Billionaire Romance: Royal Island Yacht Club

by Jennifer King

  THE ROYALE ISLAND YACHT CLUB

  * * *

  Jennifer King

  Copyright Details

  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer King

  Simultaneously published in United States of America, the UK, India, Germany, France, Italy, Canada, Japan, Spain, and Brazil.

  All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form of by any other electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodies in articles or reviews –without written permission from its author.

  THE ROYALE ISLAND YACHT CLUB has provided the most accurate information possible. Many of the techniques used in this book are from personal experiences. The author shall not be held liable for any damages resulting from use of this book.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About The Author

  More From This Author

  One Last Thing

  CHAPTER One

  Julianne Wallace believed she must have been cursed at some point in her life. She had just turned thirty years old and her life appeared to be going nowhere fast. She had little to no interest in her menial office job, she lived by herself in a New Jersey suburb that was a mere stone’s throw away from New York City, and as for her love life, well…

  Julianne was never above going home with strange man, or in this case, inviting them back for a euphemistic cup of coffee. She was a cosmopolitan single woman, who perpetually found herself looking for love in all the wrong places. This was Julianne’s first ever Tinder date, and it was all but guaranteed to be her last.

  Julianne initially thought that Brian, a clean-cut novice stockbroker, was a reasonably attractive and virile younger man with the build of a baseball player and the swagger of a classic Hollywood movie star. But it didn’t take Julianne long to realize that her one-night stand was more bark than bite.

  On the one hand, Julianne was relieved to finally be going out with a man who understood the simple yet potent pleasures of cunnilingus; too many of her recent conquests were a little too proud of the fact that they found going down on a woman “disgusting.” By contrast, Brian was a little too eager to slather his tongue up and down Julianne’s pussy. He was like a famished swine at feeding time. He would occasionally manage an ecstatic smacking of his lips, eliciting a desirous demand from Julianne for Brian to continue accordingly. But he never seemed to know how to interpret her moaning. Frequently, Julianne had to provide instructions for exactly how Brian should be eating her out—a less than ideal state of affairs for this poor woman who merely wanted to get her rocks off on a listless Tuesday evening.

  “Never mind,” a frustrated Julianne sighed.

  Brian’s head rose up from behind her lightly buttered snatch.

  “What was that?” grunted Brian.

  “I said never mind. I just want you inside me, okay?” Julianne replied quickly.

  If Julianne was finding it difficult to maintain arousal, Brian’s hard-on was cemented and everlasting. He shoved his cock into her creamy vagina and instantly adopted a mechanical, anti-romantic thrust inside her.

  It wasn’t that Brian was a bad lover so much as an incompetent one. Throughout his fraternity days, Brian had watched a few pornographic films. As a result, he was incapable of telling the difference between earnest cries of romantic delight and the obviously fake yelping of the average seasoned porn star. Brian’s plundering of Julianne’s moderately excited muff was adequate enough to keep her engaged, but once again, Julianne had found herself seduced by a man who talked the talk, but who was categorically unable to walk the walk.

  Julianne’s boredom exacerbated. She was on all fours now, waiting for Brian’s junk to fire his load into a condom, that appeared to be resting his pocket for a little too long when he revealed the crumpled packaging. She lay flat on her stomach while he pounded from behind. At a certain indistinguishable point, Brian came at long last. He grunted, puffed, and drooled all over Julianne’s exposed back. Julianne could be seen rolling her eyes around her sockets, like a pair of gyrating pinballs.

  “How was that?” Brian snorted.

  “Huh?” Julianne turned back to Brian as he slipped himself out of her womb.

  “You know. How did I do? On a scale of one to ten.”

  Julianne furrowed her eyebrows and combed her hair back behind her ears.

  “I don’t dish out ratings,” Julianne slowly shook her head.

  “You don’t have to give me a rating,” emphasized Brian. “Just a number.”

  “I really can’t see the distinction.”

  “Well whatever.” Brian threw himself onto the mattress and crossed his legs. Julianne tilted her head and sighed.

  “I think you’d better go.”

  Brian straightened up, startled.

  “What do you mean?”

  Julianne feigned indifference to her casual excuse.

  “I have to be up in the morning. I have to give a presentation, and they’re making me come in early to set up the PowerPoint. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Oh,” shrugged Brian. “Okay.”

  He hopped off the bed and appeared to dress himself, while wearing the veneer of disdain. Apparently Brian felt he deserved to be rewarded for his lackluster performance. Julianne circled around Brian and made her way to the bathroom. She secured herself in her plush pink robe, while Brian, now in his black V-neck t-shirt and bulging blue jeans, shuffled forward for a goodbye kissed. Julianne reluctantly acquiesced.

  Julianne couldn’t have felt more relieved when she slammed the door shut after Brian’s ignoble exit. Never again, thought Julianne to herself. It appeared as though Julianne was in for yet another sleepless night. All that remained was for Julianne Wallace to warm up the tea kettle and find some TV show to aimlessly marathon.

  **********************************************************

  Julianne couldn’t wait until Friday evening to tell Trisha all about her horrid Tinder encounter over drinks at the Ridgewood Ale House.

  “I don’t know,” mused Trisha over a Long Island iced tea. “This Brian sounds kind of hot.”

  “Hot!?” blurted Julianne. “He was like a caveman. A sweating, grunting Neanderthal!”

  “What’s wrong with that? I like my caveman sex.”

  “No,” Julianne gasped. “That was me in my college years. I didn’t care as long as I was getting laid.”

  “You sound like a slut,” quipped Trisha.

  “Oh, fine one to talk,” Julianne replied dryly. “Anyway, my palate is more refined now. I don’t want to be banged anymore. These guys, they wouldn’t know the first thing around a woman. They wouldn’t even know the first thing around a drainpipe. These days, the only apparatus a man knows how to make love to is his goddamn phone!”

  “I know what you mean. But look, you have to take what you can get. In case you missed it, you just turned thirty. There’s no going back now. Are you thinking about settling down?”

&nb
sp; “I don’t know if I’m interested in settling down. Settling down for what?”

  “Something more exciting than some douche bag stockbroker.”

  “Julianne,” Trisha leaned forward. “Ever since I’ve known you, I’ve listened to you pine for a man who could make you a billionaire heiress. And you’re complaining about mediocre sex from a stockbroker?”

  “He’s going nowhere, Trisha. I’m talking about a pioneer of industry. Someone who takes risks and enjoys the finer things in life.”

  “Do enlighten me as to your definition of the finer things.”

  “Expensive wine, an infinite wardrobe, vacations in Venice, navigating through tropical islands while making love underneath a roaring sun…is it so wrong for me to crave a sweeter way of life? I’m not saying my life is in ruins, far from it. I always have food on the table and a steady job. But it’s a boring job, and a boring life! I’d like to be swept away, out of New Jersey and into a new world.”

  “I like the way you dream,” Trisha warmly smiled. “You know what? You should get yourself into a yacht club.”

  “What?” Julianne looked at Trisha, as though her best friend had developed a third eye opening through the forehead.

  “A yacht club. You’ve never heard of them?”

  “I know what a yacht is and I’ve heard of clubs, yes.”

  “Think about it. Those guys are loaded, cruising around in yachts while slugging champagne and cavier—Proseco, actually.”

  “So basically, I should map out an excavation for a little bit of gold digging on a yacht club?”

  “No, silly. A billionaire yacht club.”

  “There’s a distinction?”

  “Plenty of millionaires own yachts and they’re not that great. Billionaire yachts, however, are like royal palaces drifting gently across the high seas.”

  “Remember when you said you like the way I dream just now?”

  “I’m not kidding, Julianne. I’ve been on one.”

  “You’ve been on a billionaire yacht?”

  “Oh my God, yes.”

  “Okay,” Julianne motioned Trisha forward. “Go on.”

  “If I recall correctly, it was called The Kentucky. I didn’t care for the name but it didn’t make any difference. Walking around The Kentucky was like taking a tour through a museum in the Napoleon times. I swear to God, there was this one room in The Kentucky that felt like a miniature ballroom. Like, not a miniature ballroom like a smaller ballroom in proportion to a properly grand ballroom, you know what I’m trying to say it doesn’t matter. It was sexy like you wouldn’t believe, this billionaire tech guy, who carries himself like a huge nerd, reveals himself to be this sultry Casanova in disguise…you wouldn’t believe what this stud was capable of.”

  “Okay, who was it?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re really going to tell me a story like that and refuse to reveal the identity of the nerdy billionaire tech guy?”

  “Well, now I’m definitely not going to tell you now. I’m going to wait it out until one of us is lying on her death bed. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Okay,” sighed Julianne. “I don’t know any other way to ask you this: do you have an in at a billionaire yacht club.”

  “Well,” Trisha paused. “I might. There’s a woman. She might be able to hook you up. She hangs around with these yachting clubs and she’s pretty sexy. She plays the long-term game but everybody knows she’s raising her price. She doesn’t hide it. She’s a real pro.”

  “I don’t know whether to be scandalized or turned on.”

  “Welcome to the complex world of the billionaire yacht clubs.”

  “I think I’m excited.”

  “And I am so excited for you.”

  Julianne and Trisha raised their glasses in a toast.

  CHAPTER Two

  That evening, Julianne received a cryptic text message from an unlisted phone number:

  1432 East Seaside Avenue

  Manahawkin NJ 08050

  11:00pm

  Black Tie

  TELL NO ONE

  “Black tie?” Julianne read aloud. She puffed and grunted in annoyance. “Goddammit.”

  An irate Julianne phoned up Trisha, who responded instantly.

  “You never call. Is everything okay?”

  “No, everything is not okay. You’re telling me I have to be at a black tie event in New Jersey in three hours?”

  A brief silence followed.

  “I’m not telling you anything. What are you talking about, Julianne?”

  “I just got a text message. Telling me to go somewhere in Jersey in three hours.”

  “I told you I’d try to hook you up. So, yeah. That’s your lead?”

  “Trish, I have work tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re really important desk job you love so much. Jules, you complain about your job non-stop. Play hooky for a day. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I could lose my job!”

  “Have you ever missed a day of work before?”

  “No?”

  “Then don’t worry about it! They’re not going to fire you after missing one day. Pull a sick day if you have to. They have phones there, you know.”

  “Well…where am I even going?”

  “Wherever the text tells you to go. I don’t know, I don’t have the address in front of me.”

  “Well, its—”

  “Don’t tell me where you’re going, are you out of your mind!?” Trisha interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Well, what if somebody’s listening in? You could be in trouble, Julianne. You have to be careful.”

  “Careful? Trisha, what are you getting me mixed up in here?”

  “It’s nothing serious and you’re going to be fine. I’m not sending you to be kidnapped and shipped off to Romania or anything like that.”

  “Then tell me what the hell this is, all right?”

  “Like I said,” Trisha continued reassuringly. “This is a private VIP billionaire yacht club. What that means is: secret, secret, secret. These people, some of them wield a lot of power in their districts. They don’t want to be disturbed when they take a weekend off on their private island.”

  “Private island?” Julianne perked up. “Oooh, I’m intrigued. Where is this private island?”

  “Okay, Julianne?” Trisha felt as though she were addressing a caffeinated five-year-old before afternoon naptime. “You need to slow down and listen to everything I’m saying closely. Go to the address, make sure you dress up the way they tell you, and do whatever the person tells you to do. When you get there, look out for some landmark like a McDonald’s or something. Text me the name and address just in the off-chance something goes wrong. But I stress, Julianne. As long as you follow these steps exactly and don’t screw around, I swear on my life you will be fine.”

  Julianne sighed with a sustained feeling of relief.

  “But what about this Black Tie crap?”

  “All that means is they want you to look sexy. And Julianne, my darling, you look sexy when you roll out of bed in the morning.”

  “Thank you but that’s not really helping.”

  “Look, you must have at least one fuck me dress in your wardrobe. Yank it out, wash your hair, and improvise. You’ll be fine.”

  “All right,” Julianne reluctantly agreed. “But if I wind up dead after this, mark my words: I will haunt you until the day you die.”

  “And I accept that. Now get yourself dolled up, go to Jersey, and find some hot young billionaire to bang your brains out.”

  “I’ll let you know how it goes,” said Julianne with a sudden surge of confidence.

  Within a split second, Julianne flew over to the closet and disappeared into its nether regions until she could find the most desirous dress in her wardrobe. For a brief stretch, Julianne believed she would never discover an appropriately alluring article of clothing to wea
r to this enigmatic yacht club. But at the precise moment, when Julianne decided she was going to throw in the towel, she found the fuck me dress she was looking for. She raised her triumphant fist into the air. The item in question was an Italian backless dress she stumbled upon in a Soho thrift store. She never expected to discover a dress that embraced Julianne’s voluptuous hourglass figure so perfectly. Mercifully, the dress still fit.

  At this stage, it was time for Julianne to do the absolute best she could to amplify her sex appeal within a forty-five minute time frame. Julianne tended to be more of a perfectionist than most women when it came to managing her hair. But she didn’t have the time tonight. Julianne washed, blow dried, and curled her fiery red locks into a short and shaggy shoulder-length bob. The effect she hoped was that of controlled chaos.

  Getting ready in one hour seemed to stress out Julianne a lot more than was warranted. She completed the process in about fifty-nine minutes. With that, all that remained was to use some of her saved-up vacation money to pay for an Uber that was bound to take her to the address within the agreed-upon time frame. In order to secure her timely arrival, Julianne paid the driver a hundred dollars in cash as an under-the-table tip as an incentive: fifty when she climbed into the vehicle and the other fifty after she stepped outside at the New Jersey address. Before he drove off, the brazen driver took a gamble and asked his ravishing passenger if he could take her out for a drink some time. Julianne politely declined, although she appreciated the tremendous confidence boost that his comment provided.

  After she watched the cab drive off, Julianne looked around for a landmark as per Trisha’s request. Julianne found herself between a pier and a restaurant. The Horizon Diner, an antiquated greasy spoon, sat across from the docks. Trisha reached into her purse and grabbed her phone. Trisha picked up after three rings. The time was ten fifty-eight.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Trisha asked, excited.

  “I just got here,” Julianne replied with a slight shiver in her voice. “There’s a restaurant called the Horizon Diner and it’s on East Seaside Avenue. The town is Manahawkin,” followed by Julianne spelling out the name of the town.