Buying the Dancer (Alpha Billionaires Book 4)

by Stella Stone

  “Sleep, Stassi,” he grunts, his mouth touching my shoulder.

  I don’t sleep. I can’t. Not when he’s pressed against me, in my bed. This is different. New. I love it way too much. I could get used to this, and then what? What happens when I get used to it, and want him here with me? What happens when I fall deeper in love with him and he doesn’t return it? What the hell happens then?

  Rolling over in his arms, he shifts to allow me onto my back. His eyes slowly open as he looks down at me.

  “What’s wrong?” he gently demands.

  I close my eyes slowly when he lifts a hand, and uses his fingers to shift my hair behind my ear. Opening my eyes, I look into his chocolate gaze. “Is this real?” I ask.

  “What?” he frowns.

  Inhaling, I continue to look up at him, to watch him. “This, moment. You here in my bed, holding me. Is this just a one time thing, or is it more? Is it real?”

  His eyes soften as he drops his head and the lips that fulfill all of my fantasies brush against my own. “It’s real, little girl. So goddamn real,” he growls.

  Spreading my legs beneath him, I moan when his tongue fills my mouth and his cock presses against my center. Lifting my hips, I shiver beneath him as I feel his hardness against me.

  Whitaker shifts, his dick slowly sinking inside of me. Without touching any part of me, except his mouth on mine and him moving inside of me, we make love. It isn’t fucking. It’s raw, emotional—it’s love.

  I love him.

  Down to the depths of my soul. I love this man. This man who bought me. This man who owns me.

  I love him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STASSIA

  Whitaker watches me. We have his mother’s premiere in a few days, and I’m trying on the dress for the event. He hasn’t left my side in two days though. We’ve fucked, and made love, so many times my body is exhausted, and yet, I want more. I always want more when it comes to him.

  “Can you cut away more of the back?” he asks the designer.

  Suzette makes a noise in the back of her throat but the designer freezes, and lifts his eyes to meet Whitaker’s. I wait for him to scream, yell, or throw some artistic tantrum. He does neither. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes moving from Whitaker then back to me.

  “Is it not sexy enough? I didn’t want to draw too much attention,” he calmly states.

  Whitaker hums, shifting in his chair. “You don’t want her to outshine my mother?” he guesses.

  “Sir,” the designer mutters, lowering his head in a slow nod.

  Whitaker stands. I feel his heat at my back before his fingers touch the base of my neck. “Lower the front then. It doesn’t look sexy enough. Stassia is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, this dress should wow the public, it’s her first appearance.”

  He leaves without saying another word. He leaves me breathless when he walks out of the door. The designer appears in front of me, his eyes gleaming. “How do you feel about the front being cut to your waist?”

  My eyes widen. Then I gasp as he brings a pair of scissors up to the neckline of the gorgeous dress. He cuts and pins the front. “We’ll have to tape her breasts, Suzette,” he announces.

  The V is so wide, that the small swells of my breasts at the side show. My areolas are dangerously close to being exposed, but as I lift my eyes to the mirror I suck in a breath. I look sexy.

  It makes me look like I actually have a waist, breasts aren’t needed with this neckline, or lack thereof. The dress is floor length with just a slight train at the back. I look like I belong on the Hollywood red carpet.

  For the first time, I don’t look like a little girl dressing up, I look like—a woman.

  “The bastard was right,” Suzette chuckles.

  Ripping my gaze from my reflection, I look over at her with a small smile. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Suzette nods. “It is, as are you, Stassia. You are ready to walk by his side, now.”

  A few minutes later I’m out of the dress and back in my regular clothes. The designer leaves to make the repairs to the dress and place the final touches before the event.

  Suzette stays, her eyes roaming over me. She opens her mouth a few times, snapping it shut. Then she bites the corner of her bottom lip.

  “Suzette, what is it?”

  She sighs. “The paparazzi have seen you. This is really important. They are like piranha. They can’t find out much about you, but they’re trying. Do you have any skeletons?”

  My heart stops beating inside of my chest. “How have they seen me?” I almost screech.

  I’m panicked completely panicked.

  “They have pictures of you two walking. They came out a few days ago. You’re wearing a white lace romper, you look naked beneath it,” she murmurs.

  Shaking my head, I take a step back. “No,” I breathe.

  “What is it?” she demands.

  I don’t tell her anything, turning from the room, I run out of the turret. I run all the way down the stairs and outside. For the first time since walking into the home with Whitaker, I leave alone. I run.

  I don’t know where I’m going to go, but I know that I can’t stay here—can’t stay with him.

  I can’t ruin his career, his life. Once the press finds out how I became his, he’ll be completely ruined—forever—that’s if he isn’t thrown in jail.

  WHITAKER

  Suzette calls me. Glancing down at my phone, I silence it. She can wait a few minutes. “How does everything look?” I ask Roman.

  His eyes meet mine and he lifts his chin. “Studio hasn’t said anything. The paparazzi have been camping out at the club, but nobody has gone in or out, and four A listers want to know the name and why they aren’t on the list,” he grumbles.

  Chuckling, I lean back in the chair. “So everything is all good?”

  He smiles. “It’s without unfavorable incident. You need to be more careful in the future, Whitaker. I don’t want to know how she ended up living in your house. I honest to fuck do not want to know. I just want to keep you working, and out of jail,” he mumbles.

  “Yeah, I’m too gorgeous for jail,” I laugh. “Everything is set for the premiere? My accommodations for filming are in line as well?”

  We have to leave the day after my mother’s premiere to check in for filming. I’ve been reading over the script, and now it’s time to get the ball rolling. I’m not sure if this is something I want to do past these movies, but it’s an experience if nothing else.

  Roman lifts his chin. “Everything is in order. A suite with two bedrooms, a balcony, and living area. Fresh food to be delivered weekly, along with a butler for any other requests,” he informs.

  “Perfect,” I state as I stand.

  Roman’s eyes meet mine. “You’re good, Whitaker? This is all good?” he asks.

  I lift my lips in a smirk. “I’m really fucking good,” I truthfully announce.

  He smiles. “I’m glad. You deserve a good woman, a good life,” he offers.

  I don’t say anything else, turning from him, I walk out of his office. Only when I’m in my car do I call Suzette back.

  “Where are you?” she yells into the phone.

  Frowning, I tell her that I’m just leaving Roman’s office.

  “She’s gone, Whit. She fucking ran off, and I couldn’t stop her. I’ve been running all around the estate calling her name. I’ve got the maid, the driver and the cook helping me, but we can’t fucking find her.”

  My world turns instantly black.

  “I’m on my way,” I say attempting to keep my calm.

  I want to scream, race, and panic. I don’t do any of it. I stay in complete control. Complete and total fucking control. Although, I make no promises when I find her of staying this way.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  STASSIA

  I hide behind the gardener’s shack at the edge of the property. I need to find a way out of here. I’m going to ruin Whitaker if I stay. I can’t do t
hat. I love him too much. He’s too good to be tied to me, to my father, to our beginning.

  He needs someone good and clean. He needs someone who isn’t tainted like I am.

  Pulling my knees up to my chest, I bury my face against them and I cry. The sun eventually sets, but I don’t move. I’m frozen in my fear, in my uncertainty.

  I want my turret.

  I want the safety of Whitaker’s arms.

  Closing my eyes, I shiver as dusk becomes darkness. The dew of the evening begins to form, and I wonder what I’m going to do in a few hours, in a few days, for the rest of my life.

  Eventually, I shift to my side, curling into a small ball and fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow will look better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to go home to my father. I don’t know what he’ll say, if he’ll even let me back. Though, I highly doubt it—maybe I won’t go to him.

  WHITAKER

  As soon as I get home, I decide to go into the security room. Stassia doesn’t know that I have complete surveillance, not only on the front of the house, but on the entire grounds as well. Pulling up the security tapes, I find her. She’s asleep behind the gardener’s shack.

  Taking my phone out of my pocket, I call off the search party. I ask Suzette to meet me in my office. Stassia isn’t going anywhere. In fact, maybe I should let her stay out there for a while. She obviously doesn’t give a fuck about me, or my feelings, if she thinks she can run from me so goddamn easily.

  “Whitaker,” Suzette says with a grimace as she walks into my office.

  Clearing my throat, I lean back in my chair. “What happened? She didn’t run just because.”

  “I told her about the photos. I thought she knew,” she explains. “I needed her to be aware of how important this premiere is,” Suzette continues.

  I hum. “I didn’t tell her, because it isn’t her place to know, Suzie. She isn’t like a regular girlfriend. She is only allowed to know what I tell her. I didn’t want her to worry,” I state.

  Suzette shakes her head. “This whole thing is fucked up. She’s in the spotlight. Whether you like it or not, that’s where she is, because that’s where you are. You’ve put her there. She needs to know how to behave around you. She needs to know how much she is watched.”

  Lifting my hand, I slam it down on my desk. “I just wanted her for myself for a while, before the world had pieces of her. Before she realized that I’m not worth it, though it doesn’t matter if she does. She can’t leave me, not ever.”

  Suzette stands, places her hands on my desk and leans over slightly. “Fix it, Whitaker. Don’t hold her prisoner though. She is a woman, and if you want her to love you, for you, then you need to give her all of you. What you don’t need to do is lock her away in a tower, used as a toy for your pleasure, and hidden away from the world. That is not how to build a loving, trusting, relationship.”

  Suzette doesn’t allow me to reply, she turns and leaves me alone. Turning on my computer, I find the live feed of Stassia. She’s buried her face in her knees and her body is shaking as if she’s crying. I should go to her.

  I don’t leave immediately. I watch. I wonder what is going through her head. Why hasn’t she left the grounds? What is making her stay? Is she just scared of being alone, or is it more?

  Hours go by, she lies down in the grass and I watch as she sleeps. She looks so much smaller as she curls into a tiny ball. Deciding I can’t let her stay like that for long, I stand.

  Marching out into the cool night, I make my way toward her. When I finally approach her, I don’t wake her immediately. I choose to watch her. Frowning, I decide I like watching her sleep when she’s naked in a bed, not this bullshit.

  Crouching down, I slide my arms beneath her body and I slowly pick her up. She doesn’t stir. Her face is splotchy from crying as the moon illuminates her features. I expect her to wake up as I walk toward the house.

  Once we’re inside, I start toward her room, but stop at the base of the staircase. Making a decision that is intimate, and ultimately changes everything, I turn away from her room. Instead, I head toward my own space.

  Stassia will be the first woman, aside from the maid, to ever step inside of my personal bedroom, and she will be the first and last woman to ever sleep in my bed. I’m not allowing her to leave. I’m also not going to lock her away.

  I’m going to trust her.

  I’m going to cherish her.

  I’m going to fucking love her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  STASSIA

  I’m warm, and a heavy blanket wraps around me. I shift, but the blanket tightens. My eyes open when I realize that it isn’t a blanket, but an arm. I hear Whitaker’s unmistakable grunt behind me, and I freeze.

  “I know you’re awake. You’ve been a bad little girl,” he murmurs behind me. I start to attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, when his hand moves and wraps around my naked breast.

  “I’m naked,” I announce.

  He chuckles, his teeth nipping my shoulder. “You are. Tell me why you ran,” I order. I press my lips together, but he doesn’t allow me to move, not even a centimeter. “Answer me,” he barks.

  I’ve never seen him angry, not really. I blink at his words, my head jerking as if he’s physically slapped me. Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. When I do, I realize that I am not in my room. I’m not in the turret. I’m surrounded by black sheets, and dark furniture.

  It’s the dark room to my light.

  “The press took those pictures. They’re going to find out, and your reputation is going to be ruined. I can’t be your downfall Whitaker, not when I love you so much,” I say in a rush, tears filling my eyes and quickly falling.

  An expression I’ve never seen before crosses over his face. “You love me?” he asks.

  I nod, shifting my hands to cup his cheeks. His scruff scrapes my palms and I sigh. “I do. I don’t know how it happened or when, but I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the man who bought me,” I breathe.

  He lowers his head, his lips brush mine, his tongue tastes my mouth quickly before he lifts his head, his gaze finding mine.

  “I trust you, Stassia. I love you. Be mine, me purchasing you aside. Be mine. Willfully be my wife,” he breathes.

  I don’t answer him, I’m not able to. His mouth crashes against mine and he fills me with his tongue. Then, without saying another word he slowly makes love to me. It’s the most beautiful moment of my entire life. When he comes, he whispers his love for me, his lips hovering above my own.

  WHITAKER

  I never thought this would be my life. That I could find a woman who loves me, who wants me for me. A woman who could walk next to me on the red carpet, then sleep beside me in my bed. Pulling her against my body, I run my fingers through her strawberry blonde hair.

  “Fuck, Stassi,” I groan.

  She shifts her leg between my thighs, dropping her head back to look up at me. “Do you love me, Whitaker?”

  I smirk, shaking my head once, then twice. Disappointment etches in her features at my moves. “I love you with all that I am, Stassi. I wanted a companion who could not leave me, who would not want me for what I can do for her. I wanted someone who needed me, for me, not for some kind of career jumping off point. I didn’t know that I would fall in love with you. I definitely did not anticipate doing so, so quickly,” I admit.

  Lowering my head, I kiss her. My soon to be wife, the hopefully soon to be mother of my children.

  My dancer.

  Mine.

  My Stassi.

  EPILOGUE

  TWO DAYS LATER

  STASSIA

  I’m going to be sick. Downright sick, all over the fancy red carpet. Camera flashes blind me as I walk beside Whitaker. Questions get fired at us, one right after the other, so many in fact that it’s completely overwhelming which only adds to my stomach’s queasiness.

  “Tell us about your new girlfriend?”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Who are you we
aring?”

  “What kind of club did you meet at?”

  “Were you naked, Stassia?”

  Whitaker smiles, waving every so often as we walk down the carpet. He keeps one hand wrapped around my waist, his fingers gripping my hip tightly. We stop at a designated area and pose next to one another while the camera’s flash.

  “TMZ, come talk to us,” a man shouts waving his microphone.

  Slowly, we walk over to the microphone. “Hey,” Whitaker smiles.

  “Who is this alluring creature, and how long have you been together?” he asks.

  Whitaker chuckles, “Stassia is my fiancée,” Whitaker winks before he begins to walk away. The reporter shouts a million more questions but they all fade away.

  “Why did you tell him?” I ask, once we’re out of earshot.

  Whitaker dips his chin, his lips brushing mine. “Aside from the fact that once they dissect these pictures, everyone will see the gigantic rock I slipped on your finger. I’m also just plain fucking proud to be marrying you, little girl.”

  Tipping my head back, I brush my lips along his dark scruff. “I love you so much,” I breathe.

  He lowers his head, his lips touching mine and his tongue peeks out to taste my mouth. “I want to fuck you,” he rasps.

  “I’m still sore from an hour ago,” I admit.

  He chuckles. “Good. I want that pussy aching twenty-four seven.”

  Shaking my head, I move my hand over and use my thumb to wipe some of my lipstick from his mouth.

  “I love you, Whitaker.”

  His grin widens and his hands wrap around my waist tugging me against his chest. “Love you more than you could know, little girl.”