Hidden Deceit: A Mafia Romance (Corrupt Minds Book 2)

by Camille Alexander

  “I like my coffee, but this calls for a snort of Scottish elixir. Here you go, bud; have at it.”

  I smiled as I took in a big gulp of whiskey. The smooth liquid moved slowly to my belly, warming my every inch on its way down.

  “You may have just saved my life. What a year! I’m exhausted, bud. I don’t think I could survive another year like this one. No more Italy, and no more babies!”

  “That’s what you say now. Wait until Ella looks at you all googly-eyed and tells you she wants a ‘friend’ for your son. That’s when the shit will really hit the fan, buddy.”

  “There’s only one thing for it, then.” I got up and walked to the door.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I’m going to find a chastity belt! Where else?”

  ELEANORA

  Our little Dominick was perfect. After two weeks in the excellent care of nurses and doctors, and me sitting with him twenty-four seven, we could finally take him home. Joe had enlisted Fabio’s help in strapping in the baby car seat. It reportedly took them about an hour to figure it out, but they eventually got the hang of it.

  My mother was an excellent night nurse. Between Joe, my mother, and me, little Dom was waited on, hand and foot. He was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. His olive skin, electric blue eyes, and jet black hair made my heart weak. He had his papa’s fingers and smile, the perfect combination of his parents.

  Joe’s parents came to stay after Dom’s rather unexpected birth. The grandparents doted on their first grandbaby. He was small when he came home, but he grew at lightning speed. Bria and Fabio were thrilled to be his godparents. Bria spoiled him something rotten. I was deliriously happy.

  JOE

  Life couldn’t possibly get any better. My business was prospering, Ella was healthy, and Dom was running around the house getting himself into all sorts of mischief. No frog was safe when he hit the garden. Poor Ella constantly replaced flower beds with more football fodder. Dom was a whirlwind, ironic considering the tenuous start he’d had.

  When she wasn’t dead on her feet from running around our little monkey, I managed to get lucky a few times a month. A far cry from the passionate trysts we were used to. After the dust had settled and Dom was three years old, it happened. I was sitting in a warm bubble bath one night after dinner, soaking in luxury. Rose petals, champagne, strawberries and cream, the works. I got pretty excited when she took off her dress and let it fall to the floor. She slipped out of her underwear and wiggled her cute butt in front of my face. As she stepped slowly into the tub with me, I felt the familiar hoist of the flag. The jolly roger was prepared and ready for battle.

  She moved closer to me, soap in hand, and lathered her beautiful breasts as she smiled seductively. I reached out and stroked her plump, firm breasts, nipples erect and full. She reached for my shaft and caressed it. She came close so that her mouth was on my earlobe. Then, she whispered.

  “Guess what, my sexy man.”

  “What have you got planned for me, you little sex bomb?”

  “A bigger team, ” she whispered.

  “A bigger team? What do you mean a . . .”

  She lay a devilish grin on me before she said, “I’m pregnant.”

  Before I could respond, she took me into her mouth. I held on tight to her as she rocked me to orgasm. My head was spinning as I floated in the afterglow.

  “Well played, you wily fox, well played. Just one question. Who’s the father?”

  She burst out laughing and threw a soaking sponge at me.

  “I’m going back to that medieval store first thing in the morning. The bloody chastity belt is useless!”

  “I love you, Joe.” Her eyes were dancing.

  “I love you back, gorgeous.”

  Little Dom banged on the bathroom door. “Mama, Papa, open the door! Guys.”

  THE END

  READY FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT?

  Ruthless Captor - Corrupt Minds Book 3 - Available to Pre-Order NOW!

  http://mybookto/ruthlesscaptor

  I don't take what isn't mine... but I decided to break the rules with her.

  She should never have been there.

  Wrong place, wrong time.

  When I saw the terror in her eyes, those beautiful eyes, I knew what I had to do.

  So I took her.

  Now she's mine to do with what I please.

  She may hate me, but that only makes me want her more.

  In the end, she'll see who I really am.

  In the end, she'll come to me.

  In the end, she'll be mine.

  Also By Camille Alexander

  THE CORRUPT MINDS SERIES

  Forbidden Desires (Book 1)

  Hidden Deceit (Book 2)

  Ruthless Captor (Book 3)

  THE OBSESSED BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE SERIES

  The Brokerage - Book 1

  The Catacombs - Book 2

  The Catacombs II - Book 3

  The Catacombs III - Book 4

  The Sentinel - Book 5

  THE OBSESSED BILLIONAIRE BOX SET

  REVIEWS

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  PREVIEW: THE OBSESSED BILLIONAIRE

  Camille Alexander

  Introduction

  A controlled and highly disciplined billionaire travels the world doing business and living the life most of us only dream of, discovers at auction something that rocks his world and eventually threatens his very stability and the safety of a country.

  When a woman worthy of his interest appears on the scene, we discover she is unmatched in sexual experience, but is equal in every other measure. And she does not go quietly into the night. She knows her worth and negotiates it well at every turn.

  Will he earn her heart and the freedom to bed her? Can he keep her safe?

  The Brokerage is an organization that has for almost two centuries sold the bodies, skills, and services – sexual, and otherwise – into consensual arrangements with wealthy patrons accustomed to the very best. See for yourself what this one brings…

  Chapter 1

  It was the best place to find an assortment of women and occasionally a man who was looking for… Unique employment. Sometimes they became a sugar-baby to a wealthy exec, sometimes a hooker, paid for each transaction, or a valet or butler with a very special specialized set of skills. Occasionally, a virgin was interested in launching their entire future self into this defined world. Other times, they were common corporate assistants, or estate managers looking for a different set of expectation; ones more clearly defined.

  The one thing they all had in common was the extensive research into their backgrounds to establish their pedigree and qualifications for the category they had enrolled themselves in. They were put through extensive and extremely rigorous, almost harsh, checks for consent as well. There was no one here remotely close to an indentured servant or from a slave trade unless that was their kink. Never, ever, anyone from a real sex trafficking operation. This exchange was based on an honor system, and the patrons would not tolerate even the merest hint of scandal.

  Every time The Brokerage was open, which was only once per quarter, the dress code was unforgiving. White tie. Never anything less, and the house always provided service at a level that matched the dress code. Every suite had a butler unless there were two patrons sharing a suite, then they each received their own butler. The suites were spacious. Sixteen in total. Elegantly appointed, typically redesigned to match to each patron’s style prior to the auction – even i
f there was a last-minute cancellation, the room was perfectly matched to the guest. The Brokerage events had a waitlist, so no doubt décor items for each patron were obtained, then warehoused to be at the ready.

  The suites were set into two tiers, facing a gilded stage. They were similar to box seats at the theatre but were wholly enclosed with one-way glass, save the side opposite the stage, that lead to the exiting hallway.

  A single, centered spotlight shone down onto each person being auctioned as they were presented on the stage. None of them ever saw their patron until after they were purchased. Bidding always started at €500,000 per year and went up based on the intended length of service. Contracts were explicitly stated when the person was introduced and usually ranged from six months to two years.

  I liked the efficiency of The Brokerage, because they did the legwork for me, and, the girls I had acquired seemed grateful. My only purchases to date had been for professional aides. Never anything physical. I had considered it a couple of times, but I didn't want the headache of an emotional attachment. I don't have time for that in my life.

  The first individual tonight was a surprise. She was easily 50, and almost twice the age of any other person I had ever seen offered. “Blue” was beautiful, yes, but there was something else about her. She was majestic, also. Her CV was exhaustive. She had managed entire estates, large numbers of staff, and had also eagerly joined as a third during erotic encounters. Almost no limit to her skillset as a dominatrix, a house manager, an assistant, and a voluntary whore. Blue would even service houseguests at parties. She had been with The Brokerage the longest, and she was the most expensive in their stable, with her starting rate beginning at $2 million per year. I didn't bid but I was awestruck, particularly when the bidding capped at €14 million for each of the two years she offered.

  I whistled low, impressed.

  The fourth was a housekeeper and a sissy girl. A transgender, male to female, drop-dead gorgeous French maid. She went to a Shah, no doubt, as they often did, for €1,800,000.

  By the 11th woman, I was bored, ready to leave, when the last offer of the evening was finally announced.

  Out walked a very young, very nubile woman who could not have been more than 18 or 19. My dick twitched, surprising me. I had never been interested in a virgin before, but this one knew four languages, had studied in six different countries during high school, had finished a degree at MIT before she was 18, and had served two U.S. presidents, one in office and the other on the campaign trail. Obviously, smart. She was wearing a sheer black gown, cinched at the neck and wrists, which fell delicately over pert breasts, shapely hips, a full ass, and runner’s legs. I took a sharp intake of breath and wondered why she was there. Then the announcer said she was royalty. Sixteen generations of a royal line preceded her, and she was a direct descendent, eligible as third in line, for the throne in her country. I gasped; very glad I had stayed.

  I looked at her dark hair and almond skin and wondered if she was Middle Eastern or European. My mind raced as I scanned my memory; I knew all the heads of state and most dignitaries in every major country. I knew all their children, if not in person, then by name. This one did not ring a bell.

  She stepped forward, a certified virgin, completely comfortable in her nudity; completely comfortable showing us her body. She raised her arms and turned, cutting her eyes to the side as a small grin lifted her lips, just at each corner. She knew that somewhere, behind these windows, was someone who would introduce her to her womanhood.

  It immediately pissed me the fuck off.

  I didn't want anyone looking at her. I didn't want anyone touching her.

  I hit my red buzzer before the bidding was even open, which meant I was tripling the opening bid. I immediately hit it again, twice more, so that I could start the bid at three times the €6 million opening bid. That meant I had started the bidding off at €18 million, hopeful to knock the others out of the running before the race started.

  “A-1” as she was called, with arms still raised over her head, twisted her hips ever so slightly and bent her knees as she moved provocatively downward, her fingers snapping to some imaginary music. She moved again, seductively this time, arching her back as she rose.

  I growled and hit my buzzer twice more. Bidding had just begun and it was now €20 million. Additional bids came in quickly, rapid-fire, one after the other, faster than they could be announced. It jumped to €22 million, then €24, followed immediately by €25 million. I hit the buzzer again, three more times, €28, then €32 – somebody else was hitting their buzzer rapid-fire, too.

  I stood up and paced, hit the button again, and then again. Now it was €35 million. She must've heard the sum because she looked over her shoulder and let her eyes move over the tinted windows. When she stopped, she seemed to be staring right at me. I was pulled from my trace when she threw her head back, laughing, as she ran her hands down over her breasts, then waist, hips, and thighs. All the way down to her knees, causing her ass to jut out toward me. She threw her dark hair back in a wild flip and rose, spinning around and touching her hard nipples.

  She's fucking mine! I growled to myself.

  I have never made the call. Never once have I forced the auctioneer’s hand, but I had to reach for the golden phone this time.

  I knew that when you use the golden phone, you are immediately increasing the bid by ten times the current value. It effectively stops the bidding process, even if someone can match the new price.

  I said one word: mine and hung up. The stage went black.

  Since the bidding continued as I rang, that call cost me €430 million.

  I broke out in a sweat, knowing she was worth every penny. I couldn’t help but think about how my schedule next year would need to be curtailed until I made up the difference.

  I walked out of the suite, the tinted glass at my back. My butler handed me the token that would open my personal delivery room.

  I strode down the hall, angry at my inability to regain my usual level of control. Taylor, the head of my security, escorted me until we reached one of the private delivery rooms where I was to wait. He ushered me in and closed the door behind me.

  I paced like a wild animal who had been tempted with its first meal in years then denied it at the last minute, the scent lingering, keeping my hunger active.

  After a minute I settled. I moved over to the bar and poured myself two fingers of The Macallan M. Then I went to the singular chair in the room, which faced the door, and sat down.

  Chapter 2

  She walked in, robe discarded, as evidenced by her bare neck and wrists. She was wearing a black, floor-length, designer, mink coat and matching Louboutin’s. After the door closed, she stopped, unsure of herself. She looked towards me, waiting, her hands clasped the coat’s collar, holding it closed at her chest.

  Goddamn, she was beautiful.

  My face was hidden by shadows, a deliberate design that allowed a patron privacy until they were ready to reveal themselves. She saw me sitting, facing her; saw that I was wearing a white bowtie and shawl-collared tuxedo. I was sitting relaxed, now, holding a whiskey in a Baccarat tumbler that rested on the arm of my chair. My knees were open, comfortably.

  My free hand moved from the armrest of the seat and pointed to the floor between my legs, silently.

  Quietly, she moved forward, stopped about three feet from me, trying to hide that she looked for my eyes, which I know she couldn’t find. Then, she silently dropped her coat.

  I took a quick intake of breath. She's fucking naked. If she wasn't certified, I'd wonder how many times she’d done this for other men, but the fact that she was naked told me she was doing this very deliberately and was playing to win, from the word jump.

  She stepped forward and kneeled between my legs. I could feel the heat of her body. I felt myself grow hard as she knelt there, sweetly, almost demure. She sat back on her feet, lowered her head, and placed her hands, folded, on her lap.

  Her
breasts were firm and ready to be plucked. They had never been touched by a man. The thought had me reeling. Her nipples were hard; she was turned on.

  I asked her if she consented to be here.

  “Yes sir,” she said without lifting her eyes.

  “Do you have any idea how much you cost me?”

  She didn't say a word, but the side of her mouth moved upward in a small grin and I knew she knew.

  “No one is to ever see you naked, except me. Do you understand?” I snarled at her.

  “Yes sir,” she says.

  “Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”

  She grinned again, without looking up, this time more fully.

  “Yes sir, I do.”

  “Get your fucking coat on then.”

  She scrambled backward, quickly, reached for the dropped coat, then slid it on.

  But she did not get up off her knees. Keeping her eyes down, she raised herself to an upright kneel – now able to reach me she placed both hands on the tops of my thighs. The coat fell open again and her breasts peeked out, caressed by the outline of the fur where it lay open. She looked me in the eye this time. She was close enough to see my erection. Close enough, that I could smell her expensive perfume.

  She held my eyes for a minute and I downed my drink, not breaking eye contact. I can't breathe!

  “You are mine,” I assert, under my breath, clearly affected by her.

  As if that was her cue, she stood up, moving closer still, and held the coat open a few inches so I could eye her sculpted mons, and then closed the coat, stepping back to await further instructions.

  I growled again, knowing she heard me, shocked by my continued inability to refrain.

  I stood up and stepped forward, lifted her from the ground and threw her over my shoulder. She yelped excitedly, and I walked us out of the room.