You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (45 page)

I
can tell you straight off the bat that the next day is hell. I am like a mosquito using the edge of a razor blade as a landing to taxi off. I try to work, but I can’t concentrate since my sex is swollen and throbbing and the rubbing of my hardened nipples against the material of my T-shirt drives me crazy. At six o’clock I dress in a V neck blouse and a skirt—and no knickers. First he is going to explain about my phone number and then I’m going to let him fuck me.

By seven I am a living wreck, but what he sees when he walks in is me sitting on the sofa as cool as a melting ice cube. I quirk an eyebrow and cross my legs. The message is clear. I’m in charge tonight. We play by my rules.

‘Have a seat,’ I tell him.

He stalks over, drags my startled body upright and snaking his palms down to my ass slams my pelvis into him. His erect cock presses into my stomach. I don’t know how I had expected our meeting to go, but my body sings with relief. My eyes gaze longingly at his lips, my arms cry to hook themselves around his neck and my body yearns to rub itself like a cat against his hard length. Only my pride keeps my raving nymphomaniac instinct at bay.

I avert my face.

He sniffs audibly. ‘Pretend all you want, but I can smell your arousal.’ He traces the V of my top down to my cleavage. The desire to press my breast into that broad palm is shocking.

‘Stop it,’ I hiss.

With a wicked smile he cups my breasts with his hands. They are heavy and tight. He squeezes. I can’t help it, I whimper.

‘Don’t you know crossing and uncrossing your legs is considered an invitation?’ he mocks.

‘Don’t you know lesbians play by different rules?’

‘Stop me if you don’t like it,’ he murmurs.

I bring my hand up and catch his in a firm grip.

‘Do you want to know what I think?’

‘No,’ I whisper weakly.

‘I think, my little lesbian, that you’ve picked up a little addiction for cock. For
my
cock. Nothing’s ever been good enough since then, has it?’

I gasp at the arrogance of the man. ‘You’re a patronizing son of a bitch, you know?’ I accuse hotly. ‘You said you’d call and then you didn’t. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘It’s complicated,’ he replies pleasantly, and bringing my hand to his lips starts delicately kissing the knuckles.

It is very distracting, but I am determined. ‘Is complicated code for you changed your mind and didn’t bother to tell me and then you saw me again by accident at the Van Woolf art exhibition and thought, I’m bored, I’ll have another go?’

He stops kissing my hand. His eyes focus on mine. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me you really believe that. I thought about you every fucking day. I always knew one day I’d come back for you.’

‘One day?’

‘I told you it’s complicated.’

‘Define complicated.’

‘Composed of elaborately interconnected parts, complex, difficult to analyze, understand and problematic to explain, et cetera.’

The answer is cheeky and evasive, but the gentle finger under my chin from such a brutally masculine man has the surprising effect of making my throat clog with emotion.

‘What’s found and lost will be found again,’ he says so softly I almost don’t catch it.

It is obvious that he is hiding something and that there is a problem somewhere, but maybe I wasn’t just a one-night stand. Maybe he
does
care some. And I am not just some anonymous fuck.

‘I want to see your naked breasts.’

‘Screw you,’ I say, but my voice is thick.

‘You always played the part of the man, the one in charge, didn’t you? You were in control, wearing the strap-on dildo and
fucking the shit out of them. Well, there’s going to be some changes around here. Guess who’s gonna be fucked into submission and like it?
’

‘You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, Billie. What you want is exactly what all women want.’

‘And what’s that then, Mr. Rose?’ I ask sarcastically.

‘A dominant man with a filthy fucking mouth who will wet your little panties for you, crucify you with his huge cock, and fucking force you to come again and again, until you can barely walk.’ A slow smile lights up his face. ‘Guess what, babe? Tonight’s your lucky night.’

I didn’t want to admit it but I couldn’t stop fantasizing about his dick.
And even the thought of being dominated by him and being made to submit to him makes my pulses race. It isn’t natural to me, but he is right, I want him to completely possess me. To get on top of me and do whatever he desires. I want to be utterly, utterly dominated by him.

I lick my lower lips and with a snarl he throws me on the sofa. Tears my top and bra off me and looks with satisfaction at my breasts. He stands and begins to take his belt off.

‘Take your skirt off,’ he barks.

I obey instantly.

I hear a sharp intake of breath from him when he sees that I am naked underneath. He drops his trousers and his boxers, never taking his eyes off my displayed body. And I am staring wide-eyed at a very large and angry-looking dick. He sheathes himself in rubber, then reaches out and tugs at my nipples. Small sharp tugs that make my back arch.

He tugs much harder. ‘Were you?’

‘Was I what?’ I grunt.

He grabs my knees and spreads my legs open. ‘Were you always the man?’ he growls, and pushes his thick meat into me with punishing force.

My head rears back against the cushion. ‘Yes, fuck you. I was the man.’

’That’s all over with,’ he snarls and pulling out of me, slams back in. ‘You take what I give you.’

I clench my teeth. My thighs are shivering with need.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head farther back so my body is curved like a bow. ‘You do not have any say in or authority over what happens when we are fucking, do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now beg me.’

‘Please fuck me.’

‘That’s not begging. That’s telling.’

‘Please, please, Jaron, fuck me.’

‘That’s just asking politely. Beg, Billie. Beg.’

Fuck him. ‘Jaron, if you don’t fucking fuck me now I am going to go crazy and hurt someone, probably you.’

He laughs, a deep growling sound, and fucks me with such brutal hunger that the sofa rocks like crazy and I feel myself being jerked about like a rag doll. The sensation is one of total loss of control. Total submission. Total possession. There is no equality. Not even the pretence of such a thing. No woman wearing a strap-on can fuck this hard. He is the man and I am the woman. It even works if he is the bastard using my body for his pleasure. I clench my muscles tight around him and hang on for a mega release. When it comes it is bigger than mega: it fucking explodes inside me.  Shuddering into my muscles and shooting into my veins like a shaken champagne bottle.

‘Scream for me, bitch,’ he orders.

And I do. I howl my lungs out. And as I do I feel him reach his climax. He strains against me and pushes hard into me. For a while we are both silent and still. I hear the sound of the cat next door mewing on the balcony.

He pulls out of me, takes off the rubber, and turns back toward me. He drops to his knees in front of me and spreads my legs open. He strokes his hand upwards and opens my pussy wide and pulls back to look at it. I feel a bit embarrassed because it is still fluttering and clenching and dripping with the aftershocks of my tsunami of an orgasm.

‘I’ve missed this little cunt,’ he says.

I stare at him.

‘So plump and juicy.’

He plunges his tongue into it and the walls of my pussy clench involuntarily. My hands scrape through his silky hair as I pull him in and grind myself against his mouth. My hips begin to make frenzied jerking movements. I know what my body wants. That thing that only he seems to know how to do—when he traps my clit in the hot wet cave of his mouth and does not stop sucking until I find my release.

I find it in minutes.  

Afterwards he sits on the couch and pulls me onto him so I am half lying on top of him.

‘Want to go out on a date with me?’ he asks softly.

‘And be provincial like everyone else?’

He shrugs. ‘What’s the alternative?’

I think about it. Ever since he walked into my life nothing has been the same. I am doing all the things I thought I would despise and lovin’ it.

‘What about Ebony?’

‘What about her?’

I pause. ‘So you two have, like, an open relationship?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And she’s not jealous?’

He bends his head forward to look at me. ‘She’s not your responsibility, Billie. She’s mine.’

Whoa! That last sentence hurt! Like a punch in the gut. My first instinct is to spring away from his body. As if he feels it, he holds me tight against his body. ‘Ask me whether I love her.’

I swallow hard and feel glad that he cannot see my face. ‘Do you love her?’

‘No,’ he says very emphatically.

‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘OK, I’ll go out with you.’

He brightens endearingly. ‘Where would you like to go? The opera? To the theater?’

‘Why on earth would you imagine I’d want to go and see a bunch of people wailing in a language I don’t understand?’

He chuckles. ‘We can go to an English production if you prefer.’

‘Are you serious? Opera in English kills cats.’

I can’t see him but I know he is smiling. ‘That’s what I love about you, Billie. You say it like it is. So refreshing.’

‘It’s just a matter of taste. Lana likes the opera.’

‘Lana Barrington?’

I nod.

‘I met her at the art exhibition, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘She’s a good friend of yours?’

‘My best friend,’ I correct.

How strange, but his body tenses. ‘Hmmm…’

I twist around to look at him, but his face gives nothing away. ‘We grew up together. I guess we are more like sisters.’

His body relaxes again. ‘She’s the reason you have this flat?’

‘Yup. I used to live on a council estate and her husband didn’t want her wandering around one whenever she came to visit me. So he bought this for me. For a billionaire he’s a cool guy.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘How did she meet him?’

I’m not about to tell him the story of how Blake paid to acquire Lana. ‘It’s a long story and you’ll be bored.’

‘No I won’t.’

I look at him curiously. ‘Why are you so interested in Lana?’

‘I’m interested in everything about you,’ he says, and for some reason that I refuse to investigate further, his claim rings hollow. He runs his hand along my body and palms my breast. I turn around to lie with my forearms on his chest.

‘So what am I to you then?’ I ask.

‘What do you want to be?’

I shrug lightly. ‘I can’t be your girlfriend, because you already have one. So what else is left? I can be your fuck buddy or I can be your mistress.’

His voice is very soft. ‘Do you want to be my girlfriend?’

‘Not really,’ I say immediately and a shade too brightly. ‘I think I’d kinda like to be your mistress. You’ll have to take me to insanely expensive restaurants and buy me diamonds.’

His eyes flash. ‘Do you like diamonds? Somehow I never thought of you as a diamond girl.’

‘I was kidding. I’ve never owned a diamond. Lana gave me an obscenely large sapphire pendant for my birthday. But it’s so valuable I’ve had to put it in her safe.’

‘A sapphire to go with your eyes.’

‘That’s what Lana said,’ I say with a smile and, because he is looking at me strangely, I start babbling. ‘Lana says diamonds are actually not precious at all. That diamonds are as plentiful as amethysts and should be priced the same. They are only expensive because their supply is so tightly controlled.’ I snap my mouth shut. I’ve never been a babbling brook before.

‘Clever Lana. She’s absolutely right. It is a strange paradox of this world that all the things that are truly rare are artificially kept at low prices and the things that are not are inflated to insane prices. The only diamonds that are rare are the colored diamonds and the larger sizes. All the others have no more worth than semi-precious stones.’

Taking my forearms he lifts me up and suddenly I am on my back lying where his legs had been.

‘Wow! You’re fast,’ I say laughing.

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby,’ he says, and never a truer word was spoken.

‘D
ress sexy,’ he tells me on the phone.

So I wear the white hot pants that I bought in Thailand, black boots and a red top. When I open the door he whistles, his eyes roving my body. ‘You totally nailed sexy,’ he says.

‘Is he dead yet?’

He chuckles. ‘Nearly. He will be by tonight.’

I giggle. ‘Good, I like stiff things.’

He takes my hand and puts it on his crotch. He is already as hard as a board.

‘He’ll do,’ I approve.

‘He’d better.’

He touches my hair. ‘What color is this?’

‘Teal.’

‘Teal,’ he says softly. ‘You’re the only girl I know who could carry off teal.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘You’re very, very unique, Billie.’

I warm up nicely with the compliment. ‘You’re pretty unique yourself.’

He laughs. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘What?’

‘To throw in that little compliment?’

‘Not at all. I’m a very good liar.’ I grin at him.

He grins back. There is something soft in his eyes. It is the way a parent might look at their child. Indulgently. With pride. It confuses me.

‘Shall we go?’ I say, shrugging into a light coat.

He takes me to a fabulously extravagant subterranean cabaret club in Aldwych, called Voltaire.  A set of neon lights points downwards. We go down gleaming aqua steps illuminated by thread lighting embedded in every step.

‘Voltaire,’ he says, ‘used to be a public toilet.’

‘Great. You’re taking me to a public toilet for our first date. Very unconventional.’

An enormous bouncer shakes Jaron’s hand and opens a bright blue door.

Public toilet it may have once been, but it is now lavish, decadent, and a lot risqué. There is not a bright light, shiny surface, tourist, or cashmere sweater in sight. Instead there are gorgeous fallen angels (waitresses and bar staff with wings) buzzing about serving sophisticated, quirky people.

It made for an edgy, unusual atmosphere. 

‘Well done. It is actually the perfect location for an illicit affair,’ I say with a smile.

He smiles back, a heart-melting smile. ‘It always reminds me of scenes from Berlin movie stills of underground clubs from the thirties.’

‘I love it,’ I say and squeeze his hand.

‘I’ve booked a table but let’s have a drink at the bar first.’

Jaron orders a champagne cocktail and I get myself a fluid called
The Control Word Is Voltaire.
It is unquestionably potent and it makes me buzz almost immediately. I twist on my kiss me/lick me bar stool and, facing Jaron, cross my legs. His eyes drop to my thighs.

‘So,’ I say, and pause until he brings his eyes back to mine. ‘What’s Ebony up to tonight?’

‘No idea,’ he says with a careless shrug.

‘Don’t you…um…care about her at all?’

He gazes at me, and suddenly our surroundings drop away, and it feels as if his eyes, which look violet in the red lights of the bar, are boring into me with uncanny perceptiveness. As if he is seeing right into my soul. It does not last long, but they are an incredibly and startlingly disconcerting few seconds. However, his voice when he speaks is amused and light. ‘What makes you say that?’

My whole body trembles, but I keep it cool. ‘I was just curious about your…odd relationship.’

‘Odd?’

I look at the smoothly tanned skin at the opening of his shirt collar. ‘If I were her I would be jealous.’

‘Are you jealous?’

‘Obviously not. I’m not your girlfriend and we’re just having fun.’

‘Hmmm.’

I take another large sip of my drink. ‘This is delicious, by the way.’

A spotlight comes on and falls upon a black drag queen with a truly impressive amount of make-up, a glittery evening dress, and long, trailing earrings that go past her shoulders. Oozing cool, she glides from the sliding door that she has come out from and goes to a small platform that serves as a stage.

She introduces herself as Nina Simone.

Sitting at a piano she tells us her first song will be:
I Put a Spell on You
.

Simone turns out to be eye-bleedingly good. Her voice is so strong and clear it makes the hair on my arms stand up. Her Nina Simone is exquisite. When the song is over she stops, wisecracks, and then smoothly eases herself into the song that electrifies the entire room and defines it as hers. Sinnerman!

So I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.

I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.

Ran to the devil, he was waitin’.

She gets everyone going. I turn at the end of her performance to look at Jaron and he is staring at me. His eyes are intense and almost quizzical, as if there is something about me he cannot understand.

‘What?’ I ask.

But he doesn’t tell me what is truly on his mind. ‘Wait till you see the toilets,’ he says lightly instead.

‘Why?’

‘The doors are transparent until you lock them and then they mist up.’

‘Sexy! Shall we try one together?’

‘Nope.’

‘Have you gone conventional on me then?’ I tease.

‘A: I like this joint and I want to be able to come back and B: I have other plans for you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

It is an amazing night. I eat chicken—well, I hope it is—I drink loads of Voltaires and thoroughly enjoy Jaron’s company. He is charming and suave and attentive. By the time we leave Jaron is stone cold sober and while I am not exactly drunk, I am what you could call merry and what most people would class as very, very horny. The taxi turns into Upper Belgrave Street and Jaron runs his hand along the inside of my thigh. I shift my legs farther apart when his fingers start brushing the crotch of my shorts.

He looks into my eyes. ‘Wet?’

‘Dripping,’ I reply.

The taxi comes to a stop outside a very grand and imposing white stuccoed building. I hop out of the taxi and while Jaron is paying the driver I look around me curiously. The street is completely deserted. I wonder why he has brought me here. I look all the way up at him. I actually love that I have to look up at him. It makes me feel like a child again. Everything is taken care of. All I have to do is just have fun.

‘Come on,’ he says, taking my hand and pulling me up the steps to the house. He puts a key in the door, opens it and walks in. I don’t generally like exaggerating, but it is fuck balls amazing. I stand and stare, completely speechless!

Gray-veined marble floors, polished to a high shine, pull all the way to what I imagine must be the kitchen. The walls are adorned with large paintings framed in heavy gilt. The ceilings are lofty and there are tall doors, all closed, leading away from the hallway. Then there are the marble stairs with their beautiful, beautiful banister that curves around. I lift my head and see the glass roof at the very top of the third floor. 

‘Wow!’

I turn back to look at him. He is leaning against the door watching me. His eyes are utterly unreadable. I feel as if I could fall, am falling into those depths. ‘Whose house is this?’ I mouth silently.

‘Mine.’

This multi-million pound mansion belongs to him! My brain does cartwheels. ‘Who the hell are you?’ I mouth.

His eyes. His eyes. They are impossible to read. ‘No one. It’s all a game, Billie. Just a game. I’m no one. I just want you. Be mine tonight.’

‘And the apartment you took me to the first night?’

He shrugs. ‘Mine too.’

‘That’s where you shag strangers?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And this place?’

‘This is where I shag people I like.’

I lick my lips.

He takes a little device from his pocket and presses it. The lights go down and music fills the place. The sound of the music is seductive. A man starts singing.

I was dreaming of the past. And my heart was beating fast. I began to lose control…

I bite my lip. ‘What’s the name of this song?’

‘
Jealous Guy
.’

I frown. ‘And the artiste?’

‘Bryan Ferry.’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘That’s because it’s before your time.’

‘Jaron?’

‘Don’t, Billie.’

‘Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you call me?’

He bends his head. ‘What does it matter? We’re just having…fun.’

‘We’re just ships passing in the night. So no taboos, right?’

His eyes change, something flickers in them momentarily. His mood perfectly matches the music. ‘Because I knew this would happen.’

I don’t have time to think or process his words, because he starts walking toward me. His eyes are unrecognizable. God! this guy really, really wants me.  I swear no one has ever looked at me or wanted me like this. The realization is heady. The blood pumps in my ears. I feel almost deaf.

I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry that I made you cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you... I was trying to catch your eyes
.

I shrug out of my coat and let it slip down to the floor. Deliberately, I kick it away. I slip my fingers into my top and slowly, slowly pull it over my head. My big and beautiful fake boobs pop into view. I chuck the top away.

I was feeling insecure. You might not love anymore. I was shivering inside. I’m just a jealous guy.
 

In my white hot pants and black boots I pose seductively for a moment.

And then I do a little shimmy, which makes my breasts swing and jiggle flamboyantly. I get down on the floor and slowly unzipping my black boot slip it off. Then: the other. I lie back down, unzip my shorts and wriggle out of them, sexy as an eel on fire. Underneath, obviously, I am wearing no knickers. I sit up and in time to the music put my boots back on.

I was shivering inside.

I lie back down on the cold marble and rising to my elbows and keeping my knees straight scissor my legs. I probably look really silly with my sex all swollen and red, but I don’t care. I just like the way he is staring at me. As if there is only him and me and this stupendous hallway and the rest of the world has fallen off a cliff.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, putting as much sauce as I can into it. ‘What are you waiting for, big boy?’

He discards his beautifully cut single-breasted jacket as he walks toward me. His eyes hot, hungry, a stranger’s eyes. They never leave me. 

He reaches me and stands over me as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and pulls his shirt tails out of his trousers. His eyes are already eating me. Shrugging out of it he flings it to the ground. It falls on top of my coat. He uses the tip of one shoe on the heel of the other to unloosen it. The socks follow. Finally his eyes leave mine and latch onto my exposed sex. I widen the V of my legs. He unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He steps out of them and kicks them out of the way. Another song I don’t recognize comes on. I guess it’s old too. A man sings,
Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.

I make a small sound when his briefs drop to the ground.

‘Oh my, Mr. Rose,’ I tease in a put-on posh accent. ‘I’ve never quite seen you from this angle, and I have to say it’s terribly provoking.’

‘Not half as much as the view from this angle,’ he says, not even a ghost of a smile on his lips. Dropping to his knees he grabs my thighs and buries his mouth between my legs. I grip the big hard muscles of his shoulders helplessly as a cry rises in my throat and dies there. Ridiculous how good he is at eating pussy.