Buying the Dancer (Alpha Billionaires Book 4) Read online

  My eyes find hers and I let out a breath.

  Raised to be mine.

  Just like I was raised to be in the spotlight, so was she. Except not only was she raised for the stage, she was also raised to be fucking mine.

  I’m taking her.

  Keeping her.

  A pretty ballerina princess for my very own.

  STASSIA

  I stare at my reflection. He’s out there. My mother explained how this works. The man can see me. He’s judging me, deciding whether he wants me or not. If he does, he’ll sign some contract with my father, then he’ll pay him. My father will summon me, and then I’m handed over.

  Bought and sold.

  Owned.

  Property.

  Staring at my reflection, I wonder if I will ever look like this again? What will I look like once this man has me in his clutches? Will he beat me? I’m so scared about what is to come.

  I jump when the door opens, my father stands there. His gaze is stone as he stares at me.

  “Stassia, come,” he barks.

  I lift my chin, stepping down from the pedestal. Slowly, I walk toward him, then past him. He doesn’t touch me, falling in line behind me until I freeze.

  The man sitting across from the mirrored room where I was just held, his head is tilted down. My body is frozen at the sight of him. “Mr. Sullivan, she is yours,” my father announces from behind me.

  The man lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. They’re deep brown, and they turn into liquid chocolate when they focus on mine. His face is clean shaven, his jawline sharp and pronounced. He is by far, the most beautiful man that I have ever laid eyes on.

  His dark hair swoops across his forehead, styled perfectly and messy, just like someone has run their fingers through it for hours. He stands slowly and my breath hitches. He’s tall, at least a foot taller than me, and I’m not sure how this is going to work. He towers over me.

  “Come, Stassia,” he rumbles.

  My legs tremble as I take a few steps toward him. I suck in a breath when his warm hand presses against my lower back. I can feel his heat through the sheer lace fabric. I shudder, just thinking about how hot his hands will feel on the rest of my body.

  “Sullivan,” my father calls.

  The man growls low before he turns his head. I don’t look back, I can’t. I cannot see the man who is supposed to protect me, that same man who sold me to this giant stranger. I don’t think I can ever look him in the face again.

  “Don’t bring her back,” he states.

  My shoulder’s slump and I feel the stranger’s hand flex against my back. He doesn’t respond. He applies a bit more pressure and together we walk out of my father’s club.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STASSIA

  A black car speeds by as soon as we step out onto the sidewalk. I turn my head to watch its brake lights as it halts at the stop sign. “Stassia,” the strangers deep voice calls. It echoes around me, the street completely empty other than the two of us, and a black car that’s parked across the street. I stop, turning my head back over to look up at him.

  “My driver is waiting, you’re practically naked, get in the car,” he says, his voice harsh. I jump slightly, turning toward the car and put my head down as I walk.

  His hand wraps around my hip before he tugs me against his side. I fall slightly, teetering on my high heels and attempt to keep up with his pace. His legs are at least twice the length of mine, and I find it difficult to keep up. Thankfully we don’t have far to go.

  A man appears, opening the door for us. “Inside,” my stranger grunts.

  Unfortunately, I have to bend over to climb inside of the black sedan. I know when my stranger realizes that my outfit is not only see through, but also crotchless. I hear his intake of breath, then I feel his body heat move in closer behind me.

  I slide all the way over in the seat, to the opposite side of the car. The windows are black, limo tint I guess they’re called. Nobody can see in, not even if they tried. Makes me wonder what kind of things he’s doing here that he would need to be hidden from the outside world.

  He slips in next to me, his large body taking up the seat, his legs spread so that his thigh is pressed against mine. His pants are soft as they touch my bare leg. I wonder what their material is, and if they’re made to fit, or tailored. I have a feeling they are made to his body, custom.

  “What’s your name?” I chance asking.

  He turns his head, his eyes that liquid chocolate color that I’m mesmerized by, as he watches me. “Whitaker Sullivan,” he says, lifting a brow.

  Maybe I’m supposed to know who he is? I don’t. I’m not one to stay current on things, on who’s who or any of that. I nod, unsure of what else to say to him. He’s not really putting off a vibe that he wants to talk. Why would he, anyway? I’m a bought and paid for whore, not a girlfriend.

  “Home, sir?” the driver asks.

  “Yes.”

  The rest of the ride is silent. It takes us about forty-five minutes to arrive at a closed gate. I see someone standing around as it opens. The person lifts an object and then a flash appears. A camera.

  Turning to look at Whitaker, I notice he has zero reaction to the event. He must be famous then, like my father suggested. I can’t imagine another reason for having someone with a camera standing outside of your home.

  “Welcome home,” he finally mutters as the car makes a complete stop.

  My eyes lift, moving to the driver’s window. It’s not a home. It’s a mansion. It looks like a castle. A real life castle. My body is frozen solid as my eyes search the stone structure. There is even a tower looking area, with a turret roof.

  My door is opened, and I shift my gaze over to Whitaker who is now standing with his hand out to help me. Sucking in a deep breath, I lift my hand and place my fingers in his warm waiting ones. Shifting my legs, I place my expensive shoes on the cobblestone driveway and slowly stand.

  Silently, Whitaker walks with me trailing behind him, his hand gripping mine as we make our way in the dark toward the front door. “I’ll give you the tour tomorrow,” he announces.

  WHITAKER

  This should feel wrong. It should not feel exhilarating, exciting, or downright erotic. It does. My cock presses against my custom made trousers with each step I take. I don’t walk toward my master bedroom. I’m not ready for that amount of intimacy yet.

  Instead, I turn toward the single staircase at the side of the house, to the turret. It was meant to be an extra room, a playroom for children or something of the sort. When this whole thing started, when Sterling bought his Tilly and took her home I redesigned the space.

  Now, instead of wasted space, it’s a bedroom with an en-suite bath and walk-in closet. I hired a decorator and made sure to make it clear that not only did I want the best of everything, but I wanted the space to be soft and feminine. A far cry from my all black bedroom. I wanted it to be hers—whoever she was going to be.

  Once we’ve reached the door, my hand trembles slightly as I reach for the knob. Turning it, I push the door open and step to the side. Stassia doesn’t speak, she simply walks past me, understanding my silent request.

  I watch her walk into the room, her eyes combing over every soft white, and pale blue aspect of the space. It isn’t lacy, or ruffled, it’s simple clean lines, but it’s all soft white and light blue.

  “This is your space to call your own. Nobody but me is allowed to enter,” I explain.

  She quickly turns to face me, her light green eyes wide and frightened. “You’re hiding me in a tower, literally,” she states.

  It’s not a question. She should know her place, and she does. Although, she looks resigned, and if I’m not mistaken disappointed.

  I shove my hand in my pocket, lifting my gaze to meet hers. I show zero emotion, mainly because I don’t have much to draw from. I’ve been alone most of my life, even in a room full of people, I’m always alone.

  “I’m giving you your own
space, Stassia. You’re not a prisoner. Not completely, anyway,” I shrug.

  She tilts her head to the side, her long hair falling down her shoulder. I want to touch it, to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Smell it, to see if it smells light and floral like I imagine it does.

  “But you don’t want me with you?” she asks.

  Taking a step toward her, I lift my hand, cupping her soft cheek. She’s so fucking small, perfect for me to move and mold to what I need her to be. Lowering my head, I place my lips next to her ear.

  “Trust me, you want your own space. It’s for your benefit, little girl,” I rasp.

  Her entire body shudders and goosebumps break out all over her flesh. Standing up straight, I take a step back, letting my hand fall from her soft skin.

  My eyes search her own, curious as to what she’s thinking. Soon I won’t have to guess, I’ll know all of her thoughts, every single thing that crosses her mind she’ll give me—I’ll demand it so.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STASSIA

  “On the bed,” he demands.

  I knew it was coming. I was trying to stall, but it didn’t work. Not that I thought it really would. I’m not really socially skilled enough to attempt to stall anyone. I walk over to the bed, sitting down slowly onto the edge. It’s like a giant pillow and the comforter has to be silk. It’s so soft, so delicate, I wonder how this man picked it out for me?

  “Lose the shoes, back against the headboard, spread your legs,” he orders.

  My spine straightens at his demands. My eyes lift to his and I watch him. He’s looking back at me, though I’m not sure he really sees me, the person. I think all he sees is the fact that I’m a body. Wriggling out of my shoes, I inhale deeply before I climb onto the center of the bed and crawl toward the headboard. Pressing my back against it, I ball my hands into fists and bring my knees up.

  “Stassia,” he warns, his voice deceptively quiet.

  I look into his chocolate eyes, watching him. He flicks his gaze to my legs, then brings it back up to my eyes. With a nod, I pinch my eyes closed and slowly open my legs. When they’re about hips width apart, he clears his throat and I widen them even more.

  “Come my little ballerina, I know you can do better,” he purrs. Opening my eyes, I look at him in obvious surprise. “I’ve seen you dance, little girl,” he murmurs. “Show me how good you’ll be for me, Stassia. Show me what I want to see, what’s mine.”

  He holds my gaze, I’m unable to look away from his brown eyes as I widen my legs even more, until all of me is exposed to him.

  “Never hide from me, not ever,” he rasps. I nod, biting my bottom lip. My heart is racing and pounding scared of what is to come next.

  “Yes, Whitaker,” I breathe.

  He smirks, before his eyes leave mine and travel down to my center. He tilts his head to the side, taking in every part of me, seeing a piece of me that no other man has seen before. It takes everything that I have, not to slam my legs closed.

  He turns away, grabbing a chair from the corner of the room and drags it over so that he is at the center of the footboard. I’m surprised, shocked, that he isn’t climbing into the bed and taking me, making me his own. He requested a virgin for a reason, and I cannot believe that he’s not jumping at this presented opportunity.

  I gasp when I watch him unbuckle, unzip, and shove his pants down his legs. He reaches into his boxer briefs, bringing out his dick and I suck in a deep breath.

  I’ve never seen one in person, and I’m not sure what’s normal but his looks abnormally large to me. Granted he’s much taller than I am, so maybe that’s what it is. He’s still not going to fit inside of me, no way whatsoever.

  “You look absolutely terrified, little girl. Tell me what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours,” he chuckles.

  Sticking my tongue out, I wet my bottom lip as I lift my gaze from his cock to his face. “You’re too big. All of you is just too big for me. I’m only five-foot-two, Whitaker,” I blurt.

  His eyes soften, but a cocky smirk lifts on his lips. “I’ll train you to take me, Stassia. I’ll train every part of you to accept and crave me,” he murmurs.

  My breath hitches. Every part of me. I know what that means. He’s going to want my ass. I shake my head, but it only causes his lips to turn into an even bigger smile.

  WHITAKER

  Stassia is cute as fuck. Scared, but cute. She doesn’t realize that her sweet little body is made to stretch and accommodate. She’ll know soon enough. I stroke my cock, my eyes moving from her wide-eyed innocent face to her pretty pink pussy.

  “Show me your tits, little girl,” I demand.

  Lifting my eyes up to her, I arch a brow as I wait. Her chest is rising and falling, her pussy starting to grow wet with her excitement. She may not know exactly what’s happening, but she’s fucking excited about it, and that’s all that matters.

  “Whitaker,” she breathes. It’s the sexiest sounding thing in the whole world. I can’t wait until I hear it when my dick is buried balls deep inside of her. “I don’t have anything to show,” she says, her voice low and her cheeks pink with her embarrassment.

  I grunt, abandoning my chair. Standing, I push my boxers down, stepping out of them, then remove my shirt. Walking over to her, I place my knee on the bed, then the other, and sit back between her spread thighs.

  Wrapping my fingers in the center of her low lacey bodice, I pull and rip the fabric open. She lets out a small scream at the unexpected move. Her tits are there, they’re small, just like I expected.

  Her areolas large and her nipples tight and erect. They look better than I thought possible. She’s tiny all over, she needs protecting, she needs nurturing and caring.

  She needs me.

  “They’re perfect, Stassia. Don’t ever say a part of your body isn’t perfection. All of you is, every single piece,” I say.

  She lifts her hand, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. My hand is still gripping her shredded lace top. “I don’t look like a woman,” she breathes. “I see how other women look, how even girls my age look. Why do you want me?”

  Tilting my head to the side, my eyes meet her soft green ones. Maybe she thinks I’m a pervert, that I have some kind of sick and twisted fantasy about fucking a girl. I don’t.

  I do have fantasies, but they’re about fucking someone who needs protecting. Someone small and fragile, someone breakable.

  I don’t have to explain myself, not to anyone. I never have. However, looking at Stassia, I feel the need to at least try to explain it to her—after all this is as much part of her as it is me.

  “I want someone I can protect.”

  It’s the simplest of explanations. I should go into more depth, about my past, my childhood, and the life I live now. I don’t. Maybe one day, but not today.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STASSIA

  As soon as he says the words, something that was open and vulnerable, it disappears. He’s back to his cocky, smirking self. I watch as he lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking on the digit before he lowers it to my center. I gasp when the wet finger swirls my clit.

  “Whitaker,” I breathe.

  He laughs softly as he scoots back on the bed. I feel his fingers slide along the inside of my thighs, stopping just at the apex. Tipping my chin down, I open my eyes. Connecting my gaze to his brown one, my breath hitches as he opens his mouth before placing it over my pussy.

  “Oh, God,” I moan.

  I feel his tongue taste my entire pussy. It’s warm, wet, and better than anything I’ve experienced before in my entire life. It’s feels better than the most decadent dessert, at the most expensive French restaurant in town, has ever tasted.

  Taking a chance, I lift one of my hands and slip my fingers through his hair. It’s softer than I’d imagined, thicker too. His eyes lift to mine, focusing on them as his tongue plays me. He knows exactly what to do, and I don’t. I feel like I’m at a loss, like I’m drowning in a sea of stimulation.r />
  He hums, as my fingers tighten their grasp. I whimper, climbing toward what I know must be my climax. I want it. I want him to give it to me, and I know it’s going to be epic.

  Whitaker grips my thigh tighter, one of his hands shifting between his own legs. I groan as my head lolls to the side, my eyes focused on the way he strokes his long thick cock.

  I lick my lips wishing I could move, but I can’t. My legs are spread too wide, his grip is too immobilizing, and his mouth feels too good to do anything but accept his touch and licks.

  My entire body stiffens as I crest, climbing closer and then he does something to my clit that makes me fall over the edge, toppling down the side with a loud cry. Thank God I’m in this tower, away from anyone could possibly hear me.

  Whitaker rips his mouth from between my legs, my hand falls from his hair and my legs twitch as my pussy pulses. I’m too exhausted to move. He rises to his knees, his eyes focused on mine and he strokes himself, harder and faster.

  He groans, his head dipping as spurts of his release cover my chest. I watch in horrored fascination as ribbon after ribbon of liquid falls onto my skin. We don’t move once he’s finished. Both of our breaths too labored to even speak.

  I watch as he lifts his hand, placing it in the center of my chest, where his cum is dripping all over me. He moves it, rubbing my breast with it. His eyes following the path.

  “All woman, Stassia. You are all woman no matter the size of your perfect tits,” he mutters.

  WHITAKER

  Once I’ve covered every inch of Stassia’s tits with my release, I climb off of her pretty white bed. Rearranging her tired legs, I tug her scraps of lace off of her body, throwing them onto the floor.

  “Maid’s come to this side of the house on Wednesdays,” I announce. “They’ll clean, change your bedding, and launder your clothes.”