You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (44 page)

‘You’re killing the moment,’ I warn ominously.

‘Basically you don’t want to beg either way.’

‘Basically.’

He nods, and bending his head sucks a nipple. My chest thrusts toward his mouth and my brain stops functioning again. He lifts his head and looks at me with a rueful smile. ‘Maybe not today, but you’ll beg before I’m through with you.’

To my utter frustration and shock he turns around and begins walking toward the door.

‘See you tomorrow at seven,’ he calls out.

Without his warmth I feel oddly bereft. I had let myself become totally swept up in the moment and now it is shattered. He is the unfaithful lover and I am his bit on the side. This has got to be on my terms too. He can’t just come and go as he pleases.

‘If you walk out of that door now, don’t bother coming back,’ I say quietly.

He turns around to face me, lets his eyes travel with leisurely unconcern over my naked body. ‘I’ll come when I want and I’ll take what I want when I want. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it!’

And to prove his point he walks toward me and yanks me to his body so I fall against its hard length. He puts a hand on my buttocks and presses me against his erection. And I have to fight the desire to beg him to enter me. Looking into my eyes he slowly inserts a finger into my wet folds. I bite my lower lip helplessly. He takes his finger out and puts it into his mouth and sucks it.

‘You will be mine,’ he says with such presumptuous arrogance that I am struck dumb with disbelief. I stare at his dirty blond eyebrows. Very rakish. Very sexy. My mind becomes a bewildering mixture of fury, sexual excitement, and admiration for his freakishly attractive eyebrows.

He lets go of me, and spinning around walks away from my frustrated body.

I watch his rear end go. The man has a world-class ass, hard and perfectly rounded. And if memory serves, smooth as a baby’s butt. He
stops by the sideboard, reaches into his trouser pocket and brings out his wallet. From one of its sleeves he fishes out a small piece of paper. He slides it on the sideboard and walks toward the door. At the door he turns and looks at me again, his eyes darkening. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.’

Then he shuts the door behind him.

For some moments I don’t move. Never in my life have I been so totally and so exclusively involved with and aware of someone. To the point where nothing else matters. Everything about him affects me, the soft blond hair, the deeply green eyes, that silky smile. Even things I thought I would despise in a lover, the hardness of his body, the arrogance, the domineering streak, excite me to the point of madness.

Naked, I walk toward the sideboard and pick up the paper. I unfold it and… It is my phone number…in my own handwriting. Whoa! Hold the horses. He kept it from that first night.  All this time. And yet he did not phone. Why? I take it to my nose and smell the leather of his wallet. And he did not fear Ebony finding it either. How strange. How inexplicable.

A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.

—Mark Twain

I
pull on my clothes and remember that night more than six months ago when I did something I had never done before. I went to a rave club alone. It was a hot and sweaty dive. I had dropped a couple of Es and lost count of the vodka shots I had downed. Some guys had picked me up and put me on one of those giant speaker boxes and I was feeling on top of the world.

It was a crazy feeling, the music pounding underneath me, skin tingling, head buzzing. All around me rainbows of colors flashed and illuminated a sea of dancing, sweating bodies. I felt deeply in love with them and at peace with the whole world. At that moment it didn’t matter that my best friend, Lana, had found the love of her life and had less time for me. I even forgot that I had broken up with my long-term girlfriend and that I had arrived lonely and more than a little sad. High as a kite I sat on my throbbing throne, eyes closed, and head furiously nodding to the music: oh yeah! All was well in my world.

Then: someone or something touched my neck.

I opened my eyes and there he was. This blond giant. For a second I thought I was hallucinating. I have seen trains arriving through tunnels and sausages falling from the ceiling while I have been less high. I reached out and touched the giant. My hand hit flesh— well, I call it flesh, but it was more of a wall. So I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. I peered into his face. It’s really hard to see something properly when you’re so off your cake. The lines blur. Sometimes you get the eye color wrong. People’s voices sound like they’ve sucked on a helium balloon. And it’s hard to really distinguish features. Everyone’s a friendly blob.

He leaned in and shouted near my ear that the spider tattoos on my neck were some of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. I gulped. The music was so damn loud I must have misheard that. Nobody—and I mean nobody—had ever told me how lovely my tattoos were. Was he trying to be friendly or was he trying to pick me up?

I stared hard at him.

In fact, the giant was really good-looking. He had straight blond hair and he was big, real big. His shoulders and chest were massive and packed with muscles. He should have repelled me. I like soft curves—Megan Fox is my cup of tea—but he didn’t. I watched the curve of his mouth and experienced that first stirring of sexual curiosity for a man. For a man? Never before. He suddenly wrapped his large hands around my waist, lifted me off the speaker and put me on the ground.

‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘I love your tattoos.’

Ha ha. A really good-looking guy was trying to pick me up. More intriguing, he seemed to be as sober as a judge.

‘Are you for real?’ I slurred, squinting all the way up at him. It felt as though he must have been at least seven feet tall. OK, that was an exaggeration, but that night, lighted by the searching strobe lights, he seemed absolutely enormous. Huge. His shadow swallowed me whole.

‘Yeah,’ he grinned.

‘You have really gorgeous teeth. Are you American?’

He widened his smile in acknowledgement of my compliment. ‘No, I’m not American.’

Then I was too high to notice that he was using his East End working class accent. ‘They are diligent about teeth over there,’ I said, merrily unaware of the disguise he had affected.

‘I want to take you home.’

My eyes boggled. ‘Oops!’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Oops is always a no.’

‘It doesn’t look like no from where I am standing.’

He really would make a handsome toy for some straight girl. He was almost edible… To a straight girl, that is. ‘You’re built for bed and everything, but I’m a dyke, mate, and generally we’re not like gay men. We won’t befriend straight men. In fact, for the most part we tend to be downright hostile to you lot,’ I informed him, smiling benevolently.

‘That’s only because you haven’t been to bed with me yet,’ he stated.

Even though I was so fucking high, I was impressed. That kind of haughty, patronizing confidence is near impossible to carry off successfully. And he managed not to sound like a dick while saying something that old hat.

‘I like pussy. Pussy I can dominate and eat. But a dick? What the hell does one do with one of those things?’ I asked.

‘I’ll show you,’ he purred and ran his fingers along the inside of my bare arm.

I blame the drugs. They made me horny. They made me want things I had never planned on wanting. Before I knew it words I had never dreamed I would utter were pouring out of my mouth. 

‘I’ll fuck you, but I’m not sucking your dick or doing anything else gross like that.’

Another flash of teeth. Hawt! There’s no way those are not made in America. ‘No, problem,’ he replied instantly. ‘I’m not too keen on that practice either. Like you, I like pussy.’

When I think back now I’m sure he would have got nowhere without all the other incidentals like I was lonely. I was high. I was drunk. But that night I found him intriguing. I felt the desire for him spread inside me, like a living thing, until it was no longer the music that was throbbing in my veins but the foreign need to feel this man inside me. The thought of being eaten and filled by him was unbelievably exciting. I felt myself become wet. I looked at him hard. Well, as hard as one can under the glow of the tablet.

So we went back to Mr. Luscious’s flat. An unremarkable, strangely cold and empty place. As soon as we got through the door he jumped on me. He was hungry! Oh boy was he hungry for pussy. And after he had made me come he picked me up like a doll and laid me on top of his body. His flesh was warm and sweat-slicked. I thought I would hate it. A man’s sweat.

But I
loved
it.

As a matter of fact I adored the way I slipped and slid on his big body. Suddenly I was small and delicate…and defenseless. I didn’t even hear the sound of foil tearing. And then the big moment. He lifted me clean off his body and impaled me on his shaft. Shit! A cock inside me. Never thought I’d see the day. So totally different from a dildo or a vibrator or a condom-covered cucumber. A cock is thick and hard and warm and…alive. I bounced on it until he erupted inside me. After that he made me rub myself on the bone of his groin until I came.

He stood up and picked me up as though I was a child. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he took me to his bedroom. Another strangely empty place, but I didn’t spend too much time admiring the décor or the lack of it: the guy was an insatiable animal. I hate to admit it, but he was better than my rabbit. And that’s long-life battery operated!

It was an unforgettable night.

For the first time in my life I was no longer in control. Every time I tried to take it back, he used his superior strength and sexual expertise to subdue me. He was very strict and masterful, so fucking strong that I found myself submitting to his sheer size and force. Once I tried to leave and he simply held down my arms and legs until I didn’t have the strength to struggle anymore. Until him I had never had anyone so…well…authoritative in bed before.  It was something new, something I was not used to…but something I discovered I totally loved.

In my most secret fantasy—I was a submissive.

Dawn was in the sky and I was hot and sore in a way I had never been in my life. My body really could not take much more and I knew it was time to enter the real world again and take back control of Billie. The Es were beginning to wear off anyway, and I was starting to see him without the chemical glow of ‘love’. It would be a good time to get dressed and hop it out of there with an ‘Um, sorry, gotta go’ farewell.

‘I stink of sex. I need a shower,’ I said, but apparently it was not time for a shower.

The blond beast pinned me down and had his wicked way with me again. There was something about him. Yes, he was beautiful, but I had seen other beautiful men who left me cold. I couldn’t put my finger on it and I can’t even now, but that something pulls me to him as if I was an iron filing to a massive U-shaped magnet.

I was still gasping for breath when he raised his head and smiled—slow, wolfish, his green eyes crinkling up. 

‘Come on. Bathroom,’ he said, and sprinted out of bed, pulling me along. At the bathroom door he followed me in. ‘Um… I really need to wee first,’ I said holding onto the door. He looked at me coolly and said, ‘No.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t close the door.’

‘I need to wee.’

‘So… Fucking wee then.’ His eyes devoured me.

So I did with him watching. It was kind of horrible and kind of hot. Afterwards, he picked me up bodily and put me on the edge of the bathtub.

‘What the fuck?’ I protested.

He opened my legs wide and the more I swore at him the more he spread them.

‘Keep them wide open. You’re going to love this…’

The look in his eyes! I surrendered.

‘Look at your nipples. Look how swollen they are.’

I looked and I swear I had never seen them so raw and swollen. He disengaged the showerhead from its bracket and pinned it with his hip against the bathtub six, maybe seven inches away from my sore kitty and turned on the spray.

It was incredible. Lesbians around the world, take note: the showerhead is a woefully under-utilized sex aid. It massaged all of my sex nicely, but one tiny little spray of water fell without respite on my clit. Faster than any tongue or vibrator. Splash. Splash, splash. Hit, hit, hit. Mmmmm…

Pinned by his watchful eyes I hung on the edge of the bath.

‘I don’t like being watched when I come,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘Tough.’

I turned my head to one side and tried to damp down the reaction, but it was impossible. Dark pleasures cannot be denied. My body moved ahead without me. I closed my eyes.

The hand that had circled my ankle, then insidiously massaged my calf and aroused me, tightened painfully. ‘Open your fucking eyes and look at what I am doing to you.’

‘No, no,’ I moaned.

‘Be silent and obey.’

I opened my eyes and looked down at his hands as they stroked the insides of my thighs. His fingers pulled apart my sex lips and the exposed, terribly swollen, well-used bud was suddenly and utterly defenseless against the relentless spray. My thighs began to shake with the approaching orgasm. And then all hell broke loose. 

He brought me breakfast in bed, ugh, sausages and eggs. We had to stop eating to fuck. When I was leaving he asked me for my number. I gave it to him. He told me he was going away but he would call me in a month’s time.

He never did. And I never got to have that shower either. He sent me home in a taxi stinking to the high heavens of him, of us, of dirty sex.