Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  Layla and I have been best friends and roommates for years. We share more than just the cost of living and an apartment. She tells me everything, about her family, her adventurous love life, her dreams, and her worries. And I do the same with her. There has never been a secret between us.

  Until now.

  When she came up to me right after the event to ask about Mr. Hawkins’s intentions, I flat out lied to her. I don’t know why, but something kept me from telling her the truth. I told her that he just wanted to thank me, acting surprised that he would approach me for something like that. She seemed confused, but then shrugged and let it go, after mentioning once again how hot she thinks he is.

  We share that sentiment. His appearance is unsettling on its own, and the effect he had on me only intensified when I learned his identity.

  I had no idea who he was when I first bumped into him. I never concern myself with the names and faces of the people at the events we serve because it doesn’t matter to me who I’m serving drinks to. Layla is usually more informed than I am, and she was appalled at my ignorance regarding Ryan Hawkins.

  “How could you not know that?” she hissed at me during his speech, in complete disbelief that I hadn’t known who he was.

  How could I not know? Well, I never cared.

  But I do now.

  It’s been three days since the event, and I haven’t found the courage to call him. I’m lying on my bed, alternating between browsing the internet and staring at his business card.

  I want to contact him, I know that much. But, as any person who’s about to accept an invitation from a stranger to go out on a date, I’m scared. And I’m not even sure if a date is what he has in mind. Is that what he meant by “proposal”? Why didn’t he just ask me out like a normal guy?

  Because he’s not a normal guy. Something seems to be off about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  He has an aura of dominance, a possessive and powerful nature. This doesn’t come as a surprise, considering his position. No person ends up where he without having these traits. If he owns Onyx Corporation, he must be one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the country.

  And he’s so young.

  Instead of calling him, I spent a lot of time stalking him on the internet. He’s twenty-eight, only six years older than me, but he has already acquired more in life than most people do in a lifetime. What’s most impressive about his wealth is that he didn’t inherit it; he’s a true, self-made man. Even I can admire that, despite the usual spike of jealousy that comes with it.

  But why would a man like him be interested in a woman like me? Maybe his interest is not personal. A “proposal” could mean anything. Does he pity me? Is this about a job offer?

  “Is this all you do?” he had asked. Does he have another type of job in mind for me?

  But he doesn’t even know about my predicament. He doesn’t know about the mountain of debt I’m buried under, about my failed attempt at college, about my plan to leave all of this behind once I manage to pay off most of my debt and save up some money to be able to afford a new beginning.

  A new beginning far away from here. A new life, a new opportunity, in a new city. Layla and I have been planning this for a while now, and we’re getting closer all the time.

  I close the laptop with intent, forcing myself to focus on the question at hand. Whether he wants to date me or make me a job offer, both options would screw with my plans of leaving the city.

  But I can’t ignore him. I want to know what he meant by a “proposal.“

  Most of all, I want to see him again. Just thinking about him stirs something inside me. The way he looked at me, catching a whiff of his masculine scent when he leaned in close to whisper in my ear...

  Damn, he’s messing with my head - and other parts of my body. Until now, I didn’t even know I could feel this way.

  I just turned twenty-two a few weeks ago, but I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even a fling. Layla and I are very different in that regard. While she’s out there with a new guy almost every other week, I’ve never been interested enough in anyone for it to become anything serious, or intimate even.

  I’m not completely innocent. I’ve done stuff. I’ve flirted, I’ve kissed guys, and even fooled around a little, but that’s the extent of it.

  People say you should wait until you feel “ready”, and I’ve yet to figure out what that means. All I know is that I’ve never felt ready enough to go all the way, to do something so special with someone who doesn’t turn both my head and my heart.

  Even with the brief interaction we’ve had, Ryan Hawkins has done so much more than that to me. It’s only been three days, and there hasn’t been a moment when I wasn’t thinking of him. My thoughts revolve around him, all underlined by that one paramount question: what did he mean by “proposal?“

  I have to find out. I have to. I owe it to myself, maybe I even owe it to fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. Someone like him doesn’t cross my path on an everyday basis. In fact, no one ever has, and I doubt it will happen again anytime soon.

  I take a deep breath and reach for my phone. Doubts and worries need to step aside for a moment.

  I have a call to make.

  Chapter 6

  Ryan

  This is new to me. I’m sitting at my usual table at Café Pastiche, legs crossed and a folder with paperwork in front of me - and I’m nervous.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been nervous about meeting someone, especially a woman. There was always some kind of excitement involved in my arrangements, of course. But I’ve never been nervous when I met them.

  Today, I find myself nervously fidgeting with the spoon next to my coffee, stirring it, adding way too much sugar, stirring it again, burning my lips as I try to taste it. My foot is bobbing up and down in frantic motions, making my inner turmoil visible on the outside.

  I hate that.

  I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s just another fuck. Another arrangement for my annual retreat.

  But the thing is, she doesn’t know that yet. For all I know, she’s just expecting some flirting, disguised as a meet-up for coffee. Two people getting to know each other, maybe holding each other‘s hands, nervous giggles, compliments, and maybe a kiss.

  She has no idea I want to buy her. For one night. One very, very dirty night.

  Oh, the things I’d do to her…

  I know I shouldn’t pursue my sick thoughts, my fantasies, but I can’t help it. I can’t help imagining her, on her knees, tied up, purple and red marks blossoming on her pale skin where I’ve marked her, tears flowing from her dazed eyes, as she pants breathlessly with desperate, heated lust.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, shaking my head, as if that could clear my mind.

  My cock is hardening at the mere thought. I inhale audibly, trying to force my mind on something else, so I’ll be able to get up and greet her like a gentleman once she appears.

  She’s not on the menu, I have to remind myself. She’s not a whore. You didn’t find her in that fucking catalog. I shouldn’t get this excited about her, when the most likely outcome of this meeting will be an appalled gasp and her storming away from the table once I make my intentions known.

  I can see the door from where I’m sitting, and every time it opens, my heart stops for a second. So far, all the faces that have appeared through the door have been unfamiliar. I check my wristwatch for what seems like the millionth time since I got here. She’s not late, I just arrived way too early. Being overly punctual is a habit of mine, and it was only increased because I’m so impatient to see her again. It took her long enough to call me, but this wait feels like the longest I’ve ever had to endure.

  She walks through the door three minutes before the time we agreed upon, looking deliciously innocent in a flowery sundress and a matching cardigan in light pastel colors. Her silky brown hair is falling over her shoulders in luscious waves, and she’s pressing a little handbag against her body as i
f to protect herself. Her steps are fast but small when she approaches the table. She’s wearing flat sandals, careful not to add even an inch to her already towering height.

  I’ll make her wear heels if she agrees to become mine, and I’ll teach her to carry that height with pride.

  She’s slouching when she walks, but her back instantly straightens when I get up from my chair to welcome her. Her height may be somewhat impressive for a woman, but she’s still shorter standing next to me. And she loves it. It’s written all over her bright face when she comes to a halt in front of me and finds herself looking up, something she doesn’t have to do very often.

  “I’m sorry, am I late?” she asks as we shake hands.

  Her hands are cold and surprisingly small, yet they send a bolt of desire through my body.

  Why did she have to wear a dress like this? It covers more of her legs than that pencil skirt she was wearing when I first saw her, but the way it swirls around her long, slim legs is driving me mad with curiosity.

  We have to sit down.

  “You’re fine,” I assure her, beckoning for her to sit down across from me.

  She follows my gesture, her shoulders tense and her hands clutching the handbag in her lap, as her eyes latch on to mine. Her make-up is stronger today, and she even painted her lips. I like the effort, because she’s obviously trying to impress me, but the heavy eye shadow overpowers her green eyes. She looked better with less color painted on her face.

  I’ll have to remember that.

  I cast the thought aside. There’s no point in making notes for her instructions if she’s not even up to the task.

  “What can I order for you?” I ask, waving for a waiter.

  “Um,” she says, her eyes hurrying across the table to see what I’m having.

  “Coffee?” she ponders.

  I smile at her. Fuck, she’s cute.

  “Whatever you like, Miss Brown,” I tell her. “Coffee, latte, tea, a mimosa, or champagne, maybe?”

  Her eyes flicker at that last suggestion. I knew she’s a champagne girl, but she’s too modest to admit it.

  “Uh… I think it’s too early for a drink,” she says, but I’m confident she doesn‘t mean it.

  I wink at her and order us two mimosas and some water, which she regards with a grateful smile.

  She’s nervous as hell, but trying very hard to hide it from me. When our glasses arrive and she reaches for hers, I can see her slim fingers vibrating with tension. We clink glasses, and I watch as she carefully sips from hers, visibly calming down after the first drink.

  “Better?” I ask.

  She casts me a bewildered look, and nods.

  I’ve never been lost for the right words, but right now I wish I had prepared something to say. It never occurred to me that this would be hard. After all, I know what I want from her, and I’m used to getting what I want.

  But this is delicate business, and I have no way of knowing how she’s going to react.

  Beating around the bush is not my style, so I decide to be straightforward with her.

  Her eyelashes are fluttering nervously as she tries not to break eye contact with me.

  “As I’ve mentioned before, I have a proposal for you,” I begin. “A way for you to make a lot of money.”

  Her eyes narrow as she casts me a suspicious look. “A lot of money?”

  I nod. “More than you’ll ever make with that waitressing job. In fact, it will enable you to stop doing that.”

  She furrows her eyebrows.

  “Is that not what you want?” I ask her. “Do you enjoy that job?”

  Laura lets out an exasperated gasp.

  “Yeah, right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m just curious what kind of job you’re proposing? You don’t even know anything about my qualifications.”

  She crosses her arms in front of her chest. It’s an attempt to appear sassy and confident, but I can see her shaking under her self-assured posture.

  “Oh, I’m sure your qualifications are just fine,” I say, locking her down with my eyes.

  “Well, then…,” she utters, visibly ruffled by my gaze. “What would I have to do?”

  We exchange a silent look, feeling each other out without saying a word or touching one another. She’s a smart girl. I know she senses where this is going, but she needs me to say it out loud.

  “Submit to me,” I say, my voice low and heavy with meaning. “Be mine for one night.”

  Chapter 7

  Laura

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s kidding, right?

  “Submit to you?” I ask incredulously. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  I have a pretty clear idea of what he’s talking about, but I’m not ready to admit it. The shock is still too new, too deep, for me to even consider having a normal conversation with him yet.

  He reaches for his glass and nonchalantly takes another drink from it, seeming to ignore my outburst in response to his ridiculous offer. I’m boiling with indignation and frustration, and I can only imagine the expression on my face, but here he is, taking his sweet time to give me an explanation.

  “It means that I want you,” he shrugs simply. “I want you to give yourself to me. For one night, just one night.”

  “You want to fuck me,” I breathe, my voice trembling with hurt, and I’m sure tears are starting to form considering how my eyes feel like they’re burning.

  He cocks his head to the side.

  “That would be part of it,” he nods calmly. “But not all of it. A simple fuck is not what I want – need – from you.”

  A tight knot forms in my chest, making it harder to breathe. I’m so appalled at his offer, so hurt and humiliated. Is that how little he thinks of me? That I’m so dead poor and desperate that I’d be willing to sell myself to him?

  “I’m not a prostitute,” I enlighten him.

  His eyes are set on mine, an earnest expression gracing his handsome face. He’s wearing a black suit and tie, appearing even more dressed up than he did on the evening of the event. Did he have another appointment before me, or is it just proper etiquette to dress up when negotiating with a whore?

  “I know that,” he says. “And I’m sorry if I insulted you.”

  He gives me a moment to react to his apology, but I don’t acknowledge it.

  “But I still think you’re intrigued by my proposal,” he adds. “In many ways.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand why you’d think that.”

  His smile suggests that he’s not taking my refusal seriously.

  “Why don’t you just ask me out like a normal person? Why this… proposal?”

  He shrugs.

  “Because that’s how it has to be,” he says matter-of-factly. “Miss Brown, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not looking to date you. This is not about roses, fancy dinners, and holding hands. It’s about one night. One night during which you’ll submit yourself to me, entirely and completely, and be mine.”

  He pauses and leans forward then, reaching for my hand. I flinch, but don’t move my hand away when he begins intertwining his fingers with mine. His touch is warm and soothing, but electrifying at the same time. I want to pull away from him, but I can’t.

  What does this man want from me?

  “I’m sure you must have a lot of questions,” he says. “I’m ready to answer every single one of them, but you’ll have to speak to me.”

  I glare at him. “What makes you think I’m even considering this?”

  He shrugs, completely unfazed by my irritation.

  “You’re still here,” he simply says, casting me a knowing look before he pulls his hand away from mine.

  I catch myself involuntarily seeking to follow his hand when he moves away.

  He notices my reaction, too.

  Damn.

  “How much money are we talking?” I dare to ask, still not looking at him.

  He lets a few moments pass by without responding
. Instead, he watches me, observing, waiting. I could be wrong, but he appears to be somewhat disappointed.

  He opens the folder that’s before him on the table, and pulls out a piece of paper. He slides it over for me to see.

  “The financial portion of the proposal,” he says, nodding toward the piece of paper in my hands. “All of it.”

  I inspect the paper he’s given me. It’s an agreement listing a bunch of dollar values, each linked to certain conditions and bonuses. He even includes value-added tax, as if this was a legal business contract. I almost want to laugh, but the number that’s written on the bottom of the page steals my breath.

  “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars?!” I exclaim, lifting my eyes to meet his gaze. “Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of sick joke? If so, it’s not funny at all –”

  “I’m dead serious,” he says, not blinking.

  We exchange a silent stare for a few moments, and then he removes the piece of paper from my hand.

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand up front,” he says, giving voice to something that was listed on the paper. “If you agree. It would be paid to you the moment you sign the contract, before anything else even happens.”

  He pauses, before he adss: “Plus bonuses for anal, bare–”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I interrupt him.

  I’m dumbfounded trying to process what’s happening here. There’s a voice inside my head – Layla’s voice – chastising me for even hesitating.

  “What the hell is there to consider?” I hear her yell. “He’s handsome, he’s sexy. You would have slept with him anyway! And the money! It would be enough to pay off your debt, and the perfect amount to start a new life, even give college another chance. Anything!”

  Anything. I could do anything with this money. I would finally be free from the horrible debt that’s been weighing on me for years.

  I’d be free.

  But this is so wrong. Do I really want to sell my body? Especially since this would be my first time with a man. I’ve told myself over and over that I’d wait for the right one to come along, the special one. And now I’m considering selling my virginity? Isn’t that against everything I stand for?