You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (43 page)

I try not to show it but his dick is slowly growing inside me and I am starting to want him to fuck me all over again.

‘Then I will pull the warm red cheeks apart and holding them apart with one hand I will slide my finger into you, first one, then two and eventually three—the way you like it, the way I did the first night we met. You will moan, and shiver and maybe even grunt like an animal. Your head will start to lift off the table—you are about to come. That is the moment I’ll stop and will ask you to touch yourself. You will take your hand off the table and press it between your legs, turning your head to look at me while starting to masturbate.

‘“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” I will ask. “Yes,” you will whisper. I will ask you again. “Yes, yes,” you will plead.

‘And that is when I will ram so hard into you, you will shudder and scream and arch and quiver and come in a screaming rush.’

‘I won’t be in at three thirty p.m. or four p.m. tomorrow,’ I say coldly.

‘Don’t be absurd. Of course you will.’

‘If I am bent over the table, who will let you in through the front door?’

‘That’s my affair. You just assume your position.’

He pulls out of me. And fully erect he takes a step away from me. I close my legs and slip off the table. Expertly, he removes the condom. I watch him pull his underpants up and over the rigid flesh.

‘It won’t break, will it?’

He laughs and pulls his jeans over the bulge. ‘Concern from you is always nice.’

‘Don’t mistake curiosity for concern.’

He zips up. ‘See you at four.’

I don’t say anything, simply stare at him.

W
hen the door closes behind him my breath comes out in a rush. Holy Moly! That was unbelievable and that was not enough. I am still throbbing with need. What is it about this guy? I simply can’t seem to get enough of him. I go to the fridge and pour myself a shot of vodka. I lift it up to my lips, and put it back on the counter. I don’t want to take the edge off the way I feel right now. I light a cigarette and walk onto the balcony. I blow out a smoke ring and my mobile goes.

I pick it up from the coffee table and it is my best friend, Lana.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Guess where I am?’ she squeals.

Well, it’s Sunday. Tomorrow is a working day. Her billionaire banker husband’s yacht is moored in the South of France. So the South of France would be my guess. ‘No idea,’ I tell her.

‘The South of France.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘I tried to call you earlier to see if you wanted to come, but I guess you were asleep.’

‘I was. So what is the little sprog up to?’ I ask referring to my godson.

‘He seems determined to swim across the English Channel.’

‘That’s my boy.’

‘What are you up to?’

I kill my cigarette on the balcony railing. ‘Enjoying a post-coital cigarette.’

‘What?’

‘Jaron came around and we had sex.’

‘Really?’

‘Unless I dreamed it.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Well, go on then, tell me what happened?’

‘It was hot and dirty, and he wants to come around tomorrow for more, but I’m not sure how I feel about it all.’

‘Why?’

‘I think it’s that crazy-eyed girlfriend of his. Mind you, I don’t feel bad about him cheating on her. I just hate the idea of him inside her.’

‘My, my, I’ve never seen you jealous before.’

‘I’m not jealous.’

‘Could have fooled me.’

‘Well, he’s not available. So that’s the end of that story,’ I say firmly.

‘I don’t know what the story is between them, but I got the impression last night that he doesn’t care about her one bit. There wasn’t enough heat between them to keep an egg warm. It was obvious she wanted to claim him as hers, but he only had eyes for you.’

‘Well…’

The doorbell goes again.

‘Hang on a minute. Someone’s at the door,’ I say, and walk towards it. I look through the spy hole.

‘Talk of the devil,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘Call you back.’

I look again out of the spy hole. The girlfriend is dressed to the nines in a white pantsuit, a long cream coat, sunglasses and a fringe sharp enough to skin a goat. I turn to the mirror and look at myself. My hair is a mess, my nightie is torn in half, and I have that slack, just-fucked look. With a grin I open the door.

E
bony’s coldly disdainful eyes flick down my body and freeze at my torn clothes. We stare at each other. Tangibly above all other emotions, disbelief glitters in her eyes. Her chin starts to tremble uncontrollably and a small, pained sound escapes her glossy lips. Her hands, the two-inch long acrylic nails painted powder pink, rush upwards to cover her gaping mouth.

The smug grin dies quickly on my lips.

I pull at the torn ends of my nightie and hold them together. Suddenly I feel like a total bitch. A nasty piece of work.

She stares at me for a moment longer with hurt, accusing eyes, and then turns away, and runs down the corridor. At the end of it I watch her open the stairwell door and disappear through it to avoid waiting for the lift. I close my door and lean against it.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

Maybe she really loves the guy. I shouldn’t have done that. That was just plain cruel, and I’m not a cruel person. Damn Jaron. I go to the vodka and take a huge swallow straight from the bottle. The alcohol burns the back of my throat and splashes into my empty stomach. I shake a cigarette out of the box, light it and go back out onto the balcony. I drag deeply from it. Smoke fills my lungs and grips it. I hold the breath. My body starts mellowing out. I look down and see Ebony running down the street. I exhale slowly. A frown on my face.

‘Fuck.’

I didn’t go looking for him. She’s not my responsibility. He’s the love rat, not me, I try to rationalize, but guilt is a grim business. Sleeping with another woman’s man has left a sour taste in my mouth. It is the same feeling as accidentally killing the fox that suddenly dashes out in front of your car. Fucking hell, you think, why did you have to die under my wheel? Why didn’t you just go and die peacefully in some field?

I flick ash into a pot.

Somewhere in my little brain I had a plan to drop some money into Ann Summers’ till. But that plan is wearing a slit throat and shoes with dried blood on them: I won’t be wearing no baby doll outfit and waiting stretched out on my dining table for Ebony’s man tomorrow. In a way it is a relief. There is something about Jaron Rose that terrifies me. He plays with my head. He sets up cravings inside me that I can’t control.

I finish my cigarette and grind it out on the metal railing. I am firm in my decision. I’m
never
going to bed with Jaron Fucking Rose again. I go into my home, close the balcony door, and though I can still smell him, I go straight to my worktable.

I sit down and sketch a little girl’s outfit. A white pantsuit with blood red lace frills. It has a round red pocket on it. I hold it away from me. Nice one, Billie. I lean my head back and Jaron pops into my mind. With ruthless precision I push him out and open to a fresh page on my drawing pad.

I will forget him, if it’s the last thing I do.

3.30 p.m. one day later.

I glance at my watch. All day I have been a bundle of nerves. I’ve gone through so many cigarettes I feel light-headed. I go into my bedroom and dress in blue: baggy top and shapeless trousers. The least sexy thing a woman can wear, but then I cannot resist spraying a little perfume.

‘Who are you trying to kid?’ my reflection taunts.

‘I can look good while I’m telling him to fuck off,’ I tell my reflection, and sweep on a layer of mascara. My stomach is clenched tight with anticipation. I need a stiff drink. I help myself to an impressively large shot. That helps loosen the knot. I twist my wrist and look at the time.

3.40 p.m.

Right. I smoke another cigarette and pace the floor. Time creeps along.

3.55 p.m. I look at my reflection in the dining room mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes glitter

3.56 p.m. For fuck’s sake.

3.59 p.m. I take a deep breath and leaving the living room walk toward the hallway.

4.00 p.m.

Jaron Rose walks through my door, and finds me leaning nonchalantly against the hallway table. He is dressed all in black again. And damn if it doesn’t make him look devilishly good. He stops when he sees me. We stare at each other. My thoughts swirl like crazy, untangle and drop into a confused heap at the bottom of my mind. Desire flashes like fire between us. The memory of the hot iron thrust of his cock flashes into my empty mind.

He smiles, a hint of something rich and secret. He should come with a warning. Beware. Undercurrents here. Dark and dangerous undercurrents. ‘It’s not too late to get on the dining table,’ he says seductively.

Even I have to admit: he is über, über cool.

‘
Most people knock and wait to be allowed in,’ I say sarcastically.

‘I’m not most people,’ he says, and gives me a look so filthy it makes my toes curl.

‘What did you do? Steal my key and make an impression of it?’

He grins. ‘Nope. I’m just good with locks and clocks. Thought I’d save you the trouble of opening the door.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘Are you always this unfriendly when someone is trying to be helpful?’

I fix him with an unfriendly, slightly suspicious stare. ‘Ebony dropped in yesterday.’

His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t appear in the least bit concerned.

‘Right after you left… And when she realized that you had just fucked me she burst into tears and ran away.’

For a moment he stares at me expressionlessly and then he breaks into a grin. ‘You opened the door in your torn nightie, didn’t you?’

I fidget uncomfortably. ‘I may have done. But so what if I did? You’re the cheat.’

‘Awww… Did she make you feel bad?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes, you brute.’

He throws his head back and laughs callously.

I glare at him. ‘I’m glad you think breaking your girlfriend’s heart is funny because she looked a mess yesterday.’

He takes a step toward me and I instinctively take a step back.

He stops. ‘Are you scared of me, Billie Black?’

‘No, I AM not.’ I put my hands on my hips and glower at him.

‘Don’t run when I come towards you then,’ he says, and walks unhurriedly to me.

My pulse starts racing and for some ridiculous reason my throat snaps shut. Watch out, the warning flashes in my mind, and I have to quell the desire to step sideways—backwards is out of the question since there is a wall behind me. So
I stand my ground and hardly flinch when his hand slams into the wall, and he leans one massive shoulder against it, effectively trapping me.

I squirm and look up into those dark green eyes. Oh man! Hurriedly, I drop my gaze to his mouth. Fuck me. I drop it lower to his throat. I am on safer ground watching his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he chuckles.
The warm flutter of his breath on my forehead is a bit more distracting.

He puts one thick finger on my lower lip.
‘What’s the matter, baby?’

‘You’re crowding me. Can you move, please?’

‘I don’t think so.’

I look up then. His eyes are twinkling with laughter. ‘You think this is funny?’

He grasps my shoulder and a finger grazes my throat like a trail of fire. ‘Not really.’

I train my eyes on his hair. It is so blond it is like spun gold. I want to twine my fingers through it and pull his head down to my mouth. The thought irritates me. I am not sleeping with him ever again.

‘What if I tell you, you’ve been played?’ he purrs.

I jerk my neck away from his touch and look at him suspiciously. ‘By who? You?’

‘You rubbed Ebony’s face in it, and she punished you by pretending we are more than we are.’

I frown. ‘Are you trying to say she doesn’t care you’re fucking me, only that I rubbed her face in it?’

‘Sounds about right.’

‘That sounds like the most unbelievable rubbish, the kind of thing a man would make up to excuse his bad behavior.’

He shrugs. ‘I told you the truth. Believe whatever you want.’

I suddenly remember the movie,
Bridget Jones’s Diary
. The misunderstanding was entirely caused because the woman the heroine thought was the hero’s girlfriend was actually just a lesbian friend staying over. Once that was cleared up it all ended very nicely.

‘Is Ebony a lesbian?’

He looks at me strangely. ‘No. Why?’

‘Oh.’ That’s that theory laid to rest. ‘If what you say is true why did she turn up at my door in the first place?’

‘You’ll never know now, will you? Since you rubbed her up the wrong way.’

‘You’re both mad.’

‘I’ve been thinking about you today.’

‘I’m not finished talking about Ebony,’ I say pointedly.

‘I am. I don’t want to talk about her. I’m here because you want me and I want you.’

‘Has anyone ever told you, you’re pushy?’

‘No, everyone else thinks I’m charming.’

‘Like James Bond? Smooth charm and brutal purpose?’

He smiles suavely. ‘See, we can agree when we try.’ He puts his hands around me and pulls me close. Our thighs touch.

My belly starts melting like hot chocolate, but with great determination I
put a hand to his chest and lean away. Underneath my palm his heartbeat is steady and quick. The man is impossible to resist. ‘I don’t like James Bond,’ I whisper.

‘Are you always so cocky, Miss Black?’

‘Truthful,’ I correct.
I look up at him defiantly. His eyes are hungry.

‘I don’t like the look on your face.’

‘Too bad.’

‘We’ll have to do something about changing it.’

‘So now you’re going to force yourself on me?’

‘Force you?’ He laughs. ‘You’re gagging for it,’ he taunts softly, and
leans in, crushing me against the wall. His cock strains big, and hard, and hot, actually impressively hot, against my stomach. The thought of
that
inside me makes my knees go weak. I know he’s about to kiss me, and reason and the rest of the world are about to disappear into a hot haze. My whole existence will be just about him and what he is doing to my body.

I watch with a mixture of horror and fascination as his mouth comes down on mine. The kiss is ferocious. Vicious. Perhaps too vicious. I feel blood on my tongue. But it is exactly what I need. I have spent all day furious with him and myself and this raw, unrelenting kiss was just the perfect antidote to my restless, angry excitement. The heady flavor of his mouth and the scent of him make me spiral off. I suck his tongue hard
and wild excitement pumps through me. It is so huge and potent it blocks everything else out.

When he raises his face, I am panting like some lust-crazed sex beast.

‘That’s better,’ he whispers, ‘because you have been tantalizing me for many, many months.’ He inserts a thumb into my mouth and pulls my lower lip down. ‘And making me hard at all hours of the night.’

The tips of my breasts ache and I rub them restlessly against his hard abs. The sensation that then brings makes me want to grab him by his fucking golden locks and yank his mouth down to my nipples so he can suck them.

Clenching his big fist in my hair he tugs my face up at him. His eyes scorch my skin. My mouth parts automatically. Surrender is what he is looking for and surrender is what he is getting in spades. With a triumphant smile he takes his thumb out of my mouth, and barely giving me time to breathe let alone think, swoops down.

If the other kiss had been vicious this one is barely controlled. His tongue pushes in while his cock imitates the movement against my belly. My sex clenches hard.  God! I so want to be broken apart by this man it fucking hurts. He cups my ass and lifts me off the ground and slams me into the wall. I curl my legs tightly around him and cross my ankles.

His hand slips into my top and sliding around my waist moves up my back. It makes short work of my bra clasp and moving to the front cups a breast, roughly, possessively. He squeezes my nipple. A fierce frisson of sexual heat hits me between my legs. In an instant his mouth leaves mine and my top is yanked over my head, and my bra lands on the floor. Very briefly my brain tries to grasp at some coherence and tries, actually tries to question the sanity of what I am doing and the answer is obvious.
My life has become a scene from a cheap porn movie
!

But then his lips claim mine again and my brain shuts down. I fucking need this… The rest of the sentence should have been… like a hole in the head. But like I said before my brain has shut down. My blue pants are unzipped while I obligingly unclasp my ankles and straighten my legs to help them slide down my legs, and then my knickers are brutally ripped off me. There I am naked and he is fully dressed. Great. He leaves my mouth and looks down on me. I am dripping wet and shameless.

‘Beg me to take you.’

I shake my head. Nope. No way am I uttering words of surrender.

‘Beg me to take you,’ he repeats. His voice is low and dangerous.

‘Go fuck yourself,’ I spit stubbornly.

‘All right then. Beg me not to take you.’