Billionaire Romance: Club Billionaire (The Complete Series)

by Duval, Lexi

  I take her advice – although it was more of an order – and begin passing from group to group, fetching glasses and bottles, clearing tables, taking orders where necessary. I keep my eyes on Kyle, though, who continues his evening as if our meet never took place. When the Brazilian waitress with the perfect cunt passes by, their eyes lock in the briefest moment of lust.

  A searing jolt of jealousy rocks through me.

  “Well well, Betty, isn't it?”

  I turn, and lock eyes with the surfer boy billionaire from the other night.

  “Belle, actually,” I correct him.

  “Ah, my mistake.” He ogles my ass and lets his eyes run up my body, stopping for a few long moments on my tits. I can do nothing but stand there, waiting to be dismissed.

  Don't walk away, Belle.

  “You know,” he continues once his eyes have finally returned to mine, “you're just my type. How tall are you, without those heels on?”

  “About 5'3''.”

  “Perfect. Short girls are the best. They're easier to fling around. I'm going to be busy for the next hour but, after that I think we should spend some time together.”

  It's not an offer.

  I don't reply.

  “Would you like that?”

  I don't know what to say. Over his shoulder, I find Kyle, who's staring at me, his face crinkled with displeasure. The Brazilian girl is next to him, dropping a glass of whiskey into his hand, her breasts heaving out as she bends down.

  I turn my eyes back to the blue-eyed surfer boy. “Sure,” I say. “You're the boss.”

  My words seem to please him, turn the corners of his mouth up into a smirk.

  “Room number TWO, one hour,” he says with one more glance over me.

  And then he's gone.

  I look at Kyle again, who's turned his eyes away and has seemingly forgotten about me. Well, two can play at that game, Kyle.

  The next hour passes by in a flurry or nerves. The role I'm acting down here has suddenly become real, and I'm nearing a line that I don't really want to cross. Kyle was one thing. A dream, the sort of guy any girl or woman would fall for with nothing but a protracted look or a quick smile. The sort of guy who could bed virgins and long time married women alike. The sort of man no one says no to.

  Billionaire surfer boy isn't like that. Everything about him screams insecure. The way he speaks, what he says, the manner in which he conducts himself. He's younger than Kyle, sure, but carries none of his poise. He's little more than an uber rich, uber spoiled son of a billionaire, the sort born to wealth but with no discernible skills or abilities. Nothing that would have brought him riches had he been forced to start over.

  I know, from the limited amount I've found on Kyle Lawson online, that he's largely self-made. That his family fortune was paltry compared to what it is now before he came of age and joined the family business. That was after college – which he attended early – when he was only 19 years of age. A business prodigy in the truest form, he'd taken his family from less than 200 million to 10 billion in the space of only ten years.

  But it's not only that. Kyle is a man; this blond headed, blue eyed jock is nothing more than a boy. Fresh out of college, still living the party life, and with little to no experience of the real world. He's pretty but not handsome. Soft, not hard. Average height and tanned like a beach bum, not tall, dark, and mysterious.

  In short, the kid's not sexy. Not by a long shot.

  The minutes tick, and my resolve weakens. With only ten minutes to go, I find myself hiding in the bar room, contemplating making a run for the elevator. I make a strong gin and tonic, sink it down, and find that my hands are shaking as I drop the glass to the counter.

  The sound of the door opening draws my eyes, and I turn, hoping to see Kyle standing there. Hoping he'll somehow be able to offer me a way out. It's not Kyle. It's Alice, trotting in with the smile on her face and her hair flowing behind her.

  She immediately notices the look on my face, the empty glass still clutched in my hand.

  “Belle! What are you doing! Drinking on the job...I've spoken to your already...”

  She stops short, sensing my vulnerability.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “That young man. The one with the tan and blond curly hair. What's his name?”

  “Brad,” Alice answers quickly, with a hint of disdain. “Why?”

  “He wants me in room TWO in ten minutes.”

  Now Alice's face has lost it's smile. Her face drops, her head shakes, and she clears her voice.

  “At least now I understand the drinking.” She gestures at my glass. “Refill it,” she orders, so I do.

  “Why Belle...why did you agree to it?”

  I take another long gulp. “I don't know.”

  I do know...it was to make Kyle jealous. A stupid move by a stupid fucking girl...

  “I told you you don't have to do anything. And I told you to watch out for the younger ones. Do you want to? That would be a change up from the other night.”

  I shake my head vociferously. “No, I don't.”

  “Then why did you agree?!”

  “Because...he's a billionaire. What can I do, turn him down? A guy like that?”

  “Yes. The rules down here are to protect you are much as them. These men enjoy their vices, and they enjoy indulging their pleasures away from the pressures of their worlds. But that does not give them dominion over us. We are here to make our own choices too, Belle.”

  “So I can back out then?”

  Alice goes quiet for a moment. “You can...but you won't be allowed down here again.”

  My heart sinks.

  “What...but you said...”

  “I said we can make our own choices, and we can. So, yes, you can back out. But I also said there are rules, and there are. If you've agreed to something, you have to follow through. Some men might let you out of it if you asked, but I don't think Bradley will be like that.”

  The change in her tone of voice unnerves me.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “I've seen him looking at you. Tonight, and the other night as well. Just play the date, Belle, and forget about it. You only have to do it this once if that's all you want.”

  She pours a single shot of brandy and hands it to me. “Or you can forget it and lose this job. It's up to you.”

  I take the glass, sink the warm, brown liquid, and steel my eyes.

  “I can't lose this job.”

  Chapter Five

  I walk across the room, passing by the central fountain and meandering through the myriad tables and statues set up within the grand, spacious social chamber. I glance to where Kyle was before, hoping he'll have seen me. But he's absent, no longer sitting amid the cloud of cigar smoke that's settled over the men in that corner.

  I reach the door that I ventured into two nights ago when it was nothing more than a mystery. Now I'm all too aware of what goes on in there, of what is already happening behind closed doors. Brad, I know, will be waiting for me behind the door immediately to the right, his young man's hormones thrusting into overdrive.

  I step forward, pushing inside, and stop outside door TWO. The light is green, indicating the room is not being used. Not yet, anyway.

  With a final breath, I push the door open and step over the breach, letting the warm, tropical scents of the room wash over me.

  As suspected, Brad is sitting upright on the bed, salivating at the mouth like a dog. His jacket has already been removed, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His shoes are off, his tie flung to one side, his socks discarded.

  “Lock the door,” he demands. I move forward, click the door shut, and fasted the lock.

  He observes me for a few moments before passing on his next order.

  “I want you to strip for me. Make it sexy.”

  There's no music in the room, no rhythm to work with. No pole, no props, nothing but an empty space of floor for me to use as a stage.

  Memories of
my time stripping come flooding back, most of them blurred or only half remembered. Back then I was always drunk or high, never completely lucid. When I quit and got my act together, I told myself I'd never resort to such things again.

  And yet here I am. About to return to that world, and venture forward into a whole new one. Alice told me that the girls here are not prostitutes. That they only fuck men by choice.

  The same, unfortunately, cannot be said for me. I don't want to fuck this boy. I don't want to strip. I'm doing it for one reason, and one reason alone. I'm doing it for the money. I'm doing it because I need to. Loosely defined, I am about to become a hooker.

  “No, no, that's not sexy at all.”

  A shoe is flung at me. It bounces off my thigh, creating a graze which quickly glows red. I look up and see Brad's face, angry, yet spurred on my the look of fear on mine.

  “I said, strip sexy.”

  I begin sliding out of my clothes, no longer thinking of what I'm doing. Too afraid to over-analyze. To over-think the turn my life has taken.

  Alice's words are the only thing remaining in my head: play the date, Belle, and forget about it.

  I resolve to do just that.

  Before long my skirt is around my ankles, and I'm stepping out of it. I see Brad's eyes bulge at the sight of my panties, just as Kyle's did. The look brings nothing out of me.

  My shirt is unbuttoned and peeled off my skin. I fling it aside. With a lump in my throat, I slowly reach a hand behind my back, feel the clip of my bra, and pop it open. Immediately, the fabric falls loose at the front, my heaving cleavage given some room to breathe.

  Brad huffs and puffs on the bed, and I see his hands drifting under his pants. He shuffles out of them, pulling them off with the ease and grace of a lumbering bear, like an excited child taken out to play.

  “And the rest...” he orders, now working on his shirt. His body is tanned all over, but for stark lines around his white briefs. He's slim, toned, but not muscled. The sort of body you'd see on a soccer player. Great for some girls, but not for me. I like the more rugged versions. Football players, sprinters. Strong, hard, and lean.

  “Go on, let me see...”

  He's naked on the bed now, wearing nothing but his underwear. An altogether unimpressive bulge nudges them up, and I begin to see where his insecurities come from.

  I drop my thumbs to the outer string of my panties, drawing over my hips, and slowly, sensually, begin pulling down. His mouth gapes like a moron as he watches me, his breathing increasing, and that little bulge gets just a tiny bit bigger.

  My panties cling to my skin, pleading with me to stay on. I feel no warmth between my legs this time. No desire for this boy spreads through me. It's as though my body is rebelling against my mind. Telling me to stop, trying to hold me back. But the logical side of me has nowhere to go. I'm in too deep, and I have to follow through.

  My panties drop to the floor.

  An audible sound of pleasure hisses from Brad's lips. When I look up, he's got his cock out, lying to the side on his leg above his underwear.

  “Come here.”

  I gingerly move toward the bed and climb on.

  “Are you a slut, Belle?”

  I look up to him. He's got a smirk on his face. An arrogant sneer.

  “Do you want me to be a slut?”

  “Only a slut would say that.”

  “Then I guess I am.”

  “Well then do what sluts do,” he says. “And suck me off. But don't make me come...I'll be angry if you make me come.”

  His words sound like a challenge, some sort of weird, cryptic threat. He wants me to suck him off, give him pleasure, but not make him come. The boy looks like he'll burst at the first touch of my lips. He's just looking for an excuse.

  I creep forward, inching closer until I'm in line with his dick. It points up at me, waiting, eager for the warmth of my mouth.

  Suddenly I feel dry. My mouth, my pussy. Dry as the Sahara. I swallow, try to build up some saliva, try to work it around the inside of my mouth. But there's nothing. My body's rebelling still, preventing me from performing.

  “Come on! What are you waiting for!”

  Brad's blue eyes are fierce, bubbling up like a stormy sea. That anger he's clearly so keen to unleash is already beginning to rise to the surface.

  I duck my head, as if expecting something else to me thrown at me. Perhaps even a fist this time. Nothing comes, though, and still my mouth fails to moisten.

  KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

  A loud banging at the door causes my eyes to widen. I instinctively snatch a blanket from the bed and wrap it around my body. Brad, meanwhile, does little more than glance up.

  “We're busy in here. Can't you see the red light.”

  “Of course I can see the fucking light. I know you're in there with Belle, Bradley.”

  It's Kyle's voice, a real man's voice, booming through the door. My heart does somersaults.

  “Yeah, so what,” calls Brad.

  There's a delay lasting a few seconds.

  “She's not here to suck your tiny pecker. She's only a waitress, and she came down here at my invite.”

  Brad's eyes boil, and I can't help but notice him instinctively pull his underwear back over his cock.

  “So the fuck what Lawson, all girl's are fair game here.”

  Another delay. I can sense Kyle on the other side, choosing his words carefully.

  “I'm going to say this one time, and one time only. If you don't open this door now and let the girl out, I'm going to kick it down and then kick your head in. Capiche?”

  I fling my eyes back to Brad, who's face has turned the color of hell and who's hands are shaking violently. He looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

  He considers things a moment, turning silent, then speaks to me, his voice low.

  “Get out of here. Looks like your master doesn't want us spending time together.”

  I don't move for a second, which brings a burst of scorn.

  “I said get out!” he shouts.

  I quickly slip off the bed, pull on my clothes as fast as I can, and unlock the door. When I pull it open, Kyle is there, standing guard. His eyes pass over me, then harden as they lift to Brad. A short staring match ensues. Boys will be fucking boys.

  Slowly, purposefully, Kyle shuts the door, his eyes never leaving the half naked boy inside. His face softens as it reaches mine, his harsh words losing their bite.

  “Are you OK?”

  I nod. “Thank you, for that.”

  “I don't want you to thank me. I just want to make sure you don't do it again.”

  He leads me into a vacant room, where we can talk in private. I sit, at his gesture to do so, and feel a shiver run up my spine. It feels as though I've just stepped off stage, out of a role, and am back in my own head again.

  “I don't want you sleeping with anyone down here Belle. That's not why I told you about this place. It wasn't so juvenile snakes like Brad can put their grubby hands on you. That boy doesn't know the meaning of the word respect. If it were up to me, he wouldn't be allowed down here.”

  “Then why is he?” I ask quickly.

  “Because his father is one of the richest men in the world.”

  I shake my head, trying to sift through the super billionaires that I've seen on the news or read about online.

  Kyle seems to read my expression.

  “You wouldn't know of him I doubt. He's called Oliver Turner. He's a weapons manufacturer. In recent years the US military has used him for several massive contracts. It's sent their wealth spiraling out of control.”

  “So he's richer than you then?” I say, the lightest smirk of impudence creeping across my face.

  It gets a brief rise out of him, a half smile that doesn't last too long. “Many times richer. But Bradley Turner has earned none of it. He's just a stupid kid with nothing to do but play with his dick and pick the wings off flies...”

  “So I'm a fly now?”

/>   “To him, you are.”

  “And to you?”

  Suddenly I can feel my heart starting to swell once more. That familiar feeling of need, of desire wrapping itself around me. The dry areas of my body are beginning to moisten at the mere sound of his voice, the curve of his lips as he speaks, the cadence of his diction.

  “I see people as people. As individuals, all with their imperfections and frailties, as well as their strengths and...assets. We're all different, Belle. I don't look down on someone because they haven't been given the best start in life. Or because circumstances out of their control forced them down a certain path.”

  “Like my path?”

  “Exactly. I'd never judge you for who you are, or what you've done or do. We all have our reasons for doing what we do, for becoming who we are. There are a million influences on our lives, making each person unique, like a snowflake. I'm not one to cast judgment, Belle.”

  He moves toward me, sits down next to me on the bed.

  “I don't want you sleeping with anyone down here,” he repeats as before.

  He lifts a hand, brushes it gently across my face, pushing the hair from my eyes.

  “Anyone but me.”

  Then he leans forward, drapes his lips lightly over mine, and pulls back.

  “You really are perfect, just as you are.”

  With that, he climbs back to his feet and makes his way toward the door.

  Leaving me longing for his touch, his scent, his warmth.

  Leaving a hole inside me that now, after only a few passing minutes between us, he can fill.

  PART THREE

  Chapter One

  Have you ever had a lust for someone that makes your body physically ache?

  The sort of ache that's there with you constantly. That you go to sleep with, wake up with, eat your breakfast with and go to church with. The sort that makes you feel awkward because you're thinking about sex in the holiest of places. That makes you forgetful, like you're always in a daydream, like there's nothing else in the world but that need that lives deep down in your body.

  Until now, such a feeling has been alien to me. Lust was a word that I heard people talk about, but never truly understood. I did little more than fancy guys, maybe fall for them on some level, but never truly give myself to them. Never be truly entranced by them, hypnotized by them.