes flickering with a smirk I can’t quite see. “I was told to be here at this time.”

  “By whom?” I probe while he starts the car. “Did Rowan tell you to be here early?”

  Jim doesn’t respond right away. He just exchanges another look with me through the mirror, narrowing his eyes as if he’s hiding something. I look right back at him, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. He continues to drive without saying another word, leaving me to wonder what the hell is going on tonight. Why is everyone acting so suspicious? Is Rowan okay? And if he wasn’t, why wouldn’t someone tell me what’s going on?

  My heart speeds up, fueled by worry, even though I’m not quite sure what to worry about.

  Was it something about his father? Did he ...?

  No, that can’t be. We just saw him a couple of days ago, and while he looked anything but fine, he didn’t look like he was about to check out for good. Not yet. Soon, probably, but not yet.

  Besides, I’m sure Rowan would be here if it was anything like that. He wouldn’t just send me home with the help of others while leaving me in the dark about what’s going on. He wouldn’t do that.

  I sigh as I sink deeper into the leather seats, remaining quiet for the rest of the drive while my mind wanders.

  I really hope this doesn’t mean bad news. But if it’s not bad news, could it be something good? Something new?

  I still haven’t come to any conclusions by the time the car stops in front of the house. Jim has never been a man of many words, but tonight, he’s especially quiet, barely wishing me a good night as I climb out of the car.

  I pause in front of the house for a few moments, my gaze wandering up and down the façade as if it could tell me anything about why I’m here.

  I expect Rowan to greet me at the door, finally freeing me from this uncertain suspense, but he’s nowhere to be found when I unlock the door. I open it slowly and with caution as if I was afraid of what’s waiting for me inside.

  The house is dark with only a single spotlight highlighting the entrance area.

  “Rowan?”

  My voice echoes through the empty hallways, only emphasizing how big this place is. I close the door behind me, searching my surroundings, when I find something lying on the stairs that lead to the second floor right in front of me.

  A blue blindfold. I step closer to inspect it, picking it up and holding it up to my eyes. It’s not the same one Rowan gave to me as a present. This one has a lighter color, and when I turn it around, I notice something sewn on it with bright silver thread. Words.

  “Meet me under water,” I read in a whisper.

  My eyebrows crease as I try to gather an understanding of the message, and my gaze wanders up the stairs where I find another clue, showing me the way. A blue piece of fabric, soft velvet it seems, is fastened to one of the uppermost stairs, pointing upward.

  He wants me to go upstairs.

  My heart bolts as I follow the silent commands, mindfully placing one foot in front of the other while I ascend, careful not to make a sound. More arrows await me on the second floor, urging me to continue to the third floor where the bedrooms are. It’s dark up here with no lights turned on except a tiny piece of string lights at one of the doors. I expect to be led to our bedroom, the one we play and sleep in, because it’s the only room we ever really used. I’ve only ever stepped into the other two once, shortly before I moved in with Rowan a few weeks back, and I never paid any attention to them since.

  I feel silly for that now because a suspicion brews in me when I realize that the string of lights is attached to one of the doors that lead to those unused rooms. It’s arranged around a blue velvet heart pinned to the door, indicating that this is where my journey will end.

  My heart is pounding so violently that I almost feel dizzy, swallowing dryly as I place my hand on the doorknob. I take a deep breath, bracing myself before I dare to turn it and open the door.

  Blue light pours into the hallway, evoking a faint gasp of surprise as I reveal the mystery behind it. I open the door all the way, stepping inside of what can only be called an exact replica of the blue velvet room at the club. The entire room is bathed in soft blue light, just barely enough to see. Soft carpet teases my feet. The walls are covered with blue button-tufted fabric, and a bed is placed against the wall to my right beneath a set of heavy velvet curtains.

  And at the foot of the bed, I find him.

  Rowan is standing before me with his hands in his pants pockets, meeting me with a somber smile on his face. He’s dressed in a sharp dark suit, topped with a bow tie and his hair gelled to the side. For a moment, we just stand there, me staring with my mouth ajar, while he smiles, giving me time to take in the room he built for me—for us.

  Then he goes down on one knee.

  I don’t need to hear the question, and I don’t need him to say the words. I don’t even need to see the diamond sparkling in his hands, catching even the slightest amount of light to show of its pristine beauty as Rowan holds it up to me.

  His lips part to speak, but no words disturb the quaint tranquility between us as I rush over to him and join him on the floor, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  A kiss is my first response, then another placed on his cheek before I move over to his left side, whispering the only word we need right now.

  “Yes.”

  Thank you for reading!

  This was the second book in The Velvet Rooms Series—a series of standalone dark billionaire romances. Subscribe to my newsletter to be stay up to date on my upcoming releases. You’ll also get a FREE novel!

  Want to read more about The Velvet Rooms? I’ve included the first few chapters of the first book in this series—BLACK VELVET.

  If you enjoyed this book, you might also enjoy my other Dark Billionaire Romance VIOLENT DESIRES—just turn the page to read this (entire!) bonus title right now!

  Also by Linnea May

  FREEBIE

  A hot & steamy Billionaire Romance about a mysterious thriller and suspense writer and his muse.

  His Secret Muse

  DARK BILLIONAIRE ROMANCES

  Stories of dark seduction, twisted desires and fateful encounters.

  The VIOLENT Series

  Silent Daughter

  NEW ADULT BILLIONAIRES

  New Adult Billionaire Romances with a college twist.

  MASTER CLASS

  For my Master

  BILLIONAIRES & BOHEMIANS

  Bad Boy Billionaires and their artistic counterparts.

  TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

  Connect with Linnea May!

  Social Links

  Linnea on Amazon

  Linnea on Facebook

  Linnea on Goodreads

  Linnea’s Newsletter

  Keep reading—with VIOLENT DELIGHTS on the next page!

  Violent Desires

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  Violent Desires

 
; I want real fear. Real Submission.

  She’s giving me all that—and taking so much more.

  I’m the last son. The one who doesn’t matter. I was never meant to inherit my family’s wealth, but my brother’s gutless betrayal left me as the one holding the bigger fortune.

  Now, with money to my name and the looks to match, women see me. They want me.

  But they don’t know me.

  I savor a very specific kind of leisure pursuit. I buy women to lock them up and make them submit to my will.

  But this time, I want the real thing. Real fear, real submission.

  Someone special, who doesn’t play a role.

  Someone like her.

  A luscious lamb, curves all in the right places, and eyes so deep, I’ve lost myself in them before we even exchanged a single word.

  She doesn’t know what’s coming. She doesn’t know that she’s going to be mine, my captive, my submissive, my possession.

  For as long as I please.

  But something is wrong with her. She’s twisted, with a soul just as broken as mine.

  She’s not playing by the rules, and that makes me want her that much more.

  Author’s Note

  This is the story of Ruby Red, the girl whose red coat gets stolen at the beginning of VIOLENT DELIGHTS, the first book in my Violent series. I’ve always wondered who she was and what became of her, after Liana inadvertently stepped in to steal her client.

  You don’t have to read both books in order to follow the plot, but if you’re like me, you might get a kick out of the connection between these two stories.

  I, for my part, loved writing both of them. ♥

  “I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”

  –Sylvia Plath

  Prologue

  Ruby

  I shouldn’t enjoy this.

  I shouldn’t allow pleasure to persuade me to ignore the obvious danger I’m in.

  But I can’t help it. I’m dazed, my brain swimming in a pool of clouded bliss as I yield to him.

  My wrists are chained to the rack, my vision shrouded by a blindfold, and my core trembling from the aftermath of a staggering climax. I can feel his cum trickling down the inside of my thighs, and he’s still tightly gripping me by the hip. I moan anew when he digs his fingers roughly into my flesh, pulling me closer to him as his hardness parts my lips again.

  “No,” I breathe out unsteadily, but my protest isn’t sincere.

  “Yes,” he objects.

  How can he still be this hard? He just came. We both did, peaking in joint rapture, our moans blending into a blissful symphony of carnal, violent need. He continued to ram into me with an urgency akin to rage. The spasms of my climax brought him over the edge within moments. Yet, here we are, still going, still fucking primally, as if there was no tomorrow.

  And maybe, for me, there won’t be.

  I’m lost in a hazy and confusing mist of agony and thrill, clenching around him as if I was trying to stop him from leaving me. But he isn’t going anywhere. He never will. He’s here, with me, at all times, barely allowing me time and space to take a breath without his presence. He robbed me of my freedom, peeled away every layer of protection, exposing everything that I am and forcing me to face myself, my true self, the person I’ve always feared.

  And I may love him for that.

  But how can you love a man who kidnapped you? A man who seized you, leaving you bereft of everything you used to be?

  He forced himself on me, yet never took anything I didn’t freely give up. On the contrary, he was the one who made me wait, the one who tightened the reins and made me realize that I wasn’t ready for the things I desired.

  We consume each other, feeding off each other’s bodies and minds, neglecting the reality outside this room. A room that has been my prison for the past few weeks. I should despise it, but I don’t... I can’t. I’ve lost too much here, but I’ve gained so much more.

  Tears of pain roll steadily down my cheeks when I realize he’s drawing another climax from me.

  “No, no, no,” I whimper desperately, trying to despise the warm throbbing that’s spreading throughout my core, numbing my mind and elevating my body to inconceivable levels.

  I can’t possibly come again. I can’t.

  But I will.

  He leans forward then, dropping one hand from my hips to reach under my belly, surpassing my mound to caress the swollen spot right above my entrance.

  “Yes, my toy.”

  His lips are brushing my ears, his hot breath trickling across my skin in rhythm with his pants in ecstacy.

  “Come.”

  As soon as his command echoes in my ears, another rapture cripples my body.

  I shouldn’t love this. I shouldn’t love him. He’s not who I thought he was.

  He’s fucking dangerous.

  I know it now.

  I know there’s been a horrible mistake.

  I know my life is in danger.

  And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to escape.

  Nothing.

  1

  Ruby

  Jealousy. I’m used to it.

  The way that girl is glaring at me, the way she grinds her teeth as she pins me down through narrowed eyes. I’ve seen it all before.

  She doesn’t even turn away like most people would when I catch her staring. She hates me, and she doesn’t care if I know it.

  We have never met before or exchanged a single word, but this woman across the bar already thinks she knows everything about me. She thinks she knows enough to hate me, despite the apparent similarities existing between us.

  We’re both overdressed for this dumpy and shady neighborhood bar, and we’re both sitting by ourselves at opposite ends of the counter, surrounded by greasy characters who make no effort to hide that they are undressing us with their eyes. Her make-up isn’t quite as extreme as mine, but she still stands out in her professional business suit with her shiny heels and well-coifed hairstyle.

  At first glance, we could pass as twins, but we both know we’re nothing alike.

  Unlike me, she doesn’t radiate sex. She’s missing the fake lashes, the fake tits, the fake presence that makes me irresistible to most men. And that’s exactly why she hates me.

  I get it, I really do.

  To be honest, I didn’t like myself all that much when I looked in the mirror this morning. These days, I’m nothing but a reflection of myself, a reflection of only a single side of me.

  A side that I can’t come to terms with.

  The side of me that is Ruby Red, a high-class escort. A call girl.

  I’m paid to please men, filthy rich men, filthy kinky man. Men who not only possess the darkest and most unbridled desires, but also the wealth to pay generous amounts of money to fulfill each and every one of them. Very fucking generous amounts.

  I started this job out of desperation, but continued it to fulfill a deep-seated need. Not mere financial need. Actual need. Real need, like the need for air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, all that is necessary to survive.

  I don’t know when it happened, but there was a point when something changed. I changed.

  Something broke inside of me.

  And something else came to life.

  And I don’t know which one of the two is the most real, because they feel equally dominant.

  All I know is that I need this. I need to feel like I’m a possession, a fuck toy. I need to be used, punished; I need to feel the pain, the be rewarded, and see the voracious look on their faces when they take me, knowing they can do almost anything to me without taking my feelings into account.

  That’s what I signed up for, and my heart races with excitement every time I’m about to meet a new client. I could never openly admit it to anyone, but I love what I’m doing.

  But I hate it just as much, because I know that it’s wrong to love this. No healthy person would love this lifestyle, no normal person, no sane person.
>
  Well, I guess I’m none of those.

  I take another sip of my cheap bourbon and notice the girl across the bar doing the same. It’s starting to really fucking bother me that she’s still glaring at me. I wish I had the guts to just go over there and tell her off, tell her my story, tell her that she should take a careful look in the mirror before judging others.

  But would she even understand what I’m trying to tell her? She’s already formed her opinion of me. All she sees is a dumb blonde, with fake lashes, fake nails, fake tits, fake everything, lips painted a bright hooker red that matches my fur coat. I slip off the red fur coat. It’s neither stylish or classy, but I feel naked without it. It’s part of my identity, my signature, and it keeps me protected against the chill of those who judge me, like that cold girl sitting across from me.

  Now the mask, it’s something different. The black fabric lying on the counter in front of me should be covering my face. It’s what the client requested because he doesn’t want to see my face before he grabs me.

  I’m waiting for that to happen.

  I’m waiting to be kidnapped.

  It has to seem as real as possible.

  I knew this new client was special from the get-go, and not only because of his specific demands and the amount of money he was willing to pay. I actually heard about him before he knew about me, completely by accident. I overheard our Madame, Miss Barry confiding in another girl that she was looking for someone who was willing to completely turn herself over to a client for thirty-nine days, to be kidnapped, locked up, and stripped of any rights or a way to negate the contract once she agreed to do it.