Sarah’s Billionaire Doms

Sarah’s Billionaire Doms

Angelique Voisen

If they can solve the puzzle that is Sarah, she may double her pleasure.

Damon and Jared Bentley seem to have it all—wealth, standing, and ownership of an elite BDSM club. But since they lost the woman they loved, none of life’s pleasures have been as sweet. Until they meet Sarah.

Underneath her polite veneer, ink, and scars, Sarah Evans hides her pain and damaged soul. She strives to remain an enigma to the Bentleys for fear her secrets could destroy them. But the brothers know they’ve finally found the sub they’ve been longing for…and they won’t give up until they claim Sarah for their own.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

SARAH’S BILLIONAIRE DOMS

Infamous Series

Copyright © 2016 ANGELIQUE VOISEN

ISBN: 978-1-943576-62-3

All Romance eBooks, LLC Palm Harbor, Florida 34684
www.allromanceebooks.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First All Romance eBooks publication: February 2016

Past

It took one look from a chiseled face in a designer suit to unmake her. It was cliché, but true. Sarah Evans halted playing for a few seconds, her fingertips hovering over the piano keys. She pursed her lips uncertainly. Hoped the elegant stranger would turn his attention elsewhere, but he didn’t. He continued staring at her, gaze burning like a brand on her skin. Sarah shivered for an unexplainable reason, heard the sound of his deep masculine laugh cut across the chattering people at the tables.

He looked out of place in Randy’s bar. Refined, polished, and impeccably dressed in his designer suit. He was so unlike the roughnecks that frequented the place. What was a man like him doing in a place like this?

As a pianist barely scraping by through gigs, Sarah had become used to being unnoticed. She rather liked being a pale ghost in the background, unseen and unremarkable, making music capable of drawing couples to the dance floor. Watching the world come to life behind the screen of her piano, that had been her dream. Something she could be content with, because she could make a living doing what she loved. What else could she ask for?

“Something wrong, sugar?” asked Randy, the bar owner.

Sarah shook her head, continued to play, although goose bumps rose on either side of her arms. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt the weight of the man’s gaze latching onto her figure. He didn’t approach her until the end of her last set. By then, the crowd had thinned. Waitresses yawned, tossing aprons down, and the bartender began cleaning up.

“Good evening, Sarah.”

Startled he knew her name, she looked up, shocked when he tilted her chin, keeping her in place.

“Do I know you?” Sarah’s skin prickled with unease, with unexplainable excitement. The vibe this stranger sent out had been the same kind of energy the Doms at the local BDSM club she frequented exhibited.

“You don’t know me yet, but you will soon. I’m Michael Rivers.” He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Michael released her chin and offered his hand.

A handshake. Simple.
Sarah took his hand, surprised by the strength of his fingers.

“You play quite beautifully. You possess a rare talent, if I might add. Have you had any formal training?”

Sarah shook her head. She had been saving up to apply to the best music school in the city. Sad to say, it took longer than expected, even though she had two jobs. Piano gigs were good and all, but waitressing paid her rent, bills, and food.

If her mother saw her now, Loretta Evans would’ve laughed at her face. Told her she left home for nothing. Nothing with her pride in tact maybe, but pride could easily be eroded away when desperation took its place. Sarah refused to take the fall, though. Hell would freeze over before she became a mirror image of her mother.

“Such a waste.” Michael took her hand off the keys, thumbing each finger. 

She bit her lip when he began squeezing skin and bone. Sarah didn’t know what to say, or why she allowed a complete stranger to touch her. She’d always had a weakness for powerful men, but Michael seemed like a different league altogether. Loretta always told her there were just some men a woman couldn’t say no to. Men she had to be careful with, or risk getting burned. Michael was one of them.

Sarah hadn’t been born naïve. She’d learned early to fend for herself, especially when her father left, and Loretta started bringing back customers to their one-room apartment.

“I need to go.” Sarah stood from her seat, began to pull away, but Michael’s hand closed on her wrist. He tightened his grip and she let out a protesting sound. Thank God she wasn’t alone.

“Sarah, is this guy bothering you?” Randy demanded. He edged closer to them, unfriendly expression on his face.

“I’m afraid I’ve lied to you, Sarah. I have seen you before, down at the club. You’re friends with James and Bobby, yes?”

The alarm bells beginning to ring her head quieted. Sarah let out a sound of relief.

“It’s cool, Randy.”

Randy nodded curtly.

Sarah turned back to Michael. “You know James and Bobby?”

Michael studied her carefully, if a little sharply. “We’re acquainted; or rather, our families know each other. Are they your Doms?”

Sarah let out a laugh. She’d known Bobby and James a few months now, met them after her first master uncollared her. They took her under their wing, helped eased her into new scenes she’d never tried before, but they were more her mentors and occasional playmates if anything else.

Michael’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, fingernails digging into her skin. His handsome features seemed to contort, too, and he looked a lot less charming when anger crept in. If Sarah had been wise—wiser than all her eighteen years combined, she would’ve seen the signs.

“No, they aren’t. I currently don’t have a Dom. Not rushing to look for one either.”

Seemingly satisfied by her answer, Michael released her wrist. “Maybe you haven’t found one the right one. Perhaps all you need is the right guidance. A real Dom to lead you to the right path.” Michael smiled and looked polished and perfect again. “Would you allow me to take you out to dinner sometime?”

Dinner sounded safe, Sarah decided. Michael hadn’t asked about playing at the club, although he made it clear he was interested in that, too. Bobby and James had been in the lifestyle for decades. Sarah usually asked them about potential tops who wanted to play with her before agreeing to a proposal. She might be young, but she wasn’t exactly a newbie. Maybe she could handle this one on her own.

Okay, maybe Michael was older, about Bobby and James’ age. He was also somewhat out of her league, but he seemed decent enough and, more importantly, safe if he ran with the same circles as Bobby and James.

“Dinner would be lovely.”

She squeaked when he gripped her face and brought her to a kiss. When he released her, she was panting, and her heart threatened to explode inside her chest.

Jesus. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time any man ignited such a reaction from her. A little presumptuous of him to kiss her like that, but it was also dangerously exciting. His unpredictability could grow addictive, Sarah realized.

“Shall we then?” Not a suggestion, but a command. Michael offered his arm—quite the gentleman again.

Sarah admired his ability to switch roles, but, as she would soon find out, the best actors are monsters underneath.

Present

Damon Bentley checked his watch after he set a tall glass of beer in front of a customer. His brother and co-club owner, Jared, caught his eye from across the room. Jared shook his head in warning, but Damon had never really been the careful Bentley brother. He didn’t plan his next moves, or bother with a game plan.

Although he didn’t possess his brother’s polished looks or manners, Damon saw what he wanted. Took what he wanted. Period.

Right on cue, Sarah Evans walked into the club’s private lounge. Her tense leather-clad shoulders relaxed at the club’s familiar atmosphere. Her eyes looked less guarded compared to the rare moments Damon spotted her outside the club from the security feed in the parking lot.

A tempting smile settled on her generous lips—an open invitation to any top she wanted to play.

Young and jaded, damaged and mysterious, Sarah cast a pretty picture.

Entry into the Lance, the exclusive BDSM club owned and run by a group of self-made entrepreneurs and billionaires—including the Bentley brothers and two other friends and shareholders—was by invitation only.

Legally, Sarah checked out. She had references from Bobby and James, a couple and long-time patrons of Lance, but something felt off about Sarah the moment Damon and Jared first saw her. Those eyes looked far too haunted for her young body—jaded, wary, and watchful. Sarah reminded Damon of an animal that had been injured before and was reluctant to trust again.

Was Sarah Evans even her real name, or a pseudonym she used? If she had secrets, Damon had every intention of unearthing them over time.

Most of the tops who had done public scenes with her over the past weeks confirmed Damon’s suspicions. Her age made her practically a kid by community standards, but she was no virgin, not a wide-eyed sub new to the scene. Mere observation made it hard to narrow down what kind of play she favored.

The first time she came to the club, she let Bobby and James top her in a public, but for a low-key rigging scene. For her second visit, Sarah went with Mistress Jane, a Domme in Bobby and James’ circle, and took a number of hard implements in an intense scene most new subs wouldn’t do—her stamina impressive. An enigma with a hundred complicated layers Damon and Jared couldn’t wait to peel away.

“What will it be?” Damon asked, feigning indifference as she found a seat on the bar. On the way to him, Damon noted she had already politely refused two offers.

“The usual, please.”

“You got to give me more than that, sweetheart.”

This time, one dark eyebrow rose. Damon, in fact, knew her usual. She ordered the same thing over the past few weeks, or had tops pay for her drink. Damon had to admit Sarah knew how to play her cards. How to look at tops underneath lowered lashes, to appear vulnerable and desirable, and to speak softly, while occasionally biting down on her lower lip. A woman who knew the power of the illusion she cast. Whoever trained her, trained her well, but Damon saw right through the second skin she wore.

“Guinness, please.”
Please.

Damon found himself intrigued by her manners. How at odds it was with her outside appearance—tight skinny jeans, boots, worn leather jacket, piercings, and ink.

Her attention moved elsewhere again, eyeing the other people in the lounge while she drummed her fingers on the counter. Bobby and James usually hovered protectively by Sarah, acting as backup, but tonight, Damon noticed Sarah came alone. Perfect.

“I need to see some ID,” Damon said in a firm voice.

Annoyance flashed across her face, but she kept her voice cool and polite. “I thought this part had been approved through the initial screening process.”

All true, the Lance employed stringent checks before letting anyone become a member, but Damon wanted to see what she would do. Sarah knew his brother Jared, since Bobby and James did the introductions weeks ago, but she didn’t know him. Bentley Industries might be a formidable heavyweight in the business sector, but Damon and Jared valued their privacy. Keeping a low profile from the media ensured they could fully enjoy their dark pleasures.

Would Sarah pick a fight and finally let Damon see some flicker of real emotion she hid so cleverly under her pretty mask?

“If you insist.” She sighed, conceding, and pulled out her wallet from her jeans.

Not looking at her, Damon picked up the driver’s license she placed on the counter. It looked genuine enough, and her birth date did place her at twenty-one. The young woman in the tiny picture looked distant, faraway.

Jesus. Twenty-one
.

Damon hadn’t been this together when he was twenty-one. Didn’t know the first thing about the kind of desires he had fantasized about in the privacy of his bedroom. He had been a mess, would have still been a mess if Jared hadn’t offered him a partnership in his Internet start-up.

Jared had second thoughts about taking a young and obviously damaged sub like Sarah, but Damon hardly cared about their enormous age gap.

“If you insist, Sir,” he corrected. “All subs are supposed to call Doms by their proper titles while inside club walls.”