Rao unveiled, p.1
Rao Unveiled, page 1
Rao
Unveiled
Sarah Hall
Copyright © 2016 Sarah Hall, Alberto Mura
www.westcoastauthors.com
West Coast Authors Publishing Company supports copyright. Rao Unveiled are trademarks or registered trademarks owned by or licensed by West Coast Authors Publishing Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored or transmitted by any means, or in any form, without the prior written consent of West Coast Authors Publishing Company, except where permitted by law.
ISBN-13:
978-1542308328
ISBN-10:
1542308321
This one is for Kaitlyn. For our affection of truly entertaining, sexy and stimulating quandaries.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Alberto, for always encouraging me and then dealing with me throughout the process. Thank you to the readers who get lost in Rao’s story and enjoy both the thrill of the chase and the excitement building up to the ultimate climax as much as I do. And thank you to E L James for making lurid, sexual fantasies more mainstream.
chapter one
Rao stood on the precipice of his hotel’s rooftop parapet. His toes inched out into the yawning void as the city of Dubai stretched in front of him in its entire splendor. Arms spread out, he welcomed the rough, desert wind scratching against the stubble on his face. He stood as a martyr would. Many would have been too fearful to stand on the edge of the building for the fear of falling. But not Rao. Years, and years of being brought up to look at life as a danger to be faced, he had built a coat of tolerance towards fear.
He looked below at the city. The cars were like ants moving in an organized manner. The people; dust, moving in droves below him. Nothing excited him anymore. A strong gust of wind hit him from the side, making his body sway. If he leaned forward just a fraction of an inch more, his whole body would topple over, and he would fall to his death.
His alone time was interrupted by a slam of a door that came from behind.
“Oi, Rao! When will you stop this nonsense?” Andrew called out.
Rao leaned his body backwards, falling off the parapet. He landed on his feet and faced Andrew. Shame, he was hoping for another ten minutes to be lost in his own world, but Andrew’s presence ruined it.
“What nonsense?” Rao grinned. The tall, dirty blonde Italian flashed a knowing smile towards his lumbering, klutz of a business partner. He ran his fingers like a makeshift comb through the labyrinths of his hair. Its earlier waviness was now almost creased. A few sand particles were lodged within his hair. He would need a shower.
His friend gesticulated at Rao’s rumpled shirt and dusty pants.
“This whole damn business of standing on the edge of a building, looking as though you want to jump off at any time! Do you know the winds here are strong enough to knock you over?”
Rao made a noncommittal sound. He walked towards the door, eager for a brief shower before his meeting. He could not explain to Andrew what it meant to stand at the precipice of his empire, one that he built from scratch. Andrew Charleston was born rich, the sole heir of the Charleston family’s fortune.
Rao DeValle however, was born into a middle class family from Milan, whose parents had average jobs. It took a combination of luck, chutzpah and intelligence from Rao’s side to rub shoulders with the most prominent people in business. That was fifteen years ago, when he was just a young, freckled lad from Italy going to New York at the age of seventeen. He never went to university. All he had was sheer determination, his mother’s stubbornness and his father’s patience. But at the age of twenty seven, the first DeValle Hotel was built in New York. It put him, a young adult from nowhere, amongst the elites of the city. From there, he established the DeValle Hotels groups, and had not stopped since. DeValle Hotels were subsequently built in Greece, Morocco, Azerbaijan, Switzerland and now Dubai.
Here he was, now five years later, one of the richest men in the world, only at the tender age of thirty two.
Andrew continued talking about how this dangerous behavior had to stop. Rao had already tuned him out. Standing on the edge of his newest hotel had given him some perspective. It made it clear as to what he wanted from life – more hotels, more money, vast richness that could not be fathomed by the layperson of the world. Andrew could not possibly understand that.
“Plus, the rest of the members are already here, and they are waiting for you,” Andrew panted, struggling to keep up with Rao’s magnificent strides.
“The meeting isn’t until eleven,” Rao said. “Besides, it is just a standard gathering between all the board of directors. Why are you nervous?”
He did not need a watch. He could easily estimate the time by looking at the sun in the sky. Besides, being the biggest shareholder in the DeValle group meant that the others are there to dance to his rhythm, not he theirs.
“But, but…, there has been a little hiccough over the hotel deal in Pakistan. The politicians aren’t willing to sign off the land required for its construction,” Andrew said meekly. His hands were clasped together, as though for protection.
Rao did not stop in his stride. He continued walking towards the office. Idiots, he thought. He couldn’t rely on his board of directors to pull the strings of their influences around the world. If he wanted to take power, he had to be the king, the strategist, the general, the soldier of this army. Such was the price to pay when he was young, and his members were all old, pruned members of society with little or no energies left in the empty shell of their bodies. Al they had were money; money to give Rao so he could multiply it and return it to them ten-fold. Fuckers.
Reaching the penthouse of his hotel, he told Andrew to wait in the meeting room with the rest of the members. He slammed the door behind him and began thinking. The DeValle Hotel in Pakistan was to be his finest work. Most of the hotels would look like the standard architectural model, a straight rectangular cuboid moving out from the ground and reaching for the sky – but not the DeValle Karachi. Its design was to be inspired by the Taj Mahal. He was to make it his finest piece of work. No politicians would get in his way. After all, it did take a little bribe, a little nudge and push in the right direction to get what he wanted. This was just another pebble of a problem on his path.
He went into the opulent bathroom, layered with the finest pieces of white and sky blue marble. The bathtub glimmered from the rays of the sun that came in through the windows. It could fit at least four people in there. He could attest to that, once having three gorgeous women in there with him. Grinning at the memory, he removed his clothes. A full length mirror was there to reflect his every move. The white shirt, damp with sweat, fell to the floor like a purposeful leaf, followed by his grey slacks.
There was no time to indulge in a much needed bath. A shower would have to do. He ran the warm water over his body. In no time, the dust and sand began effacing off his surface, running into the drainpipe, never to be seen ever again. He soaped his muscular arms and chest, stopping just to examine that inner surge of his abdomen where his six packs lied prominent. The soap was then brought to his trimmed pubes, and settled at the base of his cock.
Already, he was semi hard, thinking about the time he had had a foursome in his bathtub. It was one of those beautiful memories. Three supermodels, one Czech, the other Sudanese, and the last Venezuelan. His cock twitched regaling the time the Sudanese licked his balls while his cock rammed into the Venezuelan. The Czech beauty was lying on his face, pressing his tongue deeper into her pussy. Never had he felt much elation. He came six times that night – twice in each women.
“You are the world’s greatest lover!” the Venezuelan had said before she left. She even gave him her personal number, so that they could keep in touch.
But Rao never called. He was that way with women. To him, the women he slept with were mere checklists. Once it was done, it was ticked off, and never looked at ever again. Still, it served to be a good memory. He ran his hand along the soaped, veiny cock, wanting to have an early release. How great it would have been to have a beautiful woman kneeling in front of him, his cock lavishly serviced by her succulent lips!
He stepped out of the shower. There was a knock on his bathroom door.
“Mr. DeValle,” a female voice called out.
“What is it, Camilla?” he asked. His personal assistant had followed him from New York to check on the operations of DeValle Dubai. She was indispensable to him having only worked with him for only two years.
“Which suit would you need a suit for this meeting? Your dresser did not specify.”
“Just the Armani one,” he said. He had seventeen Armani suits flown from New York into Dubai for his meetings and special occasions, but Camilla would know which to choose. What was the point of being a personal assistant if she did not know his personal tastes?
“Will do,” she said in a cool voice. Her high heels echoed on the floor as she walked away from the bathroom.
Rao dried himself and came out of the bathroom. His muscles shone with a light sheen from the remainder of water on his body. Camilla was standing in the short blue dress, her hair tied up in a tight bun with a single ivory chopstick pushed through to maintain the elaborate twist. She picked out his favorite Armani suit, one that came in an emerald green overcoat and greyish black pants. The shirt was almost always white, his favorite color.
Without so much as a glimpse to him, she ran a finger on the iPad and spoke.
“Meeting with the board of directors today, and y
Rao nodded. “Is the private jet ready?” He need not ask. His private jet was always there at his beck and call, to fly him to any parts of the world at the smallest of request. But he loved asking it. It was a testament to how far he had come in life.
“Yes, Mr. Devalle. The flight tomorrow is arranged to be at two in the afternoon.”
Rao shed off his towel and stood naked in front of Camilla. Though Camilla’s focus was still on the screen of her device, he knew that she would just inch her vision by a fraction of a centimeter to see his buck nakedness. He was right, for he saw her throat move in the smallest of gulps. It wasn’t that he was sexually interested in his personal assistant. She was beautiful, but her eyes were a little beady, and her teeth had the slightest misalignment and her cheekbones were too high. When looked at as a whole, Camilla was beautiful, but she was not, as Rao often looked for in a woman, exquisite.
Still, he walked towards the bed where his suit was laid out for him and began dressing. Through the reflection of the lucid marble on the wall, he could see Camilla checking his bubble butt out. He grinned inwardly and continued to put on his clothes.
A symbol of reverence by many, he was not stranger to the allure of his physical stature. All the women, and even men, swoon when he walked past them. The suits he wore were often tailor made to accentuate his indefatigable, dominating physique. The fabric hugged his biceps and pressed onto his chests, clinging on for life like his skin were the support they needed.
“I don’t want to be disturbed tonight, Camilla. If there are any calls for appointments to be made, reschedule them for when I return to New York,” Rao said.
“What about the party tonight?” Camilla asked, slightly confused. “Saavia Terestsky’s invitation?”
Rao cursed inwardly. He had forgotten about the masquerade party altogether! It was hosted by Saavia Teretsky, the daughter of a Russian billionaire. It coincided with his visit to Dubai. At first, he thought that a masquerade party was silly, but considering his need now to expend his social circles to potentially solve the Karachi problem, it would do him some good to meet with his peers, those of his age, and have a little fun. He had never been to one of these elegant affairs, but knew of its reputation. Saavia’s parties were nothing short of utter decadence; with people acting out their carnal desires without the fear of judgment. It was amazing that wearing even a simple mask could unleash the beast from within!
“Arrange for Reynold to fetch me at ten tonight. And I am going to need a mask,” he said.
“Already arranged for, Mr. DeValle,” Camilla smiled. She went to a table and fished out a mask from the yellow box he hadn’t noticed earlier. In her hand was an ornate piece of white mask, hiding all but the slits of his eyes perfectly. “I managed to get a person who could fashion this out according to the contours of your face.”
Rao took the masquerade from his personal assistant and tried it on. True to her reassurance, the mask abutted his eyes, nose and cheekbones a little too perfectly like second skin. Parts of his forehead and his lips were left exposed, just the way he liked it. The harsh contrast of its smooth, pearly white sheen of the mask accompanied his mocha, almost rugged cheeks and jaw. The mask kept him partially calm and collected, another part, a passionate monster waiting to be released.
“How in the world did you get an impression of my face?” Rao asked, astonished.
Camilla grinned and fished the mask off his face, and pocketed it into the box. “There is a bust of your face and torso in the DeValle Hotel in New York. I asked the artist to follow that impression, which he did so quite easily.”
Rao smacked his forehead. He had forgotten about the porcelain bust they had sculpted especially for him. Still, it was an impressive feat. He would have to reward Camilla for her persistence. “Thank you, Camilla. You have no idea how impressed I am.”
His personal assistant blushed and looked away. It was no secret that she harbored almost an obsession for him, but knew that she would never stand a chance to be called his lover. She savored these small victories, his compliments being the only reason she got out of bed every day.
Without another word, Rao strode out of his room and headed for the meeting with his board of directors. Unlike Andrew who struggled to keep up with his pace, Camilla was accustomed to Rao’s long strides. She could easily match his speed while wearing her five inch Manolo Blahnik stilettos. As they walked, her earlier pleasure was quickly effaced, and her demeanor transformed to be more businesslike. It was time to catch her boss up with the minutes of the previous meetings.
“Ms. Sandra wanted to know the completion of the DeValle Karachi. Mr. Rodriguez is quite adamant that the authorities will not fork over the grant to the land of the construction site. Mr. Sevier and Mr. Tan have informed us of the possible connections to politicians they have in Pakistan who may help, but have not reported on any progress since. And Miss Xavier has some problems with the design. She says it is too ostentatious.”
Rao grunted an assent to acknowledge that he had heard Camilla’s report. He hated his board of directors, who often wanted results without pulling their weight equally. Still, he could not complain. They had invested money into his idea. Without them, the DeValle Hotels would not be where it was. “Soon…,” he thought to himself, “… when the time comes, I will cut them all off. Bunch of useless assholes!”
chapter two
They made a sharp turn at the end of the lane, leading towards a translucent pearly green glass door. It was manned by two, smartly dressed security guards. Upon seeing Rao’s presence, they straightened their already stiff posture and beeped Rao and Camilla through.
Fifteen board of directors sat along a round mahogany table. Most who were in serious discussions amongst each other fell silent when Rao entered.
“Ladies, gentlemen, sorry for the delay,” Rao said as he took to the chair nearest to the glass wall overlooking the city. Though the sun outside shone brilliantly, the atmosphere in the room was cool, even subdued. Some of the members shifted on their seats, eager to get the meeting started. Camilla took to the corner of the room and leaned against the wall. She had vision of almost everyone in the room.
“Congratulations on the opening of DeValle Dubai, Rao,” Sandra crooned. She clicked her fingers and the server poured them all a glass of champagne. “Let us first toast to your latest endeavors.”
Rao nodded. Everybody stood up and toasted to Rao’s success in opening the most luxurious hotel thus far. Already in its first month of operation, it had opened to rave reviews. There was even a gossip that the Royal Family of Saudi Arabia had booked one of the most opulent penthouses for two months at a time.
He sipped his champagne and sat down. Leaning against the chair, he kept his hands clasped, elbows resting on the armrest. He looked at each and every board member, wondering if the day would come that he would no longer need them to broaden his empire.
“Now, about the DeValle Hotel in Karachi,” Sandra spoke up again. Though she was twice his age, almost sixty five, she was still the picture of health. Sharp as a tack and ruthless and conniving as a lynx, she had once served as a mentor to Rao. The other board members looked at her as a figure to keep Rao in check. “We heard rumors that the politicians will not fish over the grant to the land. This is rather unpleasant to hear.”
Now that Sandra had gotten the balls rolling, the other board members picked up on the momentum to be used to their advantage. This was the time they dared attack Rao on his promises. The war was about to be waged. Rao sat, poised. He tilted his head towards Tan’s direction.
“It is already 2016, DeValle. You promised the DeValle Hotel in Karachi to be built by 2019! By the looks of it, it will not be completed in time.”
“Plus, there are some architectural organizations in India that feel that your wanting this hotel to look a little like Taj Mahal is nothing short of presumptuousness! It is an insult to India’s national heritage!” another board member spoke up.
