Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

  And it still didn't work.

  What's the point in following all those fucking rules if I'm still left feeling the way I do now? What's the point if my addiction ends up winning out anyway? Why do I even try?

  I've been at this point before. I lost my mind about another girl during a time of my life when I couldn't afford to. I've known that sex is my addiction from a very young age. I was sixteen when I began my quest of trying to satisfy those urges, always excusing myself by believing that all male teenagers are like that. Boys that age are known to have nothing else on their mind, it's normal, it's healthy, it's expected. But not only did I never grow out of it, my cravings only grew with every year that passed, with every girl I had, no matter how many there were. I'm not proud of the person I used to be back then, breaking hearts left and right, taking advantage of the fact that my physique made me attractive to them.

  I had a new girl at least every week, and I never cared to see any of them more than once or twice.

  Until I met her.

  Looking back now, I can't even say what it was that attracted me to Sandria. I‘ve pushed so vigorously to get her out of my mind that it's even hard to remember her face anymore. All I know is that she had the same long, brown curls that my doll has. And she was tall, too. I never thought I had a certain type, but if I do, this seems to be it.

  Sandria was the first one who made me yearn for exclusivity – and the first victim of my overbearing obsession. It started out like every other fuck, a wild night filled with feverish passion, and then another one, and another one. I lost interest in any other girl. All I wanted was her. No problem there, right?

  The problem was, I lost interest in everything else, as well. I was about to graduate college, but instead of preparing for my final exams, I rolled around in bed with Sandria all day and night. It consumed my life and hers. I stopped her from going anywhere, and when she began to protest, I locked her in. I've always needed to take charge, to control everything about the woman I'm with. But with Sandria, things out of hand – and they ended with me in handcuffs, and her completely repulsed by me.

  It took a lot to dig myself out of the hole I had dug for myself, a lot of time and effort to resolve the problems caused by my behavior, my addiction with sex.

  Once I had my life back on track, I tried everything I could think of to cope with the recurring cravings that almost destroyed my life. Everything. Even therapy.

  It was then that Onyx Corporation was born. I had to channel my energy into something else, something big. I poured everything I had into that business, proving to myself that there were other things in life that deserved my full attention.

  It worked out well for me, more than well actually. But it didn't kill my desire to own and fuck women in the same overpowering and domineering way that I always had. I was celibate for months, careful not to let my cravings take over my life again.

  When I finally allowed myself to get back out there, I was quickly reminded of my obsessive nature. I hooked up with one girl, and then another one, and another one after that, all three of them within the same week. Each one left me unfulfilled and hungry for more. Regular dating was out of the question for me if I ever wanted to at least come close to satisfying my cravings without the risk of losing my head again.

  That's when I came up with my system of only having sex once a year, and that was with someone who I had paid, a handpicked woman who knew what she was getting into. No dating. No feelings and no wasting time on anything but fulfilling my needs.

  I never should have stepped out of line. I never should have dragged Laura into this, no matter how much I wanted her.

  It's too late now. She's here, she's mine - and I have no intention of letting her go this time. The thought of sending her back out there is killing me. I can't let her leave and go through this agony again. All I can think of is her. Everything I have to deal with is secondary to being with her.

  That's why I've been ignoring my calls and e-mails. I know Lemon has tried to reach me several times over the last two days. He doesn't know what I'm up to. I could have told him that I'd be out of the picture for a day or two because it's time for my annual retreat. I know he wouldn't have liked it one bit, and he would have protested and argued about it, trying to make me postpone this until after our acquisition was done. Or he would let me have my way, gnashing his teeth but compliant, the same as always.

  I will never know.

  He doesn't know about this house, no one does but my driver and my housekeeper. It's a secluded little mansion that serves as my own getaway, and not only for the times when I'm with another toy. I find solace in the serenity surrounding this property. I feel safe here, safe and sane, far away from everything else. Neither my driver nor my housekeeper suspect anything yet, as far as I know. My driver brought us here and I haven't summoned him since. He's the only person I really need to worry about because he's expecting my call to take Laura back home. But I'm not thinking about him right now.

  I'm not thinking about anything or anyone but her.

  I fled to the shower after leaving her room. Hot water is washing over me as I close my eyes, leaning my back against the tiles of my upstairs shower.

  Laura. My doll.

  I don't know what to do with her. I don't know what to do with myself. Impending doom is casting its horrid shadow over everything between us.

  She may not have realized it yet, but she will at some point. She has no sense of time as long as she's inside that room, so I may be able to fool her into believing that we're still within our 24-hour frame for a while longer.

  But it won't work forever. She will figure it out. She will realize what I'm doing, and then she'll hate me just as Sandria did back then.

  And maybe that's my only way out of this.

  I'm pushing the thought aside. Just like I've been pushing Lemon aside for the past two days. Lemon and his calls and texts, our aquisition, the meeting that had to be postponed because I wasn't available. None of it can make it through the wall that shields my mind from the rest of the world.

  All that matters is the beautiful girl downstairs. The girl who's robbed me off my sanity with such ferocity that I couldn't even face her when I dashed into her room and attacked her like an animal.

  I shouldn't treat her like that. Back in the far corners of my mind, I'm aware of that. I'm also aware of the fact that she was enjoying herself when I ravaged her sore little body. And I'm aware that I left her unsatisfied and confused. Instead, I fled from the room like a coward, hiding in the shower in an attempt to cleanse my mind of the oppressive insanity that's taken a hold of me.

  I turn the water off, exposing myself to the cold air outside the shower when I step out of it, grabbing a plush towel and dabbing myself dry as I walk out of the bathroom. I throw on a pair of pants and a shirt, as if my previous nakedness was at the root of my lack of self-control. Even if I continue to leave her unaware of the gravity of her situation, I can't leave my doll alone like this.

  I make my way downstairs, ready to confront myself with her confused and saddened face after what happened just a short time before.

  But I don't find any of that. Instead of finding a lost girl with her green eyes glued to me in a bewildered expression, I find my doll spread out on the bed, moaning in ecstasy as she pleasures herself with one of the toys stored in the glass cabinet in her room. She's so immersed in pleasure that she didn't even hear me coming. Only after I close the door behind me does she lift her dazed eyes toward the door, her expression quickly changing as she spots her master looking down at her, slowly shaking his head.

  "What a bad little girl you are," I say, slowly approaching her with daunting steps.

  “Bad, bad little doll.”

  Chapter 38

  Laura

  Fuck.

  As soon as I sense his presence, I jerk up from my position, just like anyone would when they're caught masturbating. First and foremost, I'm ashamed, but I also fear the repercussions
of being caught. I was warned never to use the toys without him being present, and I wasn't allowed to come without him.

  I knew this, but I still couldn't help myself. He's never left me in such agony, so bewildered and aroused, so dazed with lust it was torture. I didn't expect him to return this quickly, or maybe I've just become really bad at sensing time.

  I crawl back on the bed and toss the vibrator aside, as if that would reverse my transgressions. He steps closer, shaking his head and regarding me with a dark smile, and I gather up the blanket to wrap it around myself in an attempt to protect myself from him.

  He laughs at my effort.

  "You should be scared, doll," he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed about two feet away from me, his back turned halfway toward me. "You're lucky that I'm so easy to amuse and be appeased with you."

  He taps the space right next to him, beckoning me to come closer.

  "Come here," he whispers without looking at me. "Let me touch you."

  I hesitate for a moment, but then realize any reluctance will only worsen my punishment. I cast the blanket aside and slowly scuttle over to him, cautiously coming close to him.

  He turns to me. His expression is unhappy, and when he reaches for the ring on my collar, I can sense why. He pulls me closer, until my naked body is pressed firmly against his.

  "Why did you leave me like that?" I ask. He averts my seeking gaze, only wrapping an arm around me to keep me close. He pulls me closer, as if worried I‘ll run away any moment, but he still avoids looking at me.

  This is new. Usually, I was the one to divert my eyes, while he always insisted on fixating his gaze on me.

  "Is something wrong?"

  He shakes his head.

  "Everything is fine as long as you are with me, doll."

  His words seer my heart with a strange but welcome warmth. I don't know what to make of it, but I like what he’s telling me.

  "Why is it so dark in here?" I ask. It’s a question that‘s been on my mind since he stormed into the room to fuck me like a wild savage.

  "I wanted you to get some rest," he says. "Any amount of light disturbs even the the most tired, wouldn't you agree?"

  I shrug. "I guess so. I was just surprised, you didn't do it the last time I was here."

  "Be grateful then. Maybe I'm being a little nicer to you this time."

  There's something bitter about his voice. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Did something happen while I was sleeping? Something that doesn't have to do with him and me? Something work-related? Did he get some kind of bad news?

  "What time is it?" I ask. "Is it night?"

  My question unsettles him. I can tell by how he tenses up.

  "That's none of your concern."

  "It kind of is, because-"

  "It's not," he insists adamantly, interrupting me. "You're here with me now. That's all that matters."

  I cast him a look from the side, hoping he‘ll turn his face toward me and at least let his eyes speak to me, if not his voice. But he doesn't, instead he continues to stare in front of him, the same apathetic expression on his face.

  "Are you sure you're okay, master?" I repeat my earlier question, my voice soft and conveying understanding and acceptance. I'm addressing him the way he wants me to, knowing it usually results in the response for which I’m hoping. Information, mercy, a reward.

  Not this time, though.

  He refuses to let me in on whatever it is bothering him. But he does turn his head to me, his blue eyes finally meeting mine, looking as if he's just made a resolution.

  "Did you come, doll?" he asks, locking me down with his intense gaze.

  I blush, inhaling audibly.

  "I'm sorry, I wasn't–"

  "Did you come?" he interrupts me. "That's all I want to know. It’s an easy question. Be honest."

  "No," I say, shaking my head. "No, I didn't come."

  I was so very close – twice – first when he was fucking me, and then when I was touching myself, so desperate to evoke that release he refused me. But he barged in just before I climaxed.

  "You didn't make yourself come either?" he probes.

  I blush, lowering my eyes. "No, master."

  "Good," he says. "Because that's my job. Every single one of your orgasms belong to me while you're here. You know that, doll."

  "Yes, master."

  "You know that, but you still disobeyed and touched yourself," he says. "You even stole one of my toys."

  He's completely calm as he lists all the things I've done to displease him. I remember our first meeting, the day he explained to me the difference between overstepping boundaries and sheer disobedience. Rules, punishments, rewards. Based on what I know, I’ve committed one of the greatest offenses imaginable by stealing a release that belonged to him by touching myself and using a toy that I wasn't supposed to touch when he wasn't around.

  "You know I can't let that go unpunished," he adds. It's a statement, not a question.

  "Yes, master," I reply in a low voice, nodding in defeat.

  My body is already so sore that I don't even want to imagine the magnitude of my punishment. And of course, he knows me well enough to come up with the one thing I hate the most.

  He gets up from the bed, holding the end of the leash in his hand and forcing me to follow him, awkwardly stumbling, as I try to keep myself from falling over. I quickly give up and drop to all fours to follow him, the position I know he prefers anyway.

  He turns up the light in passing by raising a little switch next to the door. The light is still dimmed, but at least now I can make out more than vague outlines.

  He drags me over to the glass cabinet, and soon my worst fear comes true. He opens the door and reaches for the cane, the same fucking cane he used on me during our very first night together.

  "Tell you what, doll," he says, weighing the cane in his hands. "I'll use this on you, and I'll make you fucking love it."

  He turns around, looking down at me, a mean glint sparkling in his blue eyes. I want to pinch my eyebrows and tell him how ridiculous this sounds to me, but I know this response would only worsen my situation. Still, I can't see how he can even imagine that I could come to love this fucking thing. The cane is nothing but pain, and I can't remember taking any pleasure from it when he used it on me the last time.

  He lets go of the leash and drops it to the floor, nodding toward the bed.

  "Get back over there, doll," he commands. "Kneel before the bed, and place your elbows on top of it."

  I pause only for a second before complying to his command. "Yes, master."

  I crawl over to the bed, knowing his eyes are on me every second. I stop when I reach the bed frame, straightening up on my knees. I bend forward, supporting myself on the mattress. I hollow my back, knowing he‘ll ask me to do it anyway.

  "Good girl," he praises, noticing my efforts.

  I flinch in surprise when, instead of feeling the crushing blow of the cane, his strong hands caress my body. He‘s placed himself behind me and is stroking along both sides of my back, all the way down to my hips. His touch is soothing and electrifying at the same time. He cups my ass, kneading the bruised skin as he pulls my cheeks apart to expose my core to him.

  I can't suppress a little moan, even though I try to remain quiet. His hands travel further, assessing every inch of my ass before moving one of them between my legs. He pinches me on the inner side of my thighs to spread my legs further apart. I oblige and am rewarded with a tingling sensation when he reaches between my legs, one of his fingers sliding between my labia and making me jerk at the sensation. I've been so close to coming twice already that my arousal never really subsided, even while I was sitting next to him, fearing punishment. It's always hovered at the surface, ready to take over at the slightest stimulation.

  Just like this. His touch is so sensual, so fucking erotic, there's no way for me to withstand it. And I don't want to withstand it. If I'm to expect punishment with the can
e, I want to be in the best mental state possible, more aroused than in agony.

  "Look at you," he whispers hoarsely behind me. "Dripping all over my hand like a good girl."

  His naughty words only add to my agitation, and when he begins to draw circles around my swollen nub, I'm so overwhelmed that I let out a hearty groan. Shame is always dancing in the corner of my mind when I'm with him, but it's beginning to only fuel my incitement.

  Just as I lean into his skilled touch, he withdraws his hand, leaving me empty and exposed, throbbing with need for more. I lean back, my hips following his retreating hand.

  But instead of a sensual massage, I'm met with sharp pain as he strikes the cane down on my ass for the first time. I shriek out in anguish, still processing the pain when he hits me again. It leaves a stinging ache in a different spot on my ass, a little lower than the first time. A third strike hits me even lower, causing me to writhe and round my back.

  "No, doll," he says. "You stay pretty for me. Arch that back and show me that pretty ass."

  He places his hand on the small of my back, applying gentle pressure to beckon me to hollow it, to stick my aching ass out.

  "More," he demands. "And spread your legs."

  I do as I'm told, and I'm rewarded with the return of his hand between my legs, sliding between my lips to toy with my sensitive nub. I groan, hollowing my back further and leaning into his touch. It's a lot easier to obey his commands like this, when his skilled fingers are playing with my core, evoking warm thrills of bliss.

  Just like before, he takes it away from me in a split second, replacing pleasure with another round of sharp pain. I'm prepared this time, fighting to maintain my position, even as my skin screams out in agony. Another blow follows, and this one doesn't just hit my ass, but inflicts a sting on my pussy, as well. I flinch, but more out of surprise than pain. He adds a longer pause this time, watching my reaction as I process the pain after his last strike.

  "You like that, doll?"