The Preacher's Daughter, Now The Billionaire's Escort

The following book you are about to read is for 18+ readers only; it contains dark romance, rapey, forced sex, and abusive scenes graphically described, and these scenes are essential for the plot of the story. Kindly note that this book will go on a paid subscription by the 10th chapter for $5 only. My name is Lila Monroe, and I'm happy to welcome you to my small world!

Happy reading!!

A NEW GIRL FOR DONOVAN.

Every night, Donovan had a new chic gracing his bed. They came in different shapes and sizes: Instagram models, the wives of high-profile politicians, and celebrities. The urge to be inside a new woman every night was an urge he could not control; after all, he believed women were too beautiful to be ignored, so he fucked them.

Tonight was not any different; it was Celia’s turn.

Celia, the daughter of an opposing business partner, was on bended knees, sucking his dick.

“No teeth, bitch!” He yelled at her. “I don’t want any teeth on my fucking dick; open wider!”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she purred as she sucked, trying her best to deepthroat him.

“Yes, that’s how your dad would be on his knees gagging and begging for a contract by the time I’m done dealing with him for doing business with Renato Auto’s,” he retorted.

“Yes, Daddy,” she whimpered as she sucked on his dick with relish.

He pulled her by the hair to his face and passionately kissed her, tasting her lips before lowering her down to his dick to continue her slutty ministrations.

“Good girl,” he muttered.

He leaned into his deep black leather armchair, soft groans escaping his lips. He couldn’t control the sweet sensation shooting through his body. She was doing magic with her tongue.

“You’re such a slut,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m your slut. I belong to no one but you,” she moaned in between gulps and gawks.

He pulled her up again, nudging her to sit on his tree trunk thighs; this time, he ripped the petite, netty bra she was wearing and attacked one of her nipples, gathering her into himself as he sucked and violated her areola.

His hands found her warm vagina, teasing and fiddling with her labia. Switching between her boobs.

“Oh daddyyyyy” she moaned as she fed more of her succulent breasts to him, spreading her legs wider for his perusal.

Just then, his cell phone rang.

It was Bella, his secretary. This was the third time she was calling.

“Go get on all fours on that table; big daddy will be joining you shortly.” He ordered, motioning her to scoot over to the giant table. Spanking her ass she walked away.

“What is it, Bella?” He asked softly.

“Sir, I was calling to...” She had barely finished her sentence when he interrupted.

“I don’t have time; what is it?”

“Would you like me to arrange a new girl for tonight?”

Donovan exhaled softly, his fingers stroking his dick. “Depends. Anyone interesting?”

“There’s a popular Instagram model in town,” Bella informed him. “She’s been making waves. Isla Monroe.”

Donovan’s interest piqued. He knew the name. Long legs, thick curves, full lips, and a face he had seen at several closed-door functions. Isla was that girl.

“Bring her to me,” he said. “Tonight.”

“I’m speaking with her manager to confirm her availability; I will try to make arrangements,” Bella said, assuring him.

“Excuse me, correct yourself.”

Bella didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Donovan hung up, turning his attention back to Celia. “Looks like we’ll have company soon.”

Celia tilted her head, staring at him with so much desire. “Should I be jealous?”

He chuckled. Rising up from the armchair. “You? Never. But I do love to switch things up.”

Slap! He spanked her ass, pulling her towards him before going down on her pussy. He slapped her ass again, multiple times. His fingers sprinting in and out of her slippery vagina.

He got up and rammed into her with so much force.

“Dadddyyyyyy!” she screamed.

She tried to escape, but his firm hands held her in place.

He gently pulled out his penis and then drove into her again and repeated the same, over and over.

Yes, women loved to be fucked like that, to be roughed up and ravished by an almost 300-lb muscular man like himself, so he went all the way.

He fucked her like a psychopath, and that was all that mattered.

He pulled her hair backwards and gruesomely slammed into her again.

“Daddddyyyyyy!” She screamed, “Please, Daddy... please,” her voice pleading; her vagina was being ripped apart, and there was no break, no breath-catching relief in sight, just rough, hard fucking all the way.

“Shut the fuck up!” He barked back, pushing her forward and flipping her like a ragdoll on her back, penetrating her again.

“You are so big, Daddy!” she cried.

“Take it...bitch! Take it, you sweet brown-haired demon!” He yelled, spitting in her mouth, on her face and her breasts, and rubbing his saliva all over her face while he dug deep into her depths.

He violently pulled out of her, attacking her labia with his mouth, rummaging through her wet, slimy vagina with his tongue. Next, his fingers spread her pussy lips apart to show her gaping hole; he spat inside her pussy and then violently slammed into her.

Celia had her toes curled up in the air; she couldn’t take the assault on her vagina anymore and tried to motion him to slow down. He slapped her hands off and grabbed her neck, choking her.

“Take it!” he commanded.

“My pussy is on fire!” She screamed as she struggled to breathe. “Please daddyyyy…my pussy”

She could feel the walls of her vagina protesting and gripping at his fat dick.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!! You damn whore!” He yelled, his body spasming to a climax. He was coming.

He sharply pulled out her, spurting shots after shots of cum on her slightly shaved pubic area.

“Fuck!” he whispered, gazing at the mess he had made of her vagina.

“Thank you for fucking me Daddy.”

Women were the next sweet things to happen to humanity after money and power, he thought to himself as he collapsed into the armchair closest to him.

Woo them, tease them, fill their heads with sweet nonsense, and then, fuck every iota of sense out of their minds.

Whatever had just happened was the tip of the iceberg; the night was still young, far from over. Donovan knew it, and he was sure Celia knew this as well. One round was never, has never, and will never be enough for him.

***

Miranda hated the hospitals, especially St. Rhodes, the one she was in at that time of the night. She hated how the air heavily smelled of antiseptic, a little bitter, with mild hushed tones of artificial fragrances from air fresheners.

The fresh smell of blood and bodily fluid made her weak and nauseous.

The bright lights had her unconsciously straining; they gave her a light headache. The sound of beeping medical equipment made her restless. Her dad’s illness was wearing her out.

“Everything is going to be fine, Dad,” she whispered as she adjusted her sit closer to the bed.

The elderly man lay sleeping beneath a thin white sheet, his face lined with years of prayer and worry. She gently dabbed his pale forehead with a warm, damp cloth.

Her sister, Rebecca, sat quietly in the corner, motionlessly staring at them. She had mild cerebral palsy, something Miranda wished she could wish away.

A sudden knock on the door startled both ladies. The door swung open, revealing the arrival of a nurse, who entered briskly while holding a folder filled with documents.

“Miss Miranda,” the nurse called, politely. “Dr. Richard has asked to see you immediately. There are new test results.”

Miranda could perceive the urgency in the nurses’ tone.

“Of course, I’ll follow behind you,” she said, and then she turned to Rebecca. “I’ll be right back my love.”

She rose from her chair and followed the nurse.

The nurse held it open for her to go in and then closed it behind her.

Dr. Richard was waiting; he had a reassuring smile on his face, yet it made Miranda feel she had not noticed her hands had begun to tremble. He gestured for her to sit.

Miranda slipped into the soft leather chair and tried to steady her trembling hands.

“Miss Miranda, I can see your hands shaking,” he said.

“It’s nothing, Sir,” she replied.

“Calm down,” he politely whispered.

“I am calm.” She said softly. “The nurse mentioned something about new test results.”

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Dr. Richard cleared his throat before speaking, his voice low and hesitant. “Miss Miranda, I regret to inform you that your father’s health is deteriorating.”

Miranda’s heart pounded. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor carefully slid the folder across the desk.

“The new test report shows that the prostate cancer has advanced. We must commence treatment immediately if we are to offer him any hope of recovery.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Treatment? What exactly will he need?”

Dr. Richard adjusted his glasses before continuing. “We are looking at a regime that includes hormone therapy to suppress testosterone production, radiation therapy to target the tumour, and, if necessary, chemotherapy to combat any metastatic cells.” He momentarily paused, as though weighing each word as he studied. “Early intervention is very important.”

A brief silence ensued.

“And how much is all of this going to cost?” She asked, her voice shaking.

Dr. Richard hesitated, looking down at the papers before him. “The total expense is, I’m afraid, extraordinarily high. The initial estimate stands at nearly $120,000.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “We can arrange for payments in installments; however, a deposit of $40,000 is required to initiate treatment.”

“$40,000?” she repeated, shocked to her bones. “Where do I get that sum? I don’t have that sort of money.”

She was unsure of if she wanted to hear the next thing Dr. Richard had to say.