You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (42 page)
Read You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) Online
Authors: Georgia Le Carre
“Jump into the angry abyss with a smile on your face.
This how magic has always been created.”
—Shamans
BJ
H
er eyes look like they are lit up from within and her skin is actually glowing. I remember something that scares me out of my wits. My grandmother once told me that a few hours before death the person always glows. You think they are getting better, but they are really just preparing for the final journey.
We are at the hospital. Her family is gathered outside. They have said their well wishes and now it’s my turn. Only I can’t say anything. I am too afraid I will break down. I can feel my insides sloshing hotly. I have never been so frightened in all my life.
‘You will tell Tommy that I love him and I always will,’ she says. There is slight tremor to her voice and fear in her eyes. She is just as terrified as I am.
Fuck, I can’t do this. ‘Fucking tell him yourself,’ I say.
‘Say something nice to me,’ she says softly.
But I can’t. If I stop being a son of a bitch I’m going to howl my eyes out. ‘When you get out of here, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna need stitches.’
‘I said say something nice.’
‘It’s hard to say something nice when you are bleeding out.’
‘Oh darling.’
The nurse comes in. ‘It’s time,’ she says.
I grab Layla’s hand.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not.’
I want to cry. I want to envelop her in my arms and not let them take her away, but I let go of her hand and watch them wheel her through the swing doors. I stand there, lost and frightened in the empty room. I am so fucking frightened my breath comes out in a huge heave through my body. I feel a hand touch me. I turn around.
‘Come with me,’ Jake says. His voice is firm and authoritative. And like a lost child I follow him outside. I feel hollow and emasculated. I let her go. She could die on the operating table.
I should have told her that she is one in a billion.
BJ
“Not to dream boldly may turn out to be irresponsible”
—George Leonard
T
here are fresh flowers on the grave. My mother must have visited earlier. I stand by the headstone and I feel a sense of serenity. For the first time in my life I feel at peace. There is no hate, no anger, no pain, no hurt.
All the lost jigsaw pieces of my life have come together in a brilliantly beautiful mosaic. Only now, I can see why that red piece happened, or why that blackness had to be right there, where I thought it should not be.
Now I see how perfect it all is.
There is a small ladybug on the black marble of my father’s gravestone. I get down on my haunches and watch it. A gust of wind comes and it flies away. I touch the stone. It is warm from the morning sun.
I never thought the day would come when I would forgive my father. It reminds me of what a man once told me. He was a heroin addict.
‘I am not to be reviled. I’m to be pitied. You have to walk in a man’s shoes before you judge him,’ he said.
I didn’t understand him then, but I do now. I know that given the right circumstances, I could have been my father. Maybe I wouldn’t have battered Tommy, but I wouldn’t have loved him. Without Layla, I would have been dead inside the way my father was.
He was not to be reviled, he was to be pitied.
I turn away from the grave and walk towards the car. I have to stop by the local store and get a carton of organic milk for Layla. I haven’t told you what happened, have I? They wheeled her into the operating theater to do the biopsy, only to find no tumor during the ultrasound. It had shrunk to nothing. They couldn’t believe it. They probably still can’t. They didn’t even have to perform a Cesarean. Layla had been right all along. She never stopped believing. She made the miracle happen.
Layla carried our baby to full term.
Tommy was born a healthy, lusty baby weighing 8lb and 2 ounces. A bundle of joy.
It’s a beautiful day, so I park the car and walk down the road to the corner shop.
‘Coming for your milk, Mr. Pilkington?’ Mr. Singh calls.
‘Yup,’ I say picking up a carton.
‘Tell your wife, organic yogurt coming next week.’
I grin. ‘That’ll make her day.’
‘Yes, yes, your wife very interested in organic things. She always looking for seeds. I tell her, I bring from India for her.’
‘Thanks, Mr. Singh.’
‘No problem.’
The bell jangles when I close the door. I light a cigarette and smoke it on the walk home. I kill it outside the front steps and chuck it into the bushes. I fit the key into the lock, open the door, and step inside.
Layla is coming down the stairs. She breaks into a smile.
‘Hey,’ she calls gaily and runs down the rest of the way.
I watch her approach, a sunburst in my heart. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
‘Never mind that now. I’ve got a secret to tell you,’ she whispers.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She giggles. ‘It involves adding to the world’s overpopulation problem.’
My eyes widen. I feel ten feet tall. I put the bag of milk on the floor and move closer. She smells of milk and baby powder. She starts laughing as I pick her up by her waist and whisk her into the air and whirl her. Round and round we go until we are both dizzy.
‘You made me dizzy,’ she says laughing.
Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.
She. She is the meaning.
-The End –
This book is dedicated to
Gianna Beretta Molla
.
Took the same decision as Layla, but did not survive.
Gianna was canonized as a saint of the Roman Catholic Church in 2004.
“Lord, keep your grace in my heart. Live in me so your grace be mine.
Make that I may bear everyday some flowers and new fruit.”
—
Gianna Beretta Molla, 1922-1962
If you enjoyed Sexy Beast and want to know how Jake met Lily you’ll find it here:
Amazon US:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00X2JUCRC
Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00X2JUCRC
Cover design: http://www.ctcovercreations.com/
Editor:
http://www.loriheaford.com/
Proofreader: Nicola Rhead
Published by Georgia Le Carre
Copyright © 2014 by Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN:
9780992996994
You can discover more information about Georgia Le Carre and future releases here.
https://www.facebook.com/georgia.lecarre
Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Billie Black
‘F
ucking kids,’ I swear and bury my head under the pillow, but the irritating ringing of the doorbell continues mercilessly. The desire to go out and throttle them is so strong it makes me grit my teeth.
I pull myself out from under my pillow abruptly and frown. Hang on a minute. I no longer live in the poor end of Kilburn, and there are no kids roaming the corridors annoying people on Sundays here. Also, I have no debts left so it can’t be debt collectors either. Not that those lazy fuckers will work on Sundays.
I get out of bed and, walking barefoot to the front door, curiously put my eye to the spy hole.
Whoa!
I draw back hastily, and press my hand to my belly. What is out there is far worse than any debt collector. By far worse. The bell rings again and holds. The sound is jarring loud and…insistent. It’s not going to go away. I turn my head and look at myself in the mirror on the wall. My hair is a spiky rat’s nest. I pull my fingers viciously through the unruly mess, but it does not improve. The bell goes again. Oh, fuck it! Whatever. I don’t care, anyway. I take a deep breath, rearrange my face into one of tight exasperation and fling open the door.
Cor… Look at that, though. Tight black T-shirt packed hard with muscles, he fills the corridor like the Incredible Hulk, only he is all blond, and he makes little kitty clench tight even on a Sunday. Damn this man to hell. How can anyone look that good at this time of the morning?
He removes his finger coolly off my doorbell and smiles a severely attractive smile, before letting his gaze, all wicked and sexy, start roving down my body. It’s like having melted chocolate poured all over me. I want to lick myself.
Keep it together now.
‘What do you want?’ I demand aggressively.
‘To fuck you senseless.’
I don’t succeed in stifling the gasp that rises into my mouth. The cheek of the man is astounding. Last night he brazenly introduces me to his girlfriend, and this morning he stands on my doorstep wanting a legover! I feel a fine rage in my veins.
‘Fuck off, you cheating skunk,’ would, as Ali down the sweet shop would say, be giving him too much face. ‘Piss off, I don’t want you to fuck me senseless,’ would be a lie. So: I nod, and move quickly to slam the door in his lazily smiling, smug face. With lightning speed he lays his palm firmly against the wood and resolutely pushes his way in. I am engulfed by the smell of his freshly showered body. Probably washing off her smell, I think sourly. I don’t do the undignified thing and attempt to fight against such a male show of strength. I decide to decimate him with pithy wit instead.
Inside, he looks as out of place as a rhino in a China shop.
‘The polite thing to do would be to offer me some tea,’ he says, one blond eyebrow arching.
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m actually not feeling very polite at the moment.’
He flashes a pearly white grin: wolfish in the extreme. The guy is a walking sex bomb. ‘That’s just grand,’ he says. ‘We can be impolite together.’
Pithy wit deserts me. ‘Don’t make me punch you in the face.’
‘You were the best lay I ever had.’
My eyes widen. The surge of pleasure I experience irritates me. I pretend to laugh dryly. ‘Is that supposed to be some sort of compliment?’
‘Yeah, and a goddamn fine one too.’
Before we go any further, let me first tell you that this man is good in bed. No, make that really, really, really good. Like out of this world good. He butterflied my legs and went to work on my girly bits with the precise dedication of a Swiss watchmaker until I nearly fainted with pleasure. And believe me, I’m the expert in muff diving, since I have been for most of my life a lesbian.
‘Well, you were the worst lay I ever had,’ I lie.
Unoffended, he laughs merrily. ‘Time to make amends, then.’
‘Don’t you fucking dare come near me,’ I warn. I realize instantly that there is not enough threat and too much desperation in my voice.
His moss green eyes glint, dark and dirty. They make me horribly uneasy. I’m not in charge here. We stare at each other and the rush of sexual heat that sweeps over my body makes me feel oddly dizzy. The memory of his touch still burns in my bones. Unable to speak I stare foolishly at him.
The truth is I’m pissed off with this guy for not calling after he promised to, for making me sleep with my phone for nearly a month, for confusing the hell out of my sexuality, and for having a girlfriend who is the exact opposite of me, but as the seconds pass, I am not sure anymore if I am more pissed off with him or with myself for being so pathetic.
The problem is that my pulse is racing and I can’t think past the aching throb between my legs. I take slow breaths as my body, the hyperaware Judas, remembers and replays the sensation of all the hard planes, the raw silk of his skin, and the absolute perfection of that one night we shared.
I blink. Big mistake.
He advances, his lips twitching with amusement.
I step backwards, purely instinctive, and he takes another step, and so do I, but in the opposite direction. A warm flush spreads over my skin. All kinds of thoughts are running through my brain. Uppermost: of course he’s going to get what he came for. I can already feel his hand on my hips, and the lure of a seriously explosive orgasm. He got me the last time through the same fearlessness of consequences he is exhibiting now. No fear of rejection. Such naked confidence can be mind-numbingly seductive.
He turned my no into a maybe and my maybe into a yes.
And afterwards, when the curiosity and desire had been aroused inside me, he delivered big. I mean BIG. I told myself that I had gone with him because I loved that he did not have a prejudged idea of beauty. He found the spider tattoos on my neck and shoulder beautiful! But the truth was/is, he intrigues me like no other. My body is already craving it. It’s only sex, Billie, I tell myself.
I stop retreating when I feel the hard edge of the table against my buttocks. He takes his next step silently. With his hands around my neck he tilts my face upwards and swoops down on my mouth. Sweet mother, Mary. So bad, and so hot. My will is slipping away. What will? It’s been a long time. A long time. Bloody hell. He tastes so fuckin’ good I want to eat him. I get lost in the raving desire that comes in waves from his mouth into mine.
For a few more pulse-ripping seconds his lips bruise mine, a clash of teeth and lips and tongues. It is brutal, arousing, and totally feral. And then I tear my mouth off. The insides of my mouth are still stinging. He is strong, I’ll give him that. Very fucking strong. And that arrogant tilt to his chin. Like he should be in a vampire movie. Like he’s never heard the word no.
‘I thought you thought I was cute?’ he mocks.
‘If you like psychos.’
He grins and lifts me up by the waist as if I am a doll and deposits me on the table. My legs dangle off the edge. With both his hands he rips open my nightshirt. The tearing sound is deliciously erotic. Nobody has done this to me before. Underneath I am butt naked. His eyes drop to my breasts. With a slow smile he cups them in his hands.
‘I wasn’t wrong last night: you’ve had them done,’ he growls and pushes his tongue into my mouth. The man’s an animal and I love it.
His tongue drives in as I suck it enthusiastically. So different from a woman’s tongue. So demanding. So muscular. Suddenly his mouth leaves mine, and a complaining mewl escapes me. Watching me like a hawk he bends down to take a nipple in his mouth and sucks at it cruelly. I close my eyes and moan. His hands move lower. He spreads his fingers into the thatch of light brown curls.
‘A hairy girl is hard to come by these days,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re one in a million, Billie.’
‘Fuck you.’
He runs his fingers along the slit. I am embarrassingly soaking wet for him. One finger dips inside.
‘Yes,’ I gasp. Even that one word sounds incoherent. I want more.
He plunders my mouth. Slowly the finger inside me becomes two and then three. The stretch is delicious, but I want more. I need more. And holy fucking shit, I know where there is smoking more. I reach for his belt.
‘Look at you, throbbing for release,’ he whispers huskily, and pulling away from me splays my legs open. He watches me, his heavy-lidded eyes roaming my thrown back throat, my excited nipples, my legs spread so wide he has a full view of my pussy dripping and swollen for him.
He tears open the condom foil and then unbuttons the top button of his bulging jeans. The zip comes down and he takes out his cock. This is the thing about us lesbians. We’re used to big toys, but this boy’s toy—it struts right out at a right angle to his body. In its own way it is an aggressive angry thing with large veins. I’m not really sure if I consider it attractive. Certainly it is not pretty the way a pussy is, but there is something wild about it. Something animalistic and caveman-like.
I watch while he sheathes it and obligingly open my legs wider when he plunges the raincoated thing straight into me. That scream. It came from my mouth! His large strong hands are underneath my bum tilting me upwards. Whoa…call the police—this is an attack! He fucks me like a wild man. A furious wild man.
We are a violent, hot tangle. I writhe and claw at him, and he rams into me until I come, quick and hard. The world shatters beautifully and becomes more perfect than before. Almost immediately he does too with a growl and expletives. I bet his girlfriend doesn’t see this.
I grasp the firm globes of his buttocks. We are both panting hard. Now that I am sated I am back to my rather inelegant situation. We have sinned.
‘And you thought you were a lesbian,’ he says with such an irritating smile that I slap him, so hard his head jerks back.
‘That’s the first time…’ he mutters.
I raise a disbelieving eyebrow.
‘I’ve been slapped by a woman while I’m still inside her.’
I use both my hands to push him away from me, but I might as well have been pushing at a brick wall. The hands cupping my buttocks are like steel manacles.
‘You’ve had your fun. Now get out of my home,’ I force between clenched teeth.
'I’m still horny.’
I tingle at the promise his words hold. I glare at him. ‘We all have our afflictions and addictions.’
Suddenly I have the fierce and surprising urge to mark him. To let his woman know that he has been with me. I want to claim him. He sucks my tongue into his mouth. Too urgent to be gentle. Then his mouth moves, warm and wet against the side of my neck. I know what he’s doing. He’s sucking on my tattoos, on the blue spiders. He takes his mouth away and looks at them.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask.
‘Not easily,’ he confesses. ‘I had to shell out a thousand quid. Must be nice not paying your own bills.’
I ignore the jibe. I’m not about to explain anything to him. ‘What happened to last night’s posh and world-weary murmur?’
He grins.
‘When I first met you, you had a BBC accent. Last night it was decidedly posh and today a trace of Australian has slithered in. Will the real Jaron Rose please stand up?’
‘This is the real Jaron Rose.’
‘Are you going to fucking get your dick out of me?’
‘I will but first let me tell you what you’re going to be doing tomorrow. At sharp three thirty p.m. you will bend over this table, your elbows and hands and cheek pressed against the glass, your ass in the air barely covered by lace and some transparent material that rips easily. Baby doll nighties and thongs are my favorite at the moment. What you are doing is waiting for me to come and fuck you like the little bitch you are.’
My mouth drops open.
‘The rims of the thong will become soaked very quickly and you will consider using your sweating hands to masturbate to relieve the ache, but you
will
not. Instead you will keep that position, nipples and cunt tingling, and wait. The high heels you’ll be wearing—I like black— will make your calves cramp, but you will ignore it.’
My pussy clenches like a boxer’s fists, but I pretend to snort.
He ignores it. ‘At four I will turn up. You will not turn around to look at me or speak to me. No matter how wide your legs are I will have to correct the position by kicking apart your legs and flipping the last bit of covering over your back, so your ass is totally exposed to me. I will roughly rub your panties, find the jellied part, and dig my fingers into it. You will immediately raise your hips higher to try to catch more of my flesh, and moan the way you would if you were begging for it.
‘I’ll tell you to be quiet. That you are not to make a sound until I allow it. I will flick your clit through the material and your body will start bucking and squirming. At that moment I will swat you on the fleshiest part of your buttocks just once, but hard. My fingers might strike your clit. It will make your head spin and you are bound to cry out from the surprise. But if you do I will spank you again. Just to hear you cry out and see the blush spread. And again, until you are panting and dripping onto my hand. Excitement, shame, joy, desire.
‘Then I will back off, make myself a cup of tea and drink it while I stare at your reddened ass, ripe for the picking. Once I have had my tea I will undress. Slowly. You will strain to hear buttons, material scraping my skin, shoes sliding away, socks pulling, zip tearing. I will grasp the reddened, burning skin in my palms and feel its weight in my bare hands.’
