Christmas Captive: A Holiday Romance

by Isabella Starling

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Christmas Captive

  A Holiday Romance

  Isabella Starling

  Copyright © 2020 Isabella Starling

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Proofreading and editing: T, The Plot Thickens

  I am dedicating this book to every single member of my Facebook group!

  You ladies motivate me day after day.

  You make every day brighter and every hour spent in your company puts a smile on my face.

  Thank you for encouraging me, having my back and holding my hand when I need it.

  Merry Christmas, good girls!

  Your Isa

  Preface

  "Christmas isn't a season. It's a feeling."

  - Edna Ferber

  Please refrain from spoiling this book for yourself or others.

  Prologue

  Grayson

  One year ago

  I fucking hated Christmas.

  And that day promised to be even lonelier, now that Lyra had cancelled on me, telling me she had to attend a family dinner. I was pissed off. I wanted to finally fuck her that night, but she took that opportunity away from me. I knew I'd have to punish her for it eventually, and unfortunately for Lyra, I was looking forward to it very much.

  Instead of spending the day in my playroom, I decided to pay a visit to Couture House. I'd received countless invitations from them, asking me to come to one of the infamous auctions they held in their building. Today, the Christmas auction would take place, and the most willing and most beautiful toys would be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  I got my toys from a variety of places—sometimes they were the daughters of a business acquaintance I particularly despised, sometimes they just fell in my lap—debutantes, heiresses, all those girls so very eager for a strong hand to put them in their place. My right hand man, Kai, had told me the December auctions at Couture House were especially important. That they saved their very best for them. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I still found myself quite excited as I made my way to the building in Notting Hill.

  Limos and expensive cars littered the street outside, my own joining their ranks. My driver opened the door for me, and I buttoned my blazer, heading inside the building to see whether the promises Couture House made held any value.

  Inside, it was all suits and the scent of expensive cigar smoke. Someone asked for my drink preference, and not even a minute later, a tumbler appeared on a silver platter, proudly presented to me by a waiter. With my drink in hand, I was shown to my table—the very best in the room, as it should have been. It was right in front of the stage, giving me a wonderful view of everything that happened up there. Nothing would escape my watchful gaze here. I felt my cock hardening in my pants, excited for what was to come, and eager to plunge into the victim I would pick tonight.

  Ever since Lyra cancelled on me, the annoyance I felt was palpable, reminding me that I needed to find a more permanent solution to my problem. I'd been toying with socialites for too long. It was time to found someone worthy of my attention, and possibly, my ring on her finger. But so far, the search for a future Mrs. Kline had been fruitless. I was a picky man, and I had peculiar tastes in my playthings which meant rarely any of the women I was presented with kept my interest for longer than a few days. Sure, I'd make them scream into my silk pillows. I'd make them never forget the name Grayson Kline. But at the end of the day, they were just distractions. A momentary reprieve from what I really fucking wanted.

  A wife.

  A mother to my children.

  A capable, smart opponent who could match my smarts and my wit.

  And someone who wouldn't think twice of kneeling for me and showing me how deeply she cared for me as her wet little mouth enveloped the thickness of my cock.

  The auction was gearing up to start, and the rambunctious laughter in the room faded to excited whispers as the head of Couture House made his way onto the stage. He was handsome, around my age but leaner and not as broad-shouldered as I was. Still, I could imagine the girls here fawned over him.

  They began bringing out the women. It was a cornucopia of stunning victim after victim, doe eyes wide with excitement and fear, bodies glittering with shimmering powder. Not one of them held my interest despite the fact that they were all painfully perfect. Perhaps that is exactly what bothered me about them—that there was no room for improvement. They were all already perfectly meek and obedient, and unfortunately, boring in their perfection.

  I saw the girls notice me. It happened several times when their gazes wandered through the audience, probably wondering who their new owner would be. Their gaze caught mine, and I searched their innocent eyes for signs of what I wanted in a companion. Some of them were kinky, sure. I could tell from the way their bodies arched when they saw me, eager to get closer to me, eager to be beneath me as I pounded into their flesh without reservations. But the spark was missing. And the spark was important. More important than their silky legs and bare breasts with hardened, puckered rosy nipples.

  I was getting more and more disappointed by the second, and I knew the girls could tell. One of them, a stunning blonde, stared me down for what felt like hours, trying to catch my attention. But it didn't work. I had no interest in a virginal, perfectly pretty little toy like her. I wanted more. I wanted... someone that wasn't here.

  In the middle of the auction, I stood up, getting ready to leave the room. In moments, one of the employees of Couture House was standing by me, eager to prevent me from leaving.

  "Something wrong, Sir?"

  "I don't think I'll find what I'm looking for here," I muttered, eyes sweeping over the stage where a pretty redhead was being bid on. Still, her eyes lingered on me, hoping I'd raise my paddle to bid on her virginity. "These girls aren't exactly my type."

  "Sir, if you tell us what you're looking for, we might be able to serve you better," the employee, a man in his early thirties, was eager to answer. "We pride ourselves on finding the perfect match for anyone and everyone. Would you like to fill out a form? Despite the fact that you didn't find someone suitable today, we might be able to accommodate you in the future."

  A form. I chuckled at the thought. Who would have thought finding the perfect submissive would come down to filling a goddamn form. And yet I couldn't resist. I wanted this. Even the thin promise on the man's lips excited me. I gave him a curt nod, followed him to an office in the back, and stared at the form he presented me with.

  It was detailed, demanding to know everything from
the woman's hair color to her weight and age. But I didn't give a shit about any of that. I had a type, of course, but it had nothing to do with the girl's appearance, and everything to do with her delightful little brain.

  Finally, I settled for writing a single line on the form.

  I want a captive to keep over Christmas.

  Smirking to myself, I handed the form to the perplexed employee of Couture House and headed out of the auction house. As I passed through the main room, I felt several pairs of eyes following me, including those of men whom I would never expect to see in a place like this. I nodded to a few acquaintances, pretended not to notice the two members of Parliament in the front row, and ignored the famous American actor and his wife who were scoping out a potential new victim.

  But as I made my way to the exit, the sinking feeling of failure reminded me I was once again going home to an empty apartment.

  I hadn't even decorated for Christmas. Anything to distract me from the boring, depressing truth—that I was more alone than ever.

  I could have a slew of women at my apartment at the click of my fingers, and yet the thought didn't excite me. I wanted more than a random fling. For the first time in my life, I found myself wishing for more than a set of holes to fuck. I wanted a companion. Not a toy. Someone worthy of my attention, someone worthy of spoiling.

  I pondered all this as my driver pulled away from Couture House and toward my penthouse apartment in London. The driver opened my door once we arrived, and I nodded at him, dismissing him as I slipped a fifty into his hand. I walked over the pavement to the glitzy lobby of the building I owned when something caught my attention.

  Lyra, my would-be date was standing in the lobby, mascara smeared and her makeup ruined. The doorman dashed toward me just as she did.

  "I'm sorry, Sir," the man rushed to get the words out. "She wouldn't take no for an answer, she was so desperate to see you, and I didn't know how to stop her."

  "It's alright," I muttered. "But this can't happen again. Got it?"

  He nodded in understanding just in time as the girl rushed toward us the next second, clinging to me with desperation.

  "I'm so sorry I turned you down, Sir," she whispered, tears already falling down her perfectly pretty face. "The dinner was a disaster... My parents will never understand me. I didn't know where else to go, Sir... Are you angry that I'm here?"

  I gently pried her fingers off my expensive suit, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "No, I'm not angry, but I don't have time for you right now."

  The lie slipped from my lips easily, and Lyra's bottom lip wobbled at the words. "Please, Sir, I'll do anything, just don't make me go back home."

  She had my interest now. Any time a woman promised everything, I got fucking excited. It meant I could push them to their very limits.

  "Anything?" I wondered out loud, and she was quick to nod, so very eager it was almost laughable.

  "I'm so sorry, Sir, please, let me make it up to you... I want to give you everything, please, let me show you how grateful I am."

  I pondered her words for a beat too long, enjoying how nervous it made her to see me contemplating her fate.

  "What do you want, Lyra?"

  "To come upstairs with you," she begged. "Please, Sir..."

  She attempted to touch me again, but thought better of it when she saw my annoyed expression. Quickly, she retrieved her perfectly manicured hands, bottom lip trembling with barely held back desire.

  "You'll be a good girl for me?" I wondered out loud. "You'll do anything I fucking want, Lyra?"

  "Of course, Sir," she purred. "Please... let me show you how sorry I am. Let me give you everything... Let me offer my body for you to take. You can do whatever you want. Kiss me, fuck me, hurt me... I won't say no to anything tonight, Sir."

  I pondered her words, wondering whether I should give in. A long night stretched ahead of me, promising hours of solitude I would surely spend thinking about Lyra and what could have been. The thoughts about finding a perfect submissive would fill my subconscious yet again. I'd be wondering about whether a woman who could satisfy me even existed long into the night.

  The girl misconstrued my silence as denial, and her bottom lip wobbled as she moved in closer, never quite touching me. Our eyes locked and she leaned in to whisper in my ear.

  "I'll do anything you want, Sir... You can fuck all my holes. My pussy, my ass, my mouth—they're all yours, all for you... Please?"

  "Fine," I said firmly, moving back and motioning for her to follow me to the lift that would take us directly to my penthouse. "Come on then. I'm not waiting up for you."

  Finding my perfect woman would have to wait a while longer. I'd already made up my mind—that night was going to be all about pleasure.

  My pleasure.

  Chapter 1

  Amicia

  "It's just not good enough."

  The words echoed in my mind as I made my way down the wintry street. Not good enough, for how many times in a row? At times it felt like I'd never make it. And normally, I managed to lift my head higher and make the best of it. But that day—just that day—I was letting it get to me.

  Every single time, the same answer. Every week, another rejection. It didn’t matter where I went. Nobody was going to give me a job as a dancer without me having done any dance training. And I couldn’t afford training.

  At twenty-two, I was nearing the wrong end of my prime shot. I wanted to be a dancer. I’d dreamed of it my entire life, but my foster parents never had any money to pay for traditional lessons. I learned by myself, watching videos, reading books. I danced to music the way I wanted to. But to succeed in the highly competitive world of cutthroat ballerinas, I didn’t have the education I should’ve started building early on. I brought raw passion to an artform that required precision and years of training.

  I needed to do this. Especially now that Margaret was gone.

  Currently, there was only one job that was hiring dancers like me, and while it wasn’t the classiest place to work at, it paid well, and at least I got to do what I loved.

  I pushed the door of Le Cabaret open, sliding into the room unnoticed. They never noticed me. Not until I started dancing. When I twirled, every pair of eyes in the room followed me.

  As I entered, a figure bumped into me from behind, making me stumble forward and crash to the floor. Before I managed to get a look at him, I’d caught the attention of my least favorite person in the place.

  “Amicia, get the hell up.” Two bouncers stood by the front door, all broad shoulders and overstretched muscle. One of them, Skull, was calling me over. He had a neck tattoo of his namesake reaching from his chest to his chin, his neck covered in tinted ink. It only made him look more frightening. All the girls were terrified of him.

  I approached even though my instincts were telling me to run. But you didn’t say no to Skull. He was known for roughing up girls in the back when the boss wasn’t looking. And I wasn’t trying to get myself hurt.

  “Yes?” I asked as I came near enough. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah.” Skull beamed at me, the disco light on the ceiling reflecting from his shaved head. “My friend’s new here, and he wants to see some tits. I told him, Amicia’s got the best pair in the damn house. And he didn’t fuckin’ believe it. So, you gotta settle a bet between us, darlin’. Shirt up.”

  I stared at his friend, a good-looking, brooding guy in his twenties. He smirked at me, not bothering to tell Skull to stop it. These guys were all the same. Testosterone filled monsters who thought they got Le Cabaret and the boss by the balls because they were tougher than us.

  Everyone knew Skull was a bully. I was the only one smart, or perhaps stupid enough, to stand up to him.

  “I don’t want to,” I said, trying to stay level-headed. “I have to get ready for my shift. He can see them once I’m up there.”

  I tried to make my way past him, and for a second, I thought I’d get away with it. But then Skull’s mea
ty palm wrapped around my forearm, and he yanked me back.

  “Did I say you had a choice, darlin’?” he grunted in my face, making me tremble with unwanted concern. “You never did know how to listen. I’ll just do it myself, then.”

  He motioned his friend over, and the prick grabbed my throat, holding me firmly in place against the wall. I struggled against his firm grip, but to no avail. He easily overpowered me while Skull grabbed my coat and ripped it open. Buttons flew everywhere as I cursed out loud. It was my last good coat, Margaret’s hand-me-down, and I couldn’t afford a new one, not if I wanted to pay for training.

  Skull wasn’t done yet. He pried my hands away from my body, forcing me to lean my ass against them and cage them behind me. Then, he lifted my sweater. Because I was working, I hadn’t worn underwear, not wanting to leave behind a bra or panty line. Of course, now it wasn’t helping matters much—Skull got easy access to my breasts, leering at my body as he and his friend held me in place.

  “Look at her,” he muttered. “She got those ghost nipples. Almost in-fucking-visible, same color as the rest of her. Makes your mouth water, don’t it?”

  The newly hired bouncer nodded. They were salivating over me. “Will you let me go, please? I need to get ready for my shift.”

  “No, I don’t think we will,” Skull grumbled. “I’m not done with you just yet, darlin’. See, this is the best part.” He turned toward his buddy now, chuckling as he reached for me, his clammy fingers cold against my skin. “You pinch ‘em, and they turn purple. Fuckin’ purple. Not even red. See?”

  He pinched my nipple so hard I cried out in pain. My eyes shot daggers at him as I hissed, “That’s because you’re bruising them, you piece of shit.”

  “Now now, watch your tongue,” Skull reminded me, coming up close and glaring at me. His spittle flew from his lips and landed on my cheek. I recoiled in disgust, which only made him loathe me more. “You don’t want to get it cut out some day.”