Violent Cravings: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Linnea May

Her limbs go soft within seconds, and all her weight drops into my arms as she loses consciousness. I have to act fast because she won’t be out for long, and I’m not too familiar with this part of town. There could be people walking by any moment now.

  I quickly drag her over to the car, lift her up and lay her down on the backseat. I scan my surroundings to make sure no one witnessed this, before hurrying over to the driver’s side, positioning myself behind the wheel.

  My pulse is racing when I push down on the gas pedal and drive away from the scene as fast as possible. This rush of adrenalin is all part of it. The worry about getting caught, her short but intense struggle, having her in the back of my car, helpless, and soon to be at my mercy. The entire time I’m driving to my place, I’m worried that someone might follow us, or someone might see her motionless body in the back seat when I have to stop at a red light. Anything. There are so many things that could go wrong.

  But none of them happen.

  Her daze will only last long enough for me to get her home. I glance back at her through the rear mirror time and again, just to make sure that she really is still passed out. Some of them don’t inhale enough and simply faint due to the shock of being abducted. In those cases, they awaken within five minutes, and it’s always a risk without any restraints.

  But in her case, the drug seems to have worked. She doesn’t wake up the entire drive. It takes almost an hour for me to get out of the city and reach my residence on the outskirts.

  My domestic staff has been informed that this week marks the beginning of another “thirty-nine,” a code word they invented to let each other know. None of them know the full extent of what I do with these women, but they are up to speed with as many details as they need to know. They know about the agency and the kind of services I take advantage of. They have to know the bare minimum so I can have the space I need, that we need.

  But they don’t have to know everything about it, and most of them don’t—or wouldn’t—even want to. They merely think of it as me having a secretive play partner for thirty-nine days every so often. “Thirty-nine” is their signal to stay out of my way as much as possible. None of them ever enter the uppermost floor, and only one of my staff has ever even seen the rooms up there. Marcus, the head of my cleaning crew, had to sign a full disclosure agreement before I hired him for this particular job, so if he ever jabbers to anyone about it, he understands the seriousness of the consequences he will be dealt.

  The house is completely empty tonight, just as I have asked. My staff won’t return until I call for them. My beautiful renovated Victorian mansion awaits at the end of the dark driveway, seemingly harmless, but filled with all the tools I need to fulfill my darkest desires.

  I park the car in the driveway and pause for a moment, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I can see her laying on the back seat, still unconscious and unaware of what will happen to her over the next thirty-nine days. She may have signed up for this voluntarily, she may even be into this sort of thing —or she is just here to endure a little more than a month of tortuous and sadistic hardship in exchange for an amount of money unattainable through traditional means. After this, she may never have to work again, if she doesn’t want to.

  Eventually, I will get to know all about her, her secrets, her fears, her desires, her dreams. I will be as close to her as anyone has ever been before, and I will make her do things she never thought possible. I will expose a new side of her, a side that will be exclusively mine. Forever. Even after we’re done here, that side will remain with me, and she will share things with me that she would never share with anyone else.

  They all do.

  It’s all part of it. The pain, the sex, the intimacy, the humiliation, the revelation.

  My impatient body craves her without even having seen her face. The tension of the first few days is one of the best parts. It may take days until I fuck her, but my cock is already yearning to be buried deeply inside her, straining painfully against its fabric cage, as I get out of the car and walk around to the passenger side.

  The first thing I notice when I open the door to the back seat is that she’s not wearing her mask. I can only see parts of her face because it’s hidden behind the massive collar of her fur coat and her tousled hair.

  I only catch a glimpse before I tear my eyes away, cursing as I turn around.

  Why the fuck is she not wearing her mask?

  I avert my eyes and wonder what I should do. She isn’t even inside the house yet, but she has already amassed two strikes for punishment. Drinking and forgetting to wear her mask. This hasn’t happened before.

  Breathe, I tell myself. I clench my fists in anger and close my eyes, as I take in three deep, cleansing breaths to calm myself.

  She will get punished, but in due time. And I won’t ruin this for myself by looking at her face before I am ready, before it’s time.

  I grunt with anger as I take off my scarf and open the door to the car again, making sure not to look directly at her as I wrap the garment around her face.

  Done.

  I saved myself from immense disappointment, and cannot help but smile as I carry her inside, eagerness building in my gut for the actual reveal.

  Chapter 5

  Liana

  I feel as if I’ve drowned in a big puddle of mud, immersed in a numbing darkness that pulsates inside me and around me like the heart of a giant beast. When I try to open my eyes, they refuse, as do my limbs when I try to move. They lay limp and heavy on the ground, as I realize that I am sprawled out on a wooden floor, unable to move or even see where I am.

  There is no sound and no light, but there is pain. I have a blazing headache.

  As I try again to open my heavy eyelids, I realize they are covered by something that’s been wrapped around my head. A soft and warm piece of fabric that’s pressed tightly against my skin, pushing my eyes shut and only leaving a small slit right below my mouth to allow me to breathe.

  What the hell is this? What happened? Where am I?

  I want to verbalize all these questions, but I can’t. When I try to speak, I’m suffocated by the same scarf that’s keeping my eyes shut. I need to get it off of me.

  A strange-sounding groan leaves my mouth when I send another command for my arms to lift. This time, they obey. My hands feel as heavy as dumbbells when I move them up to my face to remove the blinding scarf. I expect there to be light once I manage to unwrap my head as well as I can without lifting my tired and throbbing head, but there is hardly any. I’m still consumed by darkness.

  I find myself staring around a very dimly lit room when the scarf is removed. The only thing I can see clearly is a ceiling far above me, and a pitch of the roof to my side. A single light bulb is dangling from the ceiling and providing what little light there is. It provides nothing more than a low glimmer that helps me recognize contours and vague orientation of the room around me.

  Wherever I am, it’s in a room on the uppermost floor of a rather old building with high ceilings and a wooden floor.

  I remain on the floor, as if my body was nailed down to it. A terrible sense of foreboding sends trickles of fear through my veins, and it forbids me from moving.

  Where is this? How did I get here?

  I lazily turn my head to the side, only to find an empty wall about three feet away from me. There is nothing there, only a wall.

  But then I notice something.

  I’m not alone.

  I hear another breath joining the faint sound of mine.

  I roll my head to the other side and almost let out a shriek of panic when I see him. Suddenly, my entire body is painfully awake and my mind suddenly aware of the danger I might be in.

  I jerk up to a sitting position so suddenly that I escape unconsciousness only by a whisker. An aching vertigo claims me as I tumble backward until my back is brushing against the empty wall, and I hold up one hand in a silly attempt of protection.

  A short and violent cry fills the room as I try t
o cope with everything at once, the confusion, the pain in my head, that fucking dizziness, and the realization that there is a strange man sitting at the other end of the room.

  Who the hell is he? Did he bring me here?

  For what seems like an agonizingly long time, we just stare at each other while tense silence stretches between us. My eyes needed a while to get accustomed to the dim lighting, but now that they are, I cannot only detect the shape of the man sitting across from me, but I also get a better picture of the room we’re in. It’s small, the roof sloping on three sides, and there is only one very small window, which appears to be closed with a shade on the outside. An attic, that’s what this must be. I am in someone’s attic.

  Probably his attic. The man is sitting on the floor, less than ten feet away from me, his legs crossed and palms resting on his knees, and his dark eyes are fixated on me. Even in his sitting position, I can tell that he must be rather tall, and powerfully strong. His shoulders are broad, and his upper arms stretch the material of the gray shirt he’s wearing, his muscles forming prominent lines.

  All things considered, I have to admit that he is stunningly handsome. His dark eyes, thick eyebrows, and defined cheekbones give him a very sharp and mature look, even though he doesn’t seem to be that much older than me. A peppered stubble graces his chiseled jaw, and strong, dark strands of hair partly hide the left side of his face, as he wears it in a casual side-swept. It’s hard to tell many details under these circumstances, but I know that he is shockingly gorgeous. He would have taken my breath away anywhere else, but right now he does nothing but scare the hell out of me.

  “Who are you?” I croak.

  My hoarse voice breaks the silence between us, and even though it was nothing more than a whisper, my question comes out awfully loud and intrusive. I almost wish I hadn’t spoken.

  He doesn’t reply, but I can see the hint of a smirk fleeting across his face.

  Does my misery amuse him? Who is this sick bastard?

  Instead of answering my question, he continues staring at me, the expression on his handsome face changing from a mischievous glare to a smile that frightens me even more.

  I flinch when he suddenly rises to his feet, his impressive height towering over me.

  “Beautiful,” he says with a deep, but low voice.

  “Perfect.”

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