The Brokerage (An Obsessed Alpha Billionaire Romance Book 1, #1)
The Brokerage
An Obsessed Alpha Billionaire Romance Series
(Book 1)
By
Camille Alexander
Copyright © 2020
The Brokerage COPYRIGHT © 2020 Camille Alexander
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Obsessed Alpha Billionaire Series
The Brokerage - Book 1
The Catacombs - Book 2
Introduction
A controlled and highly disciplined billionaire travels the world doing business and living the life most of us only dream of, discovers at auction something that rocks his world and eventually threatens his very stability and the safety of a country.
When a woman worthy of his interest appears on the scene, we discover she is unmatched in sexual experience, but is equal in every other measure. And she does not go quietly into the night. She knows her worth and negotiates it well at every turn.
Will he earn her heart and the freedom to bed her? Can he keep her safe?
The Brokerage is an organization that has for almost two centuries sold the bodies, skills, and services – sexual, and otherwise – into consensual arrangements with wealthy patrons accustomed to the very best. See for yourself what this one brings...
Table of Contents
Introduction
Table of 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 1
It was the best place to find an assortment of women and occasionally a man who was looking for... Unique employment. Sometimes they became a sugar-baby to a wealthy exec, sometimes a hooker, paid for each transaction, or a valet or butler with a very special specialized set of skills. Occasionally, a virgin was interested in launching their entire future self into this defined world. Other times, they were common corporate assistants, or estate managers looking for a different set of expectation; ones more clearly defined.
The one thing they all had in common was the extensive research into their backgrounds to establish their pedigree and qualifications for the category they had enrolled themselves in. They were put through extensive and extremely rigorous, almost harsh, checks for consent as well. There was no one here remotely close to an indentured servant or from a slave trade unless that was their kink. Never, ever, anyone from a real sex trafficking operation. This exchange was based on an honor system, and the patrons would not tolerate even the merest hint of scandal.
Every time The Brokerage was open, which was only once per quarter, the dress code was unforgiving. White tie. Never anything less, and the house always provided service at a level that matched the dress code. Every suite had a butler unless there were two patrons sharing a suite, then they each received their own butler. The suites were spacious. Sixteen in total. Elegantly appointed, typically redesigned to match to each patron’s style prior to the auction – even if there was a last-minute cancellation, the room was perfectly matched to the guest. The Brokerage events had a waitlist, so no doubt décor items for each patron were obtained, then warehoused to be at the ready.
The suites were set into two tiers, facing a gilded stage. They were similar to box seats at the theatre but were wholly enclosed with one-way glass, save the side opposite the stage, that lead to the exiting hallway.
A single, centered spotlight shone down onto each person being auctioned as they were presented on the stage. None of them ever saw their patron until after they were purchased. Bidding always started at €500,000 per year and went up based on the intended length of service. Contracts were explicitly stated when the person was introduced and usually ranged from six months to two years.
I liked the efficiency of The Brokerage, because they did the legwork for me, and, the girls I had acquired seemed grateful. My only purchases to date had been for professional aides. Never anything physical. I had considered it a couple of times, but I didn't want the headache of an emotional attachment. I don't have time for that in my life.
The first individual tonight was a surprise. She was easily 50, and almost twice the age of any other person I had ever seen offered. “Blue” was beautiful, yes, but there was something else about her. She was majestic, also. Her CV was exhaustive. She had managed entire estates, large numbers of staff, and had also eagerly joined as a third during erotic encounters. Almost no limit to her skillset as a dominatrix, a house manager, an assistant, and a voluntary whore. Blue would even service houseguests at parties. She had been with The Brokerage the longest, and she was the most expensive in their stable, with her starting rate beginning at $2 million per year. I didn't bid but I was awestruck, particularly when the bidding capped at €14 million for each of the two years she offered.
I whistled low, impressed.
The fourth was a housekeeper and a sissy girl. A transgender, male to female, drop-dead gorgeous French maid. She went to a Shah, no doubt, as they often did, for €1,800,000.
By the 11th woman, I was bored, ready to leave, when the last offer of the evening was finally announced.
Out walked a very young, very nubile woman who could not have been more than 18 or 19. My dick twitched, surprising me. I had never been interested in a virgin before, but this one knew four languages, had studied in six different countries during high school, had finished a degree at MIT before she was 18, and had served two U.S. presidents, one in office and the other on the campaign trail. Obviously, smart. She was wearing a sheer black gown, cinched at the neck and wrists, which fell delicately over pert breasts, shapely hips, a full ass, and runner’s legs. I took a sharp intake of breath and wondered why she was there. Then the announcer said she was royalty. Sixteen generations of a royal line preceded her, and she was a direct descendent, eligible as third in line, for the throne in her country. I gasped; very glad I had stayed.
I looked at her dark hair and almond skin and wondered if she was Middle Eastern or European. My mind raced as I scanned my memory; I knew all the heads of state and most dignitaries in every major country. I knew all their children, if not in person, then by name. This one did not ring a bell.
She stepped forward, a certified virgin, completely comfortable in her nudity; completely comfortable showing us her body. She raised her arms and turned, cutting her eyes to the side as a small grin lifted her lips, just at each corner. She knew that somewhere, behind these windows, was someone who would introduce her to her womanhood
.
It immediately pissed me the fuck off.
I didn't want anyone looking at her. I didn't want anyone touching her.
I hit my red buzzer before the bidding was even open, which meant I was tripling the opening bid. I immediately hit it again, twice more, so that I could start the bid at three times the €6 million opening bid. That meant I had started the bidding off at €18 million, hopeful to knock the others out of the running before the race started.
“A-1” as she was called, with arms still raised over her head, twisted her hips ever so slightly and bent her knees as she moved provocatively downward, her fingers snapping to some imaginary music. She moved again, seductively this time, arching her back as she rose.
I growled and hit my buzzer twice more. Bidding had just begun and it was now €20 million. Additional bids came in quickly, rapid-fire, one after the other, faster than they could be announced. It jumped to €22 million, then €24, followed immediately by €25 million. I hit the buzzer again, three more times, €28, then €32 – somebody else was hitting their buzzer rapid-fire, too.
I stood up and paced, hit the button again, and then again. Now it was €35 million. She must've heard the sum because she looked over her shoulder and let her eyes move over the tinted windows. When she stopped, she seemed to be staring right at me. I was pulled from my trace when she threw her head back, laughing, as she ran her hands down over her breasts, then waist, hips, and thighs. All the way down to her knees, causing her ass to jut out toward me. She threw her dark hair back in a wild flip and rose, spinning around and touching her hard nipples.
She's fucking mine! I growled to myself.
I have never made the call. Never once have I forced the auctioneer’s hand, but I had to reach for the golden phone this time.
I knew that when you use the golden phone, you are immediately increasing the bid by ten times the current value. It effectively stops the bidding process, even if someone can match the new price.
I said one word: mine and hung up. The stage went black.
Since the bidding continued as I rang, that call cost me €430 million.
I broke out in a sweat, knowing she was worth every penny. I couldn’t help but think about how my schedule next year would need to be curtailed until I made up the difference.
I walked out of the suite, the tinted glass at my back. My butler handed me the token that would open my personal delivery room.
I strode down the hall, angry at my inability to regain my usual level of control. Taylor, the head of my security, escorted me until we reached one of the private delivery rooms where I was to wait. He ushered me in and closed the door behind me.
I paced like a wild animal who had been tempted with its first meal in years then denied it at the last minute, the scent lingering, keeping my hunger active.
After a minute I settled. I moved over to the bar and poured myself two fingers of The Macallan M. Then I went to the singular chair in the room, which faced the door, and sat down.
Chapter 2
She walked in, robe discarded, as evidenced by her bare neck and wrists. She was wearing a black, floor-length, designer, mink coat and matching Louboutin’s. After the door closed, she stopped, unsure of herself. She looked towards me, waiting, her hands clasped the coat’s collar, holding it closed at her chest.
Goddamn, she was beautiful.
My face was hidden by shadows, a deliberate design that allowed a patron privacy until they were ready to reveal themselves. She saw me sitting, facing her; saw that I was wearing a white bowtie and shawl-collared tuxedo. I was sitting relaxed, now, holding a whiskey in a Baccarat tumbler that rested on the arm of my chair. My knees were open, comfortably.
My free hand moved from the armrest of the seat and pointed to the floor between my legs, silently.
Quietly, she moved forward, stopped about three feet from me, trying to hide that she looked for my eyes, which I know she couldn’t find. Then, she silently dropped her coat.
I took a quick intake of breath. She's fucking naked. If she wasn't certified, I'd wonder how many times she’d done this for other men, but the fact that she was naked told me she was doing this very deliberately and was playing to win, from the word jump.
She stepped forward and kneeled between my legs. I could feel the heat of her body. I felt myself grow hard as she knelt there, sweetly, almost demure. She sat back on her feet, lowered her head, and placed her hands, folded, on her lap.
Her breasts were firm and ready to be plucked. They had never been touched by a man. The thought had me reeling. Her nipples were hard; she was turned on.
I asked her if she consented to be here.
“Yes sir,” she said without lifting her eyes.
“Do you have any idea how much you cost me?”
She didn't say a word, but the side of her mouth moved upward in a small grin and I knew she knew.
“No one is to ever see you naked, except me. Do you understand?” I snarled at her.
“Yes sir,” she says.
“Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”
She grinned again, without looking up, this time more fully.
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Get your fucking coat on then.”
She scrambled backward, quickly, reached for the dropped coat, then slid it on.
But she did not get up off her knees. Keeping her eyes down, she raised herself to an upright kneel – now able to reach me she placed both hands on the tops of my thighs. The coat fell open again and her breasts peeked out, caressed by the outline of the fur where it lay open. She looked me in the eye this time. She was close enough to see my erection. Close enough, that I could smell her expensive perfume.
She held my eyes for a minute and I downed my drink, not breaking eye contact. I can't breathe!
“You are mine,” I assert, under my breath, clearly affected by her.
As if that was her cue, she stood up, moving closer still, and held the coat open a few inches so I could eye her sculpted mons, and then closed the coat, stepping back to await further instructions.
I growled again, knowing she heard me, shocked by my continued inability to refrain.
I stood up and stepped forward, lifted her from the ground and threw her over my shoulder. She yelped excitedly, and I walked us out of the room.
Chapter 3
I looked around the room. It was gorgeous, but I was accustomed to gorgeous. It was decidedly masculine which I was definitely not accustomed to.
I walked over to the bookcase and admired the bindings of his vintage books, likely first editions. I moved on, my hand trailing along the surface of the shelf. I headed over to the windows and looked out. This boat was opulent; grand at every touchpoint. Easily 300 feet. We arrived via his helicopter and I had spotted four jet skis and a hot tub, big enough for a dozen people, on the stern side; we’d also walked down at least four stories to get here, to the water level. No doubt there were 30 crew members aboard, not counting security.
Father's ship was bigger, but he didn't take it out much. I liked this one. It wasn't made to party on, like the ones the boys in school played with all the time. It was a touring vessel, made for a man that was accustomed to excess in a very refined and controlled way.
I liked what I sensed about him, but I shrugged. We'll see, I thought to myself.
Consent was a cornerstone of The Brokerage, one that drove the nature and type of service rendered. Consent was not only an aspect of the auction – it extended into the entire length of the arrangement, as well. I knew that if he didn't honor my rules, it could cost him his livelihood, many of his international relations, and his entire reputation. The Brokerage took the reputations of their clients as seriously as they did those of their patrons. I had done my research. Push me, and all he’d get was a hellcat. I was authorized to take any action or means necessary to secure my safety and comfort if my consent were ever violated, as were each of the other individuals purchased.
I turned to him; his silent figure having watched me survey the space.
“Where are my rooms?” I asked, as he poured himself another drink.
He looked over his shoulder at me, “Wherever I say they are.”
“Oh? Is that the relationship you want?” I queried him.
He half-turned and looked at me. I smiled, ready for the challenge.
“What are you offering?” He asked, curious.
I shrugged and looked away. “I haven't decided what I'm offering.”
He turned fully towards me then, letting his eyes follow me as I walked towards the windows, and away from him. He crossed the room, coming up behind me, and reached over my shoulder to hand me his glass.
“Drink,” he said, standing behind me. The air crackled with intensity between us.
I took the glass, the aroma assaulting my nose, making my eyebrows lift. My eyes watered as I lifted the glass, taking in the pungent smell, tipping some into my mouth. I sputtered at contact, the brown liquid searing my tongue as I coughed, unable to handle the strength of the liquid. I managed a tight, “Thank you,” before placing the tumbler back into his hand.
Damn him, I thought. Did he expect me to be scared of a little bit of alcohol?
He reached for me then, still positioned behind me, and pulled my coat back at the neckline until it was open enough for him to place his lips at the nape of my neck. The kiss fell just below my hairline, beneath the hair he had lifted with one hand. He looked over my shoulder towards the windows at the tinted glass that reflected my image back to us both.
He pulled the coat down further, effectively pinning my elbows, and glanced again at the glass, down to the reflection of my breasts. He leaned in, his lips grazing my exposed skin, his breath causing me to shiver. He placed a featherlight kiss on my shoulder; I liked the way it felt.