Buying the Dancer (Alpha Billionaires Book 4) Read online

  BUYING THE DANCER

  STELLA STONE

  Buying the Dancer

  Copyright © 2018 by Stella Stone

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs. Cassy Roop. http://www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781731490322

  Newsletter signup - http://eepurl.com/djGLBr

  Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AuthorStellaStone/

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also By Stella Stone

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  Stella Stone is a penname for an already established author who wants to write Simply. Sexy. Stories.

  She is a mother of two boys, and a wife to a bearded hubby, residing in a rural Texas town. During the day she writes sexy stories while her children are at school. In the afternoon, she is a chauffeur, Taekwondo observed, loud baseball, basketball, and cheering swim mom.

  Enjoy her Simply. Sexy. Stories and the Alpha men she enjoys creating.

  Also By Stella Stone

  Alpha Billionaire Series

  BUYING THE HEIRESS

  BUYING THE BARISTA

  BUYING THE VIRGIN

  BUYING THE DANCER

  HOT Alpha Series

  HOT Recluse

  HOT Cop

  HOT Boss

  That’s what I love about dance. It makes you happy, fully happy.

  Debbie Reynolds

  PROLOGUE

  WHITAKER

  They watch me. Through their lenses they snap pictures of every move that I make. Suffocation. It’s a real feeling—it’s something that I deal with every damn day. Two-weeks. That’s what I’ve been repeating to myself over and over, throughout this entire day.

  The party I’m attending is for lack of better words, boring. I know it’s because I don’t have an escort, not like my best friends. They’re all coupled up now, and ridiculously happy. All with their women, bought and paid for wives. I want that. I want a woman who will love me and be with me, not because of who I am, but because I own her.

  Fucked up?

  Sure.

  Do I give much of a shit?

  Nope.

  Leaving my group of friends to their happiness, I walk out of the party. Naturally, I drop my head, the flashing lights surround me as soon as I step out of the building. Walking over to my Ferrari, I open the door and slide inside. Starting the engine, I shift into drive and head home.

  Two-weeks.

  In two-weeks everything will change.

  STASSIA

  Rising to my toes, I stretch my leg out behind me, my gaze finding my reflection in the mirror. My form is perfect, my body small and light. My eyes, that’s where the problem lies. They’re tired. Dead. Lifeless.

  I shake my head, wondering how this happened to me. How did I become so hopeless at the age of nineteen? I feel exhausted, my body completely worn out, my mind unable to cope.

  There’s a knock on the doorframe and I turn around to see who is here.

  “Daddy,” I breathe.

  I didn’t want to see him, not today, not ever.

  “Your time has come, Stassia,” he rumbles.

  My eyes lift to his. Horror assuredly crossing my features. “I said, no. I meant it,” I say in an attempt to be strong.

  He crosses the empty studio. “You have two-weeks. If you are not at the club by noon, then I will send a man to come and retrieve you. You don’t want that, trust me. Come prepared and groomed as well.”

  “I have a life,” I meekly point out.

  My father chuckles, his black eyes twinkling when they meet mine. “Be prepared, Stassia. You are mine and soon you will belong to this new man. You have two weeks to get your affairs in order. You’ll find that I’m not as harsh a man as you think me to be. This is all for your own benefit. Trust your old man.”

  Lowering my gaze, I look at my pointe shoes. It’s going to kill me to put them aside, to hang them up forever. That is, if whoever my father is giving me to, doesn’t kill me first.

  “You’re still a virgin?” he asks.

  My eyes snap to his. Frowning, I nod. “I am,” I admit.

  “Good. Would be hard to sell you to this man otherwise.”

  I hate him. This man who is supposed to be my father. This man who is supposed to love me above all else, especially money. He doesn’t, never has. I’ve been a pawn in his sick games my entire life. He walks up to me, slowly, his eyes glittering and then his hand wraps around my throat.

  Leaning forward he rasps. “Do not disappoint me, Stassia. I’ve made sure you have the best education available. I’ve paid for the best dance teachers, and afforded you your every whim. You’ve known this would be your fate. He is young, handsome, rich and famous. You will make him happy.”

  My eyes water at his words. He isn’t wrong. I knew this was to always be my fate, yet, being faced with it now feels like nothing I ever imagined. I nod, keeping my mouth shut. Not wishing to anger him further.

  “Your mother will prepare you the day of,” he announces releasing my neck. “One step out of line and you’ll regret it, Stassia. Do not make me sell you to someone who will hurt you,” he states.

  Turning away from me, he walks toward the door. I watch him. I wait until I hear it close behind him as he leaves the building, then I sink to the wood floor of the studio, and I cry. I’ve known this was going to be my destiny. My father has told me since I was old enough to understand.

  My mother does the makeup and dresses the women he sells. She’s just a whore herself, his whore. My life has been mapped out since the day I was born. I somehow hoped that it would never come to fruition. I was living in a dreamland.

  My life is now over.

  My life has never been my own.

  My life will never be my own.

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHITAKER

  “You sure you want to do this?” Aldrich asks from the driver’s seat.

  I had to sneak out of the back of the club, him as my driver, in his car. The paparazzi have been on my ass lately, more than usual. I know it’s because my mother has a new movie coming out, but fuck, I’m over it.

  “Private viewing, a woman meeting my specifications? Yeah, I’m sure,” I smirk.

  Rich shakes his head. “Do I even want to know what your specifications were?” he asks lifting a brow.

  I chuckle, turning my head toward the closed black door. I know on the other side she will be there. I can feel it in
my bones. The woman waiting tonight, she’s the one for me.

  “Willing. A virgin. Mine. Young,” I shrug.

  I can feel Aldrich’s eyes burning into me. “How young?” he barks.

  My head turns toward his. “Don’t be a fucking pervert. Nineteen or older. Fuck, what do you think I am?”

  “Just making sure, this world can get ugly, Whitty.”

  Shaking my head, I reach for the door handle. “I’m not like that, Rich. I would hope you’d know me better.”

  He reaches for my arm, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder to stop me. “I know you’re not like that, but this whole thing. It can be really fucking ugly, Whitty. I know you want to find someone, but maybe this isn’t the way for you?”

  “Pop the trunk,” I grind out.

  The money I need is in the back, in a duffle, waiting for me. Unmarked bills. Millions of dollars in hundreds, stacked and waiting for the trade.

  “Maybe I should come with you,” Aldrich offers before he pops the trunk and exits the vehicle.

  I shrug, walking around the back of the car. Wrapping my fingers around the duffle, I lift it from the trunk. It’s heavy as fuck, but I don’t mind. I’ll be happy to unload it, especially if the promise of this exchange is what I think it will be.

  “I got this, Rich. I know you’re worried, don’t be,” I say, giving him a wide grin.

  He smirks. “I’m only a phone call away. How will you get home?” he asks.

  “Called my driver already. He’ll be waiting,” I offer.

  Rich looks back behind me toward the door, and then at me. “I’ll wait until he gets here. I just… I want to make sure you’re all good. Sam knows who you are, it could be a trap.”

  I keep my gaze focused on Rich’s. “I’m okay. This is what I want, he wouldn’t fuck me over. Not after as many times as we’ve been here, and the women he’s sold. He has to protect his own ass too,” I point out.

  Aldrich lets out a sigh. “Just watch your back,” he grunts.

  I lift my free hand, giving him a two-fingered wave before I turn around and head toward the door. Once I’m in front of the black doorway, I inhale deeply before I lift my hand and knock three times. Taking a step back, I hold my breath as the door slowly swings open.

  I’m surprised that it isn’t one of his cronies to answer the door. It’s the man himself, Mr. Sam.

  “Whitaker, she is ready and waiting for your approval,” he grins. His smile is cold, his eyes like goddamn ice. The man is made of unbreakable stone, I’m convinced.

  Before walking past him, I tilt my head to the side. “She’s what we discussed?”

  Mr. Sam’s smile widens. “Educated, refined, young, a virgin, and docile.”

  Walking past him, I make my way into his den of sins. I should feel guilty. I should feel dirty. I shouldn’t feel as downright fucking excited as I do.

  STASSIA

  “You look beautiful,” my mother whispers.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I decide that she is not wrong. I look sexy. Something that I never thought possible. At five-foot-two and eighty-five pounds my curves are non-existent. I honestly don’t know why any man would want me, let alone would pay my father to purchase me.

  Shaking my head, I can’t believe that I even live in the modern world. Buying women, selling women. It’s so wrong. I know it’s wrong, my father knows it’s wrong, yet he does it every day.

  I remember when I found out what his job really was. I was sick for days, weeks. I’ve never been able to accept it, even if I tried to accept my position.

  “Why does this have to happen?” I ask her.

  She clears her throat, standing behind me she’s fiddling with my curled strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection of the mirror.

  “We all have our burdens to bear, Stassia. This is yours. He’s told me of the man. I’ve seen him here. He looks, he never bids,” she explains, as if this is supposed to comfort me somehow.

  I glance at the white lace that attempts to cover me and frown. The romper is see-through white lace with a capped sleeve and a V-neck that is so deep it doesn’t end until it hits the top of my belly button. The shorts are crotchless, though thankfully they’re loose so you can’t tell. On my feet I’m wearing a pair of designer white high-heels.

  My mother brings back some sections of hair, braiding and twisting them to ensure that my face and neck are exposed. My makeup is light, done up in peaches and cream, making me look every bit the innocent part that I am meant to portray—the innocent part that I very much am.

  “I don’t understand why you would allow this? Why he would want this?” I ask, not for the first time in my life. It seems this question I’ve asked a million times over and over again.

  My mother lifts her hands, placing them on my shoulders before she slowly turns me around. When we’re face to face, only then do I see the sadness swimming in her eyes. She reaches up, cupping my cheeks in her hands.

  “Stassia, this is how it was always meant to be. I was raised to be the woman for your father. You have been raised to be the woman for this man. Be what he needs. Accept what he gives. Show him love. Show him his desires come to life. Be his fantasy and he will worship you,” she whispers.

  I want to snort in her face, to tell her that she’s just being held hostage by an abuser. Granted my father doesn’t hit her that I know of, but her mind is completely warped. However, the look in her eyes, maybe she isn’t.

  I’ve been lost for so long, maybe she’s right. Maybe this man will find me, and then I can find myself? Or maybe, I’m just reaching, trying to grasp onto anything because I’m scared out of my mind.

  There’s a knock on the door and my father appears. My mother steps to the side, lowering her gaze to her feet as she crosses her hands in front of her.

  My gaze moves to my father and I watch as he looks me up and down. “He said he wanted small. I hope he really does. Are you ready? Kiss your mother goodbye, you won’t be seeing her again.”

  I gasp, turning to my mother. She lifts her head, a tear shimmering in her eye. “You will be his now. No longer ours. I love you, Stassia.” Her lips graze my cheek, careful not to leave a lipstick mark and she slowly steps away, until her back hits the wall of the small space.

  Taking one shaky step forward, then another, I make my way toward my future. Hopefully, it won’t end up being my hell.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHITAKER

  My duffle is at my feet, the room’s lights are dimmed, but it’s nothing like it would be for a regular viewing. Mr. Sam walks into the viewing room, a flash of white behind him. She appears behind the glass with little fanfare.

  She doesn’t need it.

  She’s breathtaking.

  I stand, walking closer to the glass, knowing that she cannot see me.

  I recognize her. She’s in the ballet, a principal dancer. A fucking star.

  A few moments later, Mr. Sam is at my side. He isn’t looking at her though, he’s watching me, watch her. “Is she more to your liking?” he asks, an obvious smile to his words.

  I can’t take my eyes from her. If I thought I was going to negotiate with the man, that ship has sailed. I’ll pay whatever he asks for her. “Much better,” I croak. “She’s pure?” I ask.

  I don’t know why I think it matters so much. It doesn’t, not really. I could give a fuck at this point, I’m taking her.

  “I vouch for it, personally,” he says. Lifting a brow, I turn to him. “My daughter, Mr. Sullivan.”

  People don’t typically surprise me. In fact, being around Hollywood, I can say that the shit people do does not shock me one bit. Except in this moment, I am surprised. Genuinely surprised. “Mr. Sam…”

  He holds up his hand, his eyes drifting over to her for a moment, then back to me. “She has known this to be her fate. I was saving her for just the right client. Typically, I would make sure she was used for some kind of good business trade, but…” his words trail off. />
  I want to beat the fuck out of him for even suggesting he use her for a business trade. I don’t. I want her for myself, therefore I have no place to judge him, not on this.

  “How much?” I ask.

  He looks from his daughter again, then back to me. “Ten million out the door. She will be yours,” he offers.

  Lifting my gaze to his, I tilt my head to the side. “Any stipulations?”

  He shakes his head once. “None.”

  “Draw up the contract,” I announce.

  I would have paid double the amount he stated without blinking an eye. I would have drained my accounts for her, to keep her, to just fucking taste her. “You into shit like Aldrich?” he asks, with a cough.

  “Little late to ask me that,” I chuckle.

  He lifts a brow and I roll my eyes. “I’m vanilla, mostly,” I grin.

  He shakes his head, thrusting the contract toward me. Sitting down, I read every line. He probably thinks that I won’t. That I’ll blindly sign the documents because I want that tight little pussy. He’s not wrong, yet, he’s beyond wrong. I’m a stickler for contracts.

  “No contact once the trade is made?” I ask, wondering if I’d read the words correctly, once I’m at the end of the document.

  He clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine when I look up. “No contact. Like I said, Stassia was raised for this.”

  “Raised for this,” I murmur.