Love Unbound (A Steamy Billionaire Romance)

  LOVE UNBOUND

  A Steamy Billionaire Romance

  Caia Fox

  http://caiafox.com

  Copyright © 2016 Caia Fox

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people (living or dead), places or events is purely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual activity are 18 years of age or older.

  NOTE: Contains scenes of a sexual nature including sensual spanking and light restraint. This story is unsuitable for those under 18 or if you are offended by such things.

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  EPILOGUE

  FREE STORY

  CHAPTER 1

  Ash

  The girl lies over my desk and pulls up her skirt. No underwear! No doubt about her intentions then. “Can you do anything for me?” she says with eyes that would give Bambi a run for his money. “I'll do anything, Mr. Lynch.”

  Invitations like this happen too often to be a surprise these days. I'm no monk, I haven't always turned opportunities like this down in the past but for some reason this time the lewd display and the desperation in the girl's voice bring bile to my throat.

  It's not that this girl would break any mirrors. She's typical—easy enough on the eyes. Nice ass and tits. We had a pleasant exchange as she introduced herself as Lena the new girl from the plant maintenance company and set about watering my plants. Nothing more. Then she came out with it. She's having acting lessons. Needs a break. Asks if there is anything I can do for her. That's how it always starts. I tell her it doesn't work like that.

  Without her frantic bid for attention, I could have imagined bending her to my will, getting my hands on those curves of hers. I would have liked to see her beg—on her knees begging for my cock, not begging to be a star.

  None of them are really interested in me, it's all about them. Their career. Their ambition. These girls would open their legs for anyone with the power to give them a break. The ones who turn up in my London office are the pushy ones, the ones who found emailing didn't work, who won't wait to be found by one of my agents.

  If they only knew the truth, they wouldn't bother. I haven't found one girl that way who had any chance of making it past the dizzy heights of chocolate and pain killer commercials. My agents know not to waste my time unless a hopeful has real talent for something and not only for sex. But this one, Lena, wormed her way in. I wonder who she had to bribe to take over as the new girl on this particular assignment for the maintenance company. Maybe she did the proprietor a favor too for all I know.

  “I suggest you get up from my desk and continue with your acting lessons, Lena. You might have the impression that stardom comes that cheap but you'd be wrong.”

  She jerks up as if I slapped her, a little shamefaced. Then as if on cue, tears start rolling down her face. If it's an act she got something out of her lessons at least. But the way her face fell, the tears might be real and I feel sorry for her then. I'm not made of rock despite what they say.

  Even so I can't let a few tears sway me. Stardom can't be bought with fucking or crying. The sooner she learns that lesson the better.

  “I'm sorry,” she mutters, gathering up her watering can and gardening tools, ready to beat a hasty retreat.

  “Just forget it. You weren't the first to think it might make a difference, not by a long shot.”

  She blushes again and I shepherd her out, relieved to have the place to myself again. If the plants die, fuck it, someone will replace them. What the interior designer was doing planting an indoor garden is beyond me, but to be fair, it's impressive when clients visit.

  It's nearly six thirty. I open my email and then shut it off in disgust. I should be working on the deal with the Talent Bureau, an up-and-coming Los Angeles agency that will expand our international operations but my concentration is shot. I should have just fucked the girl and got on with my work but after that exchange somehow I've got to get out of my office. I need fresh air. Not the easiest thing to find in the capital or in the kind of business I'm in.

  CHAPTER 2

  Victoria

  “You may as well be naked,” my friend Jessie says. “What does it matter? It's not as if your costume leaves much to the imagination.”

  I know the audience wants to see bare flesh. That's what they pay the entrance fee for. I can't delude myself they are there to see me dance. The owner of the club—my ex, Jimmy—is always on about it. He's just been here to our dressing room with a new costume.

  “Try showing your tits just once. You might even like it.” He had such a leer on his face I wanted to slap him but I need this job and he knows it.

  I wish I had never gone out with him. He was never the best of boyfriends, the kind that remembers your birthday or cares when you really don't feel like being pawed, but I never thought I'd catch him screwing another girl. That was months ago. I walked into his office and there he was, powering into a blonde, probably another dancer who was hoping to get hired, his jeans stupidly around his ankles.

  I said the only thing I could think to say when I saw them, vomit rising in my throat. “I came for my money.”

  He brought it around later with a bonus and said he wanted to make it up to me but no, that was the end for me. I don't know why I still work for him except there was no one else exactly hanging around giving me a job dancing. A girl has to pay the rent. So now he gets to employ me but not touch me and he sure as hell doesn't get to tell me to get naked in front of the audience.

  I put on my body stocking. Jessie is right. It's pretty much invisible against my skin and a few spangles don't hide much but they are enough to make me feel like a real dancer rather than a strip artiste.

  “Are you not going to try that new costume?” she asks. “You know he'll be mad at you, if you don't.”

  “He'll just have to get mad then.”

  She shakes her head. Jessie has no qualms about showing her body to a roomful of people out for a night of exotic entertainment. She likes the applause, the admiration and all eyes on her bare breasts.

  I like the applause too, but I get as much as
she does without going naked. I know that annoys the hell out of her.

  A quick final brush with bronzing pearls and I'm on stage, waiting, my heart skipping a beat as the music starts, the voices fading, the continual clink of glasses, all eyes on me. There's a large audience packed into the venue. There always is with a live burlesque performance. They want to see skin. I know that and there's always the fear that they will heckle and boo me off stage for not giving them what they want and that Jimmy is right.

  I have to do everything I can to win them over without showing them everything. I sense the buzz, their excitement, the dim lights, but most of the light is on me, on my dance and I don't see the audience once I start to move, not properly. I forget my worries then. Nothing matters but the dance.

  My ribbons cut through the air twirling, tantalizing, and mirroring my movements, catching the light with their rich bright colors. The audience will have half an eye on them but I know most of the attention is on me and my movements. It's as if they own me, own my body and I am theirs for the entrance fee right from the moment I appear out there and the lights pick me out. I give all my energy to the performance.

  I cover every inch of the space on the stage, my limbs following the snaking of the ribbons and their endless loops and the sensuous music, then I'm bringing the ribbons down closer and closer around me, playing with them, weaving in and out of them until my limbs and my body are wrapped in the silken strands. I'm constricted, fighting to get out like a butterfly in a net. The dancer so free at the start of my act, lighter than air itself is trapped by the end in bounds of her own making.

  The music ends at the exact moment I lie still, tangled in the ribbons, unable to move. The audience goes wild. They love my act even though I'm not naked. Jimmy will just have to suck that up despite what he says about paying me more money if I strip.

  He says guys in the crowd will stop wanting me to perform if I keep refusing. But the applause says something else. And I know that stripping would inhibit me and take something from my dance.

  I always wanted to be a dancer but I didn't imagine I'd be doing this in a seedy Soho club to earn a living. I wanted to dance at The Royal Opera House Covent Garden, the Met, the Bolshoi.

  Ballet was my passion, always my passion. I still do it, practice my movements but I can't make it my career. I know that now. My legs are long, Jessie says she'd kill for them, and I agonized they'd grow that way when I was thirteen, but the irony is they did grow and then I lost everything when I strained a ligament in my toe. It never fully healed and getting en pointe for any length of time is impossible. I can dance. I'm grateful for that but I'll never be a professional ballerina.

  As the applause dies down and the lights on stage dim for the change of act, I notice him.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ash

  I don't even know what possessed me to watch where the girl was going. I don't usually pass women on the street and follow them like a stalker in a dirty raincoat. There was just something about her that lit up the murky London weather as she chatted with her friend. And then they both turned down an alleyway and disappeared right in front of me.

  Curiosity got the better of me. There was only the side door of a club called “The Tempest” down there. She didn't seem like she belonged in a place like that, the front of the club plastered with tattered posters advertising a Burlesque show five nights a week.

  Watching where she goes is one thing, but going back there an hour and a half later to see a strip act? Complete fucking brain seizure—that's all that can be. There's no thrill in chasing a good time girl. They are ten a penny in my line and I couldn't even pretend it was professional interest. There's no point taking on an act with a background that would have to be obliterated before we even sign her.

  Whatever, I get Miller to drop me off for the start of the show. He shows no sign of disapproval or otherwise at my instruction, the picture of discretion as usual. The day Miller raises an eyebrow is the day I'll know I've gone completely whacko. This might be the closest I've been to getting the “eyebrow treatment”.

  The place is as tacky as the floor. My leather soles are sticking as I walk to the bar. I'm overdressed for this kind of club but who cares? I've never been one to be part of the crowd. At least they have my favorite Scotch. I'll say that for the place. Still, it feels like a mistake despite the amber liquid hitting my throat, soothing the frustrations of the day and I'm wondering whether to call for the car when she appears, lying on the stage like a dying swan, the lights picking her out. From the moment the emcee with a comb-over introduces the act, Vix, I am mesmerized.

  From her red hair, I'm pretty sure it's the same girl I saw in the street, but she's lying there inert and naked curled like a baby on the set and there's no way I'm leaving at that point. I have to see her dance.

  And when she does, she takes over the stage brightening the place like the fairy lights on the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. I see now she's not naked. She's wearing some kind of glitter covered body suit that preserves her modesty—fucking travesty! All the same I'm pleased she's not showing everything for the price of entry to the rabble here. She deserves a better stage for showing off that body. I can think of several places at home where I'd love to see her on display.

  The girl grabs my whole attention and not just mine—her movements have the whole audience enthralled. I can't take my eyes off her as she wraps herself in ribbons. I'd like to be the one to use those ribbons and tie her down. Hell, who am I kidding? I'd fucking love that. Would she let me bind her up so she can't get loose and fuck her until she begs for more? What kind of girl is she? Would she like that?

  And would she be discreet and not blab to the press? Can she be trusted?

  Not everyone understands my need for control or my passion for fucking a woman bound in rope or chains, rendering her helpless and unable to resist, taking her hard until she squeals for more. I can't imagine many I know would condemn me, but a public scandal is the last thing I need. A whole list of big time stars on our books would run a mile rather than be linked with any kind of kink no matter what they get up to in private that we have to keep quiet. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so well-known in celebrity circles. God knows how stars cope with everyone and his dog knowing who they are.

  As the act draws to a close, the audience bursts out in enthusiastic applause but I don't join in. That performance was worth more than applause and cheers. I haven't been this impressed by any kind of dance act in forever. I've got to speak to this girl. But not here, not with this rabble clamoring for her. Alone. My cock rises at the thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  Victoria

  He's not like the other guys in the audience out for a good time, their attention now on ordering another beer or on their drinking buddies. He's wearing a suit for one thing, like he didn't know this place was such a dive, and his tall, dark looks set him apart. He's alone and his gaze cuts through the darkness of the stage, his eyes burning into me, as he takes a slow drink from a whisky glass, his dark hair catching the light. He looks too good to be a regular kind of businessman on a trip away for the night, finding a bar to wander into. I hope he can't see me looking back at him. I don't think so but I feel my cheeks coloring under the stage make-up at his stares. My nipples spring to attention just looking at him.

  And then as quickly as I notice him, he is gone.

  Jimmy comes on stage and helps me unwind the ribbons.

  “Who was that guy out there?” I want to know. Everyone must have noticed him.

  “What guy?”

  “Never mind. Not important. He's gone now anyhow.”

  “You didn't wear the new costume,” Jimmy says. “I'll get you to stop wearing this fucking body stocking if it's the last thing I do.”

  “You heard the applause. I don't need to change a thing.”

  “I want to hear them when you show them what you've got.”

  He can forget it. I pass Jessie who is about to go on stage. She gi
ves me a wry smile. She must know what Jimmy was saying. He's like a broken freakin' record.

  “You killed it again,” she says.

  He gives her a dirty look.

  Back in our “dressing room”—I've seen larger closets—it's back to my usual end of act routine but I can't get the guy in the suit out of my mind. I can imagine how the fabric of his jacket would feel under my fingers. My nipples harden again just from remembering how he looked at me with his smoldering eyes, as if he could see every inch of flesh beneath my body stocking.

  I peel that thing off and put on my pink robe. The silky fabric skims over my body, reminding me of the ribbons and how I make them flow through the air.

  I look in the mirror and laugh. My nipples are poking out through the pink robe. No one ever had that effect on me just from a look, that's for sure. And then I think about the kind of sophisticated guy he was and how he stuck out like a prince in a housing project.

  Even I don't know what the hell I'm doing in places like this never mind him.

  But I can't stop dancing. I need that like a flower needs sun and water and besides, what else would I do? It's the only thing I know. Well that and being a barista and clearing tables at the Bakewell coffee shop, my extra job to make ends meet. It's a minimum wage gig but I need it.

  I start to take off my stage make-up with a sigh, ready to get back to reality. It's not that bad and I'm looking forward to a shower back at the apartment. At least there, I don't have to put up with crap from Mr. Two-timing Jimmy Sutton. Not anymore.

  I should have known he couldn't be trusted and that I shouldn't rely on him to stick around. I didn't need the lesson again. But he gave me work when I needed it. His flattering words were just what I needed to hear when I was feeling low. After the incident in his office, I was afraid he'd drop me from the show completely but he's still trying to get back in my pants.

  No doubt he thinks he can bring me around, given time, given no other man on the horizon. If he has other women, he's careful not to let me see them. Not after that one time.