ENSLAVED: A DARK Billionaire Romance (The Devil and His Dove Book 1) Page 2

  I nodded, holding my hands up to shield my eyes from the bright sun as my gaze cut across the water to the impressive vessel sitting like a queen on her throne at the back of the harbor. Excitement raced through me.

  I felt free, knowing I had followed my heart and dreams when I left California to find myself.

  If only I knew the devil who laid in wait for me. He had set his trap and like a fool—I fell right in.

  2

  MY EYES NEVER LEFT her picture tucked carefully amongst the financial reports in my hand, as I made my threat. “Give us control of your company, or I’ll sink it.”

  “I started that company in my basement twenty years ago,” the man stammered, with a sweat-covered brow.

  “It’ll end there too…if you don’t give me control. Your debt to profit ratio has been off for years. One phone call. One phone call is all it will take to put you in jail.” I plucked the glossy eight by ten photos of him leaving his mistress’ apartment from my folder, then dropped the financial audit of his company with all of the discrepancies highlighted. “I’m guessing you stole from the company to pay for her penthouse?”

  “Fucking bastard,” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Flipping the file shut, I stood towering over him. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision. I’m sure you’ve heard of my reputation and know what I’m capable of. I won’t stop with shredding the company you built from scratch. I’ll evict your children from the beds they sleep in, wipe out your savings account…hell, I’ll fuck your wife—just because, I can.”

  “Do it. What do I care? She sucks in bed.”

  “Nah, I bet your bald, fat, face just couldn’t get her wet.” With one hand on the door, I fired my parting shot, “your mistress fucks like a dream though.”

  He reared back as if my words slapped him in the face. He lunged for me, tripping over the feet of the rolling office chair, falling flat on his face.

  “Four minutes.”

  “You’re the devil.”

  “So, I’ve been told,” I smirked leaving him on the floor. Entering my private office, I shut the door and walked to the bank of windows overlooking London. My palms rested on the cold glass as I looked at the city below. I’m half-British, half-Greek and was educated in the best private schools’ money could buy. I’m in the prime of my life but can’t feel a damn thing.

  My mother said I was damaged and mourned the loss of a son still living, but my father…he used my condition to his advantage. I’m a trained soldier, but my battlefield is a boardroom. The pathetic man who I just left at my feet; my latest casualty.

  Opening the file, my eyes roamed over her face.

  It’s almost time.

  Christ, I’m fawning over her photograph, again. Something only lovesick fools do.

  I’m no lovesick fool.

  But I am sick.

  Depraved.

  All I feel is the pleasure of the flesh, and I want my pound. I’m a façade. Everything about me is. My lips curved into a sardonic smile. My eyes twinkle when I force a laugh, faking emotions that I don’t feel. I’ve forged relationships; bonds that others think are real.

  They’re not.

  I had learned at an early age how to blend in. How to exist in a world driven by emotions, thoughts…feelings.

  The only thing I can feel is physical pain and pleasure. I push myself in the gym, and just as hard at work. I pick apart companies, selling them off in pieces; dismantling lives—breaking them apart. It’s the only thing I’m good at. My lack of emotions is a gift in disguise if you work in the profession I do—mergers and acquisitions. I’m the best in the world at what I do. My ruthlessness knows no bounds and it terrifies my conquests and keeps competitors from trying to interfere in my deals. Part of the reason why I couldn’t come wrap this deal up sooner, is because the CEO of the last company I tore apart was found hanging from his necktie.

  I should’ve felt something. Anything.

  But, as always, where my soul should be was nothing but a barren wasteland.

  My finger traced over her face. “I’ll have you soon, my beauty. Just wait. You’ll see how good it will be—to be, my little-caged bird. Fly now when you can—I’m coming for you. There’ll be no escape from the things we’ll share. I’ll be so deep in you—you'll be the one to get lost as I make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name,” I vowed, uttering the words in a silky caress only I could hear.

  Picking up the satellite phone on the desk, I dialed George. He’s loyal as hell to me. Not only do I pay him the salary of a CEO to make sure he stays discreet, but he was my father’s butler for years.

  Where one might say I have no heart, no soul because I was born that way—my father gave away his. He craved money…an empire to be his legacy long after he was gone. He groomed me, used my condition to make ruthless business decisions other men would find difficult. My family’s impeccable bloodline dates back to Ancient Rome where men fought lions and conquered empires.

  My ancestors fled to Greece when their great city fell. Centuries later my father, Roman Devillo, married a fair English rose. Their marriage was fiery passion, screaming matches, flying vases, and crashing hearts. It made me grateful that I am the way I am—unable to ever be caught in the hell called love.

  I was born in Greece but schooled outside of London. My dueling accents making my origin hard to place, but my looks are from my father.

  Tall.

  Dark.

  Handsome as hell.

  Every woman’s dream until I become their nightmare when they realize I can never love them back. All I do is take them over the edge as I plunder their bodies, filling them, stuffing them so good—I break them. After me, they’re shattered. Ruined for any other man’s touch.

  That’s the legacy I leave behind.

  Sated bodies and broken hearts.

  What intrigued me about the DOM/sub lifestyle is the rules. I was sick of the hang-up phone calls and tear-streaked women showing up at my house at all hours of the night. I wanted a sexual partner who would understand the arrangement between us would be painful pleasure. Nothing more.

  But even that got old.

  I’m running out of things that make me feel, even if only for a fleeting speck of time, craving anything other than the dead sea living inside my chest.

  Now it’s the hunt of innocence that drives me. Owning it, bending it to my will, conquering virginal women until they are trembling for me, needing only me to fill their greedy, tight pussies.

  For that first moment when they sigh in pleasure feeling my huge cock thrust in and out as I rut, making them come—I feel like the gods my father says our ancestors were.

  “Christos?”

  “George. Make sure my house in Capri is also equipped.”

  “Yes, sir. May I assume, that I can dispose of Ms. Fiona’s things?”

  “That should have already been done. I disposed of her months ago.”

  “Of course, sir. My apologies. I’ll make sure the house is fully ready for your new mistress.”

  “Buy her the best. Spare no expense. I’ve emailed you a list of her preferences from food down to toiletries. She’s an American, size six. I want her dressed in nothing but French silk and Valentino heels. I want my playroom fully sanitized and all the toys replaced.”

  “It will be done.”

  I hung up with a satisfied grunt, half-hard at the thought of my golden beauty in ivory lace and heels, ass cheeks spread and waiting. It’s been six months since I was done with my ex-sub, Fiona. I’m not a man to jump from one pussy to another. I select them carefully, curating them, finding the perfect ones to sink deep into. Unlike Alex, where anyone will do.

  It took me six months to find my next potential sub, and I won’t let her slip through my fingers. The golden hair and skinned American must have a perfect ripe peach between her thighs. One whose juices I can’t wait to taste.

  Picking up my phone again, I called the second per
son alive—outside my medical staff—who knows my secret.

  “Christos?”

  “Is she there?”

  “Yes. She arrived thirty minutes ago.”

  “You know what to do.”

  “Your instructions were quite clear.”

  “Good. Stay away from her.”

  “She’s not my bloody type.”

  “She’s any straight man’s type.”

  “Sod off, you wanker. You bloody well know where my tastes lie.”

  I did. And his fiancé was far from the type he preferred. Alex often went for men as much as women. I’d feel bad for him if I had the ability. Helena won’t put up with being made a fool by Alex’s indiscretions. She’s a calculating, cold fish. Appearance means everything to her wealthy Greek family which dates back almost as far as mine. She’s going to have Alex’s balls locked in a vise—day two of their marriage.

  I met Alex decades earlier at an exclusive boarding school for boys in Scotland. It was a harsh, cruel, and rigorous place, but I excelled at all those things. Alex grew up just as privileged as me but attached to his nanny’s breast until his father had enough of his cosseting and wanted Alex to be raised to be a real man.

  The two of us were the school’s misfits. We forged the most unusual alliance that remains unbreakable today. I helped Alex cope with the brutal life at school and he, in turn, taught me how to blend in…how to pretend to be alive on the inside. The two lost boys became powerful men, still looking out for one another like brothers.

  “Make sure no one touches her.”

  “Bloody hell, fine. But I might need to relieve myself of a few urges. Your yacht in the middle of the Med is the perfect location to do just that.”

  “Fine. No cameras, no real names…our secrets must remain, our secrets,” I had replied in low, clipped tones.

  “I know, Christos. I’ll take care of her.”

  “The bloody hell you will.”

  “I’ve never heard you this excited to get your hands on a woman. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a heart beating inside that ice box chest of yours.”

  “Not a chance in hell of that. It’s still a black hole.”

  “I envy you. You’d be better off marrying Helena than me. Christ, that woman scares the shite out of me. I’m going to get so shit-faced on our wedding night—I’m hoping to get whiskey-dick for the first time in my life. Christ, maybe I’ll dip into one of the bridesmaids just to get laid on my wedding day after all.”

  “If you do…it would be no one’s business but yours.” I keep his secrets and he keeps mine. “I have some business to attend to in Athens. I’ll take the Heli and land aboard, at the end of next week. The wedding’s when again?”

  “At the end of the summer. Christ, I can’t believe she bought the story I gave her about helping you set up an international office in Capri for your company.”

  I grunted into the phone, as I listened to him bitch.

  “I’m going to make the most of my last months of freedom. By the way—thanks for letting me crash on your yacht. I’ve already ordered twins—from Brazil.”

  “Have your fun, but make sure it’s over by the time I arrive.”

  “Will do mate. But I can’t believe you won’t be indulging in my pussy party. That Yank must be one sweet little piece.”

  My eyes dropped to the candid photo of her my PI snapped and pinned to her file. “She will be. My instincts have yet to fail me. She’s ripe. Hasn’t been touched in over a year. She’s one of those relationship types.”

  “Bloody boring if you ask me.”

  I smirked. Alex loves filthy, dirty whores who don’t mind being double stuffed often while he alternates between a man and a woman in the same bed.

  He knows not to even think about me in that way. But I’m immune to it all anyway, almost bored by his orgies. My tastes are the opposite of his.

  Young.

  Inexperienced.

  Virginal.

  I get whatever glimpses of pleasure I can by being the first to seduce them into our dark world. After that, Alex benefits from the fruits of my labor. I’ve passed many girls on to him when I’ve gotten bored. But this one—something tells me this one; I might not ever share.

  3

  THE CREW WAS FLIRTY and friendly. I spent my first day onboard Oasis with my mouth hanging open. The yacht was more opulent than the rumors. I heard it was owned by a mysterious, Greek billionaire who rarely spends time onboard, unless he’s entertaining for business or pleasure.

  But I wasn’t concerned with any of that. Being part of the deck crew, I would get to spend my days outside under the Mediterranean sky.

  “What’s your story?”

  Ignoring my cute-coworker, I lifted the squeegee in my hand. The jolt of ice-cold water spraying my back had me shrieking as I turned around, picked up the bucket I was dipping my squeegee in and sloshed him.

  “Truce?” He asked in a thickly accented voice. I got him good. His shirt was just as soaked as mine.

  We both grinned at the same time. “I’m Jessie.” I offered my hand to shake, but he lifted it to his lips instead.

  “Andre. It’s very nice to meet you, beautiful Jessie.”

  “Yeah, right,” I answered looking down at my average sized chest, muscular legs, and chipped toenail polish.

  “Where are you from Andre?”

  “A small island off the coast of Greece. How about you, beauty?”

  “San Diego.”

  “I always wanted a California girl.” He leaned in closer, the smell of his cologne overpowering, even in the sea breeze.

  “Did you shower in aftershave this morning?” I asked, cocking out my hip.

  “It’s sexy, eh?”

  “Not really.”

  “See my big muscles?” He lifted an arm, flexing his bicep. I raised my eyebrow, hardly impressed.

  “Huh? What do American girls like, eh?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I’m not most girls.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  My reply was interrupted by a gruff accent behind me. “The two of you were hired to clean the deck not make a mess of it. Clean this shit up and be dressed in your whites by six. I expect a top-notch crew this season. If you aren’t up to the task, get off my ship. Now.”

  I hung my head, ashamed I let myself flirt and have fun when I should’ve been proving myself to be professional. Especially since female deckhands earn such little respect as it is.

  I turned around, grabbed a stack of towels and started cleaning up. Not even looking at the dark head bent next to mine as he helped. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I should’ve known better.”

  “I’m Greek. It’s my nature to flirt,” he shrugged. My eyes caught his mischievous ones as a lock of hair hung over his brow. He was cute, but not my type. I’m not sure what my type is exactly. I’ve been in love, I think, but never the heart-stopping—I-can’t live-without-you kind.

  “Who was that anyway?”

  “Stavros. The captain.”

  “Crap,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t worry, California. Greeks love blondes, especially American ones.”

  “You are a flirt.”

  “World class.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ve traveled all over the world on yachts like these. But I haven’t been in my home waters in five years. I’m looking forward to this last season.”

  “Why is it your last?” He’s older than me, but not even close to thirty. Why would anyone with no ring on their finger leave a job like this?

  “My family needs the money I send back, but now my mother’s health isn’t so good, eh?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, California. I saw the world and met many beautiful women. Stick with me; I’ll teach you what I know.”

  “It’s okay, thanks. I’m more of a hands-on learner.”

  He stopped mopping, dark eyes looking at my hands.

&nbsp
; “That came out wrong. Your English is good by the way.”

  “Thank you. I started learning at an early age. So, did you leave a boyfriend waiting for you at home?”

  “No. And I’m not looking for one either.”

  “Ah, California. The magic of the Med might change your mind.”

  I stood, stuffing the wet towels into his chest. “Don’t bet on it.”

  After we finished cleaning up our water fight, we joined the rest of the deck crew inspecting the jet skis, waterslide, and tender. The other men barely looked at me, as if not having a stick between my legs made me irrelevant. My face burned, and it wasn’t from the sun, but I wanted to prove myself, so I held my temper in check.

  Someday. Someday they’ll see, I can do the same things they can and might even be better at it.

  “You okay, California?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, for asking.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for over a decade. I’ll teach you what they won’t even bother to show you… starting with how to tie off a bow line.”

  “Thanks, Andre. But I meant what I said about not looking for romance.”

  “Message received. Come on, while the rest of them take their smoke break, we will teach ourselves. That’s how you get ahead.”

  I followed him up to the bow. I’ve worked on yachts but nothing even close to anything of this size.

  He stopped to open a cooler, handing me an iced-water which I gratefully accepted. Andre was kind, light-hearted, and good. He meant what he said about taking me under his wing and helping me. And I felt grateful to have made my first friend on the Med.

  After a back-breaking day of getting the yacht prepped for the owner and his guests, I stood in a line with the entire crew. One of the deep-water slips opened in port and the mighty Oasis was able to dock. Stavros, the captain, barely looked at me as he shouted orders to tie off the bow and stern lines as he guided the multi-million-dollar vessel in. A scratch in the fiber glass would be costly to fix. I was hoping for a more approachable captain. Some take the deck crew under their wings, even letting us chart course. But this one, I had no doubt would be harsh and firm and I made a note to stay out of his way.