Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  Yet she’s driving me insane.

  I’ve had to leave the room twice to give myself a chance to fucking calm down. The bulge in my crotch was becoming too obvious, too painful. My cock is craving her with such need, such a lustful urge, that it almost robs me of my sanity.

  This is what I get for leaving the house with blue balls. It’s been too long. Almost a year. It’s almost time, and my body knows it.

  I’m already on the hunt. I’ve been browsing through the agency’s catalog for weeks, searching for the perfect girl to meet my admittedly high standards. It’s a one-time chance, a once a year treat I allow myself. Of course, the girl has to be fucking perfect.

  But none of the trite beauties have caught my eye the way this girl has.

  What the hell is it about her that won‘t let me look away?

  I’ve tried to pull myself away from her, engaging in smalltalk with random investors in an attempt to occupy my sex-craving brain.

  But she appeared within eyeshot again and again, drawing my attention even from across the room. There’s nothing I can do about it. My eye wander back to her alluring body, following her every movement as she continues serving my guests with the same stoic expression on her mesmerizing face she’s had since I first spotted her. The smile she displays once in a while when a guest accepts her offer for a drink only flashes across her face for a split second before disappearing again.

  It’s a pretty smile.

  A sad smile.

  “Oh, fuck it,” I hiss to myself, as I make my way in her direction.

  There’s only one thing I can do to eliminate the temptation: I need to talk to her. Realize that she’s just another dumb, pretty girl with an empty gaze and a hollow soul. She’ll say something stupid soon enough, stare at me like a deer caught in the headlights, stutter incoherently, and then ruin the illusion forever.

  Yes. Talk to her.

  That’ll do it.

  For sure.

  “Get it over with, Ryan,” I mutter to myself. “Talk to her, so you can move on.”

  Chapter 3

  Laura

  His hands tightens around my upper arm, almost digging painfully into my flesh, as I try to escape. I freeze, taking a moment to collect myself before I dare to turn back to look at him.

  I have to look up to meet his gaze, a rare occurrence for me. Tall men have always been my weakness, and having to look up to him like this makes me weak in the knees.

  But he’s more than just tall.

  He’s irresistibly handsome.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says, his voice calm and deep, yet underlined with a hint of threat. “What are you sorry about?”

  Why is he delaying me like this from my job? Is he playing a game with me? Teasing the scantily dressed server for his personal amusement?

  He’s obviously very well aware of his good looks and the effect it has on women; it’s written all over his stunningly gorgeous face.

  “I’m sorry for almost spilling the drink on you, sir,” I reply politely.

  “Sir, huh?” he repeats my words, casting me a dark look. “I like the sound of that.”

  His narrowed eyes fixate on mine and his grip tightens around my arm, causing me to grimace in pain as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. The way he looks at me is unsettling in so many ways. It’s as if he’s searching for something, peeling away layer after layer to see what lies behind the professional facade I portray when I’m working. His eyes are so curious, yet they’re piercing right through me with a kind of violent intensity.

  Is he trying to intimidate me?

  “Let go of me. You’re hurting me,” I hiss through my teeth, trying not to cause a scene.

  He loosens his grip on my arm, but his eyes remain zeroed in on mine, continuing to invade my privacy in a way I‘ve never experienced before. I almost feel violated just by the way he stares at me.

  When I avert my eyes, he squeezes my arm again, wrenching on it in such a way that it forces me to look back at him.

  Doesn’t he worry that people are watching us? I’m pretty sure we’re attracting attention. He’s making the guests look at me suspiciously, as if I did something wrong.

  “Don’t you dare turn away from me,” he says in a low but commanding voice. “Look at me.”

  I obey, meeting his penetrating gaze again, but with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

  “What is wrong with you, sir –?”

  “Don’t speak to me like that,” he warns. “Ever.”

  Who does he think he is?

  Is he on something? With these rich guys you never know, especially at these high-profile events. It wouldn’t be the first time I‘d witnessed the negative influence drugs can have on people who have too much money for their own good. Their trips to the bathroom are often for more than just answering nature’s call.

  He doesn’t really look like he’s high on something. His pupils aren’t dilated, and as piercing and intense as his eyes may be, there is a frightening clarity there. They’re not even blurred by too much alcohol.

  It seems he can’t find whatever it was he was looking for. When he loosens his grasp around my arm this time, he quickly diverts his gaze, freeing me from his incisive inspection.

  I yank my arm away and take a step back, clearing my throat in a dismissive tone. My upper arm still pulsates from his fierce touch, and oddly I sense a twinge of loss now that it’s gone.

  Our eyes meet a final time. There’s something strange about this man, and it‘s not only the way he looked at me or the way he spoke to me, but it’s the way I... feel.

  There’s something about him. He feels familiar. Close.

  Have we met before? Is that why he was looking at me so intensely, because he was trying to place how he knew me?

  No. Even if he couldn’t remember me, I would certainly remember a man who was so handsome and had so much charisma and power about him.

  “What’s your name?” he asks brusquely.

  “Laura Brown,” I answer in a hurried breath, unnecessarily adding my last name. “Why...why do you ask?”

  An unnerving thought occurs to me.

  “Are you going to complain about me to my boss?” I ask, panicked.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. Fuck, I can’t get over how handsome he is.

  “No, Laura, I just needed to know,” he says.

  “Why?” I repeat. My heart is pounding now.

  His expression signals that he’s not going to respond to my question.

  “Is this all you do?” he asks, his eyes casting around the room. “Serving at functions.”

  I frown at him and my cheeks flush.

  Is this all you do? His condescending tone says it all. He thinks very highly of himself, more highly than he considers the likes of me. I’m just a server, after all.

  Of course, I’m more than that. Much more than that. We all are. And I feel the sudden urge to prove it to him. I may be a college dropout who has to work two jobs to get by, but I am so much more than just a low life.

  I know people like him. Business people. Rich people. Their lives are empty without their jobs and the wealth and status that comes with it, so that’s the only way they know to define themselves and everyone around them. In reality, they are the pitiful and deprived ones.

  I hate the way he assumes he‘s superior to me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. This is neither the time nor the place to lecture a man like him.

  Not that I’d even be capable of doing that. He’s rattling me way too much. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I bumped into him, and I‘ve never had this hard of a time maintaining composure. He’s frazzling me in a way that no one ever has before, and I don’t know how to deal with it.

  “That’s none of your business,” I retort, sounding harsher than intended. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. And I’m sure you do, too.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him, mimicking his earlier gesture of scanning the room around us
. I’m met with Layla’s gaze from afar. She’s throwing me an “Is everything all right?”-look, which I acknowledge with a nod.

  He notices the exchange, his eyes traveling back and forth between the two of us as he assesses the situation.

  “Are we done here?” I ask, trying to sound confident, even though my voice is shaking in sync with the empty tray in my hand.

  He smiles.

  “You can go,” he says. “But to answer your question, no. We’re nowhere near done.”

  Chapter 4

  Ryan

  She hurries away from me without looking back, repetitively fixing her skirt in the process of crossing the room, as she’s done persistently throughout the course of the night.

  Throughout the rest of the evening, I can feel her eyes on me. She makes sure to never get too close to me, but I can tell that I’m consuming her attention as much as she’s consuming mine.

  Talking to her didn’t help one bit. Inspecting her up close didn’t help.

  On the contrary.

  I’m hooked on her more now than I was before.

  There was nothing hollow and empty about her sparkling green eyes. Instead, I found mystery. A girl with a story to tell. Complexity.

  Laura. Even the sound of her name echoes through my chest with an urgency that is completely new to me.

  What the hell is it about her? She’s pretty, that’s for sure. She’s the kind of girl who turns heads, even if she doesn’t realize it. Her short, tight-fitting uniform wraps around a hot body that’s to die for, long and lean, with big tits, and a round, perky ass to match. Her skirt hugs her curves just right.

  But there is nothing elegant or glamorous about her, she doesn’t have the classy femininity that usually draws my attention. If anything, she appears gawky and vulnerable, overburdened with a body she cannot handle. She looks like she doesn’t belong anywhere or to anyone. An outcast. An orphan. Alone.

  Special.

  That must be it.

  She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever had. Something new. Something different.

  No wonder I crave her like this, especially right now, just as another year of fasting is coming to an end. It’s almost to the point of being unbearable, how much I want her. How much I need to taste her.

  But there is one major problem.

  She’s not on the menu.

  She’s not in the agency’s catalog. My go-to agency, Violent Delights, offers everything a man can ask for... except her.

  She’s not available for purchase.

  So I can’t have her.

  Of course, that only makes me want her more. That’s just how I am.

  She’s exactly the kind of woman I’m trying to stay away from. The kind of woman who could make me lose control.

  “Fuck,” I hiss at my reflection, as I lean over one of the sinks in the bathroom. Even though I’ve splashed cold water on my face, I’m still as heated as before.

  I check my watch, confirming it’s almost time to give my toast. My head needs to be clear for this, clear enough to deliver the words flawlessly, react to the applause and response, and engage in another round of smalltalk. The event will slowly start to wind down once I give my toast, because that’s when people no longer feel obligated to stick around. Thank God.

  “Pull it together,” I order my reflection, but the guy in the mirror just casts back an angry glare. He doesn’t like to be lectured.

  Sure enough, as soon as I walk back into the party hall, I’m met by my assistant Lemon’s harried eyes. He waves me over to the podium, already anxiously holding the microphone in his hand. He’s not a short man, but he has an odd way of crouching every time I stand next to him, which makes him appear to be a lot smaller than he really is. It bothers me, and I’ve mentioned it several times, but he continues doing it.

  “Where have you been?” he snaps. “It’s about time you showed up!”

  “Relax,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder in a comradely manner that’s reserved for him. “We’re fine.”

  He casts me a confused look, as if sensing I’m not only trying to calm him, but myself as well. Giving little speeches like the one I’m about to deliver is not a big deal to me. I’ve done it thousands of times before, and nervousness is an alien concept to me.

  But not tonight.

  For some reason, I’m shaking as I stand next to Lemon as he asks for the crowd’s attention. Normally, I would browse the room, my eyes locking in on selective people here and there to make sure they’re listening. Smiling, nodding along, as Lemon speaks next to me.

  Tonight I shy away from the crowd, fearing I could stumble across her green eyes in the audience. Lowering my head is not an option, so instead I make a wide scan across the room, my gaze traveling above the numerous heads in the crowd of onlookers, never seeking eye contact with the sea of faces.

  “Let me now turn the floor over to the person who made all of this possible,” Lemon says, concluding his introductory speech about my foundation’s efforts. “Mr. Ryan Hawkins, founder of Onyx Corporation.”

  In that moment, when Lemon is handing me the microphone, I make the mistake of letting my eyes follow their usual route through the crowd.

  And there she is.

  She’s standing at the far end of the room next to two other servers, their backs pressed against the wall as if they were trying to blend in with the wallpaper. She’s staring at me with wide eyes, her pouty lips forming a perfect little O, before she turns to the waitress standing on her left. It’s the same girl she exchanged a look with earlier, probably a friend. She whispers something in her ear, and her friend nods immediately, turning her face toward Laura and casting her a slightly bewildered and indignant look, as if she’d just said something incredibly stupid.

  My body switched to auto-mode, delivering the speech exactly as I have thousands of times before, adding a smile, a wink, a side note in just the right places, stealing laughter and nods of approval from the crowd, as I follow my routine to the letter.

  But my mind is fixated on her. I can’t let go.

  Not before I’ve had her.

  I decide then and there, that I at least have to try. It might be a risk, a dangerous one even, but it would be worth it. It only happens once a year, and I need to make it count, so it can last me another year. Having the perfect girl is the most important part of making that happen.

  I conclude my words by inviting everyone to have another drink, without really meaning it. I don’t want them to hang around and bore me with their nonsense; I want them to leave the venue as quickly as possible. Luckily, most of the guests share this sentiment and approach me to say their goodbyes, thank me once again for my oh-so-generous work, and then leave without even glancing at the trays of champagne still being carried throughout the room.

  It’s always the same. The ones who stay the longest are usually the ones who I have the least interest in. They’re freeloaders, who mostly came for the free alcohol and to be seen by the right people, but they have no actual business with me, my companies, or my foundation. They hang around in small groups, their faces red from having too much to drink, and their conversations growing louder with every passing minute.

  The catering staff is growing impatient, as they’re exhausted and more than ready to go home.

  “I think it’s okay for you to excuse yourself,” I hear Lemon whisper from my side. He casts me an approving nod, knowing how little I enjoy these gatherings.

  “I’ll stick around for a few more minutes,” I tell him, taking another sip from my glass as I observe my prey standing idly on the other side of the room. “You can go.”

  It’s not an offer, but a command. I want him to leave because I prefer having as few disruptions as possible when I make my move.

  Lemon shifts awkwardly next to me, surprised by my words and unsure what to do.

  “Go home,” I repeat, casting him a look from the side. “Your wife already hates me enough.”

  He winks at me. �
��You know she doesn’t. But fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I let a few moments elapse after he leaves the room before I decide to make my move. She doesn’t see me coming, and it’s the perfect moment. She’s standing by the window, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her snug-fitting blouse is stretched to its limits, pushing her tits out against the material and seductively displaying her cleavage. She’s deep in thought, absentmindedly staring out the window, but I can sense her tensing up as I approach.

  “Miss Brown.”

  She flinches at the sound of my voice, but doesn’t turn around to look at me right away.

  I hate that.

  “Yes, Mr. Hawkins,” she says, emphasizing my name in an accusatory tone. She had no idea who I was and is pissed about it. “Anything I can do for you?”

  She speaks to me as if that moment between us earlier never happened, looking at me with a bland gaze of professionalism.

  “I’d like to speak to you,” I say, reaching into the inside pocket of my suit jacket. “In private. This is my number. Leave me a message if you’re interested.”

  I produce a card from my pocket and hold it up for her to take. She reaches for it, but looks at me skeptically, her eyebrows furrowed in suspicious confusion.

  “Interested in what?”

  We exchange a wordless, but meaningful look. I know that she finds me attractive; they all do. But unlike the others, I know she can sense there’s something inherently different about me. Her eyes don’t display the unhesitating adoration I’ve seen on other faces. Instead they are laced with caution.

  “A proposal,” I say.

  Her eyebrows furrow yet again, but I can tell she’s intrigued.

  “A proposal?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “Mr. Hawkins, I—”

  “My name is Ryan,” I interrupt, already in the process of turning away to leave.

  “Call me.”

  Chapter 5

  Laura