Taken by the Billionaire in Rio

By Kayden Jones

This is a standalone insta-lust age-gap romance novella with a lot of steam.

I tried to escape his embrace... but he had a better idea.

Paul saves me from robbers and shows me the beauty of Rio de Janeiro, and then he shows me his penthouse and how good it feels to submit to a strong man with salt and pepper hair and a perfect body.
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Paul helps me to bring my brand and then he just... shuts me down. He thinks he can control me, tell me what to do, tell me what to think and I just can't accept that.
***
I escaped his grasp, but why do I still dream about his embrace? And then I learn that he was right all along... the only question is, does he want me back?

For adult eyes only. All characters are over eighteen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kayden Jones
• Release date: Apr 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224217250

Kayden Jones

Kayden had a lot of adventures during her teenage years and a lot of fun with dominant older men. Now she writes about these adventures in her books unless she is busy getting seduced by another older alpha!You are guaranteed to find a lot of dominant older men and submissive young women on the pages of her books, so grab a copy and enjoy![e-mail]

Book preview

Taken by the Billionaire in Rio

Steamy Age Gap Novella

Kayden Jones

Copyright © 2024 Kayden Jones

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter One

Igaze out at the sprawling canvas of Rio de Janeiro, the morning sun casting a golden sheen over the city’s contours. The skyline is a jagged dance of modern architecture and timeless mountains, with the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue presiding over us like a silent guardian. The air is thick with the scent of ocean salt mingling with the sizzle of street vendors cooking up pão de queijo. Around me, the streets burst to life; a symphony of Portuguese swirls through the air — rapid-fire conversations, laughter, the occasional honk from a moto taxi zipping by.

But I can’t lose myself in it, not completely. With a sigh, I extend my selfie stick and clip on my phone. All right, guys, I begin, flashing the camera my practiced smile. Today, I’m literally putting my life on the line for you. A bit dramatic, sure, but it’s what the viewers eat up. I’m heading into one of Rio’s favelas. Remember, hit that like button and subscribe if you want to see whether I make it out. My heart races at the thought of venturing into the favelas, notorious for their danger, but the danger is part of the job. I end the recording and a twinge of regret pinches at me. I wish, just for today, I could be a normal tourist savoring the city without the weight of vlogging.

The problem is that vlogging is the only source of income available for me. I wish my college degree was useful, but apparently not with this economy…

Shaking off the longing, I lower my phone and head toward the favela. As I walk, the picturesque scenery morphs cruelly. The buildings huddle closer, their vibrant paint chipped away to reveal the weary concrete beneath. The streets narrow, and the open smiles of the city’s heart are replaced by guarded glances. Each step carries a heavy dose of reality: this is no place for naivety.

A shiver crawls down my spine as I feel eyes on me — not just watching, but appraising. My fitted tank top and shorts seemed perfect for the Rio heat, but now they only serve to draw unwanted attention to my curves. I quicken my pace, trying to shake the sense of being hunted.

A raucous laugh echoes as two cars, splattered with graffiti that screams of gang allegiance, speed past. Their occupants leer out the windows, catcalling in rough Portuguese that makes my cheeks flame despite not understanding the words. I duck into a quieter side alley, seeking a momentary refuge to catch my breath and perhaps film something less intimidating.

Okay, let’s try this again, I mutter to myself, attaching my phone to the selfie stick. But before I can even frame the shot, a jolt of surprise surges through me as two skeletal figures shove against my body. My grip loosens in shock, and in an instant, my phone and lifeline to the outside world is snatched away.

Hey! I yell, my voice breaking. Give it back! My plea falls on deaf ears as the addicts sneer, tossing words back and forth in a jagged dialect that mocks without translation. I’m left feeling vulnerable, the harsh reality of my situation sinking in like the stink of garbage piled in the corner of the alley.

Por favor, I need that back, I stammer, my Portuguese a butchered mess beneath the panic scrawling its icy fingers up my spine. The addicts just cackle, their laughter a hyena’s call, unintelligible mockery flowing from their lips as they toy with my phone.

Devolvam isso agora! The command slices through the tension, a deep, authoritative voice booming