Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (78 page)

Inside we are whisked past the entrance ticket queue by a small middle-eastern man. ‘This way, Mr. Eden,’ he says, and leads us through the doors.

He looks up to Shane. ‘How are your brothers doing?’

‘Good, thank you. How’s the family?’ Shane replies.

‘Very well, thank you.’

Hard rock music pulsates around us. Shane keeps a firm hand on the small of my back as we make our way through a sea of heaving, sweating bodies until we come to a VIP area. A group of people are sitting in a booth with low couches. There are brass lamps on the table.

My eyes are immediately drawn to a powerfully built man. He has shoulder length hair and eyes that are so light blue they look like chips of ice. He has a nasty scar that starts just under his eye and it zigzags down one side of his face. He is wearing a black vest that shows off an enormous tattoo of a fierce cobra with its hood and mouth open. It begins at the top of his muscular shoulder, its long body twisting around the length of his arm and hand, and its tail ending at the base of his wrist.

He looks menacing, very menacing.

He is leaning back on the low couches, but looking as relaxed as an animal about to strike. When he sees Shane, his mouth twists slightly. He makes a movement with his fingers and two half-naked girls entwined around him on either side stand and move away. His disregard for them as human beings is so blatantly callous it takes my breath away.

Shane pulls me forward and the man’s eyes flick over to me quickly.

His eyes are both stunning and scary. I find myself instinctively moving close to Shane. Shane looks down on me, and smiles reassuringly. The man sits forward, the movement so quick, that again I am reminded of a striking cobra. When he stands he is as tall as Shane, but he vibrates with a kind of dangerous energy. They bump fists, only it looks nothing like any fist bump I have seen. This one bristles with their combined energies. If Shane is white magic, this man is black magic. The difference is that stark.

‘Will you have a drink?’ he drawls. His voice is deep and his accent reminds me of Nikki, the nasty blonde I met in the ladies’ toilet at Eden.

‘Thanks, Zane, but I can’t stay,’ Shane says. ‘Just checking to see that everything is going forward as planned.’

‘Everything’s good to go.’

‘Good. Thanks, man. I owe you one.’

Zane smiles and nods slowly, and that slow nod makes me shiver. I can tell that the day will come when he will arrive to collect for whatever favor it is he is doing for Shane.

We walk away, my heart fluttering with tension. 

As soon as we are out of earshot I tug Shane’s sleeve. ‘I don’t like that man.’

Shane stops abruptly, leans down and takes my face in his hands. ‘Listen to me, Snow. I trust Zane with my life, and so must you if anything happens to me. I brought you here so you could see him and he could see you. You will be financially well off and he will protect you from Lenny.’

My heart crashes with horror and I cannot stop the fear in my voice. ‘Are you expecting something to happen to you?’

‘No, this is a contingency plan.’

I frown. ‘What about Jake? Why am I not going to him?’

‘I don’t want Dom or Jake to get involved. But especially Jake. He has been taking care of us for his whole life and that’s enough. He has a family of his own now and it is time he put them first. No, Zane will sort it out. He is being well compensated for anything he does.’

‘You’re scaring me, Shane.’

‘Don’t be scared. I’m just writing my will. Not because I expect to die tomorrow, but because if I should, I want to go to my grave knowing that those I … care about are protected.’

‘Why did you choose Zane?’

‘Because he is more, far more dangerous than Lenny.’

‘And he’s a friend of yours?’

‘As friendly as you can get with the Russian mafia,’ he says dryly.

‘Shit, Shane. I thought you said you were not a gangster.’

‘I’m not. But like I said, I know people.’

Thirty

SNOW

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Fa4lOQfbA

W
hen we get back to Shane’s apartment I am feeling tense and unsure of myself. Shane has showed no signs of wanting me sexually. As if all the passion has cooled since my meltdown.

‘Nightcap?’ he offers, walking into the sitting room.

‘OK,’ I say, following him in.

‘What do you want?’ he asks.

‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’

‘I’m having Cognac.’

‘Great.’ I perch at the edge of the sofa and watch him pour our cognac.

He comes over and holds out my glass and then sits next to me, but not too close. There is a good three inches between my thigh and his knee. He leans back into the seat. I lick my lips and turn back to look at him.

‘I don’t have to stay here, you know. I feel strong enough to make it on my own now. I could get a room …’

He frowns. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

I shrug. ‘Well, ever since last night you are different. You’re friendly and protective and kind, but it’s as if you don’t want me anymore, sexually, I mean.’

He stares at me incredulously. ‘What?’ he explodes. ‘You think I don’t want you?’

I bite my lip. ‘It’s not like what it was in France, is it?’

He sits forward and shakes his head in wonder. ‘What a crazy thing to think?’ It’s not like France because I didn’t want to rush you. Can’t you tell I’m fucking fighting with myself to keep my hands off you because I don’t know if you are ready after last night?’

‘I’m ready now,’ I whisper.

He smiles slowly, his eyes glinting. The old Shane is back. ‘Prove it by doing a strip dance.’

‘You own a strip club. I’d have thought you’d be bored with that by now,’ I say with a smile. In truth I want to shout with joy. He still wants me.

‘I want to see
you
dance.’

‘Now?’ I ask with my eyebrows daringly lifted.

‘Can’t think of a better time.’

‘OK.’

He stands and walks to his music system and chooses something.

‘What song have you chosen?’

‘
Je T’aime … Moi Non Plus
by Serge Gainsbourgh and Jane Birkin.’

‘God, isn’t that like a really old number? My mother used to listen to it,’ I say, surprised.

He grins at me. ‘My grandfather had a thing for Bridgette Bardot and Jane Birkin. I’ve got all kinds of boyhood fantasies around this song.’

I laugh. ‘Do you know what the title actually means?’

‘It translates as, ‘I love you … Me neither.’

‘Interesting,’ I say.

‘That’s what couples in the throes of lovemaking say to each other,’ he says with a wink.

‘Right. I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say crisply, and taking my glass of cognac with me and swaying my hips with attitude, walk to the bedroom. I close the door and go to his wardrobe. I pull out a white shirt. Quickly, I undress. I leave my panties on, but take off my bra. I put on his shirt and leave it unbuttoned to the waist. I don’t do the last two end buttons either. Then I roll up the sleeves until my wrists show. Keeping my high heels on, I choose a blue striped tie and knot it loosely around the collar of Shane’s shirt. I put on my new super shiny lip gloss. Then I look around the drawers and find a cap. I arrange it at an angle on my head and look in the mirror.

The look is just what I wanted. A little bit ‘je ne sais quoi.’

I finish my glass of cognac, Dutch courage and all that, and walk out to the living room door and pop my head around the doorframe. He presses the remote on his hand and the music comes on.  The old fashioned guitar cords of rhythm and bass guitars and snare drums fills the spaces between us.

‘Je t’aime, Je, t’aime,’ whispers in her breathy and ethereal voice, so high it is almost the unbroken voice of a little choirboy. But extremely erotic all the same.

I drape myself around the doorframe and, raising my leg slowly, caress the door with my foot. I step into the room and teasingly lift one edge of his shirt exposing the top of one thigh and a glimpse of my black lace panties. He doesn’t know my sex is already wet. I catch his eyes and he is staring at me, mesmerized, and that gives me the confidence to go on.

I tug at the tie and it comes off. Holding it in my hand, I twirl it before flinging it at him. He catches it mid-air.

I face away from him and, swaying my hips, let the shirt drop off one shoulder, exposing bare flesh. I drop the other end and the shirt falls to my mid back. I turn my head back and look at him and smile.

The look on his face, the lust in his eyes, is priceless.

Very slowly and still gyrating, I let the shirt fall farther still, until it is skimming the top of my bottom. I play with the material seductively before dropping it lower still. Right on the fleshiest part, I rub the material in a sawing motion. Then slowly I drop it further until my entire ass is exposed. I quickly unbutton the shirt and slip it completely off. Holding it at arm’s-length away, I allow it to dangle on one finger before letting it drop to the floor.

I gyrate the top half of my body in a large circle, like the belly dancers in France, so that all my hair falls forward and covers my breasts. Then I turn around and shimmy my hips as I walk towards him.

I put one leg on the sofa arm and immediately his eyes move to my pussy. He can see that the crotch of my panties is soaking wet. I put my hands around my neck and lift my hair so that my breasts are on display. The tips are hard and ready. Then I let my hair fall back into place again.

The heavy breathing noises of simulated sex start on the track.

I lick my glossed lips and he crooks a finger at me.

Instead of going to him, I make a pointing hand and slowly shake my finger at him while smiling regretfully.

He laughs, a deep sexy sound.

Lowering my hands, I begin caressing myself. Running them over my neck, circling my bare breasts, cupping the soft mounds of my bosom, and massaging them while my head is thrown back. I feel the ache in my nipples and rub my fingers lightly over the hardened swollen buds.

A sigh of pleasure escapes my mouth.

My hand roams lower and lower until it reaches the top of my panties. I linger tantalizingly before slowly letting my fingers slip behind the elastic. I look up to see his reaction. His gaze is transfixed on my fingers and he has a massive hard on. I move my finger in a circular motion. My breath hitches and becomes uneven.

‘Aaaa …’ I gasp.

I move to the coffee table and sit perkily on it. I am only three feet away from him. I place both hands on my knees, and I draw them up and spread them so he can see just how wet the material of my panties are. Leaving my legs suspended open, I lean back on one hand while the other slips over the crotch of my panties.

‘Oooo …’ I coo, my voice as breathy as Jane Birkin’s.

Hooking a finger into the side, I push the material out of the way and expose the glistening pink folds beneath. I let my clit protrude for a whole three seconds, or at least until his gaze comes up to meet mine. His eyes are dark with lust. There never was anything for me to worry about. He really, really, really still wants me.

He pushes forward suddenly and, grabbing my arm, pulls me forward, and with hair flying and legs flailing, I tumble into his arms. My cap slides down and falls in my lap.

‘Hey,’ I protest. ‘I’m not finished.’

‘Sorry. Time’s up. I can’t wait anymore,’ he says, his right hand ripping my panties.

He steps out of his pants and pulls his briefs off in a hurry. He lowers his head onto the couch and, holding me by the waist, lifts me up and over his face. He maneuvers my crotch over his mouth and slowly lowers my wet pussy over his extended waiting tongue. The hot, velvety tongue penetrates my flesh, and I cry out with pleasure and squirm. Holding me tight, he pumps in and out of me a few times.

‘Oh, mon amour,’ Jane Birkin whispers and sighs.

Ah, the pleasure. My head rolls back with how good a tongue fuck feels. I have never had one. His tongue probes every inch of my pussy. Then he moves me back a little and licks my clit. I place both my palms over his head and just close my eyes, enjoying the erotic sensation. I moan deliriously when he clamps his mouth around my clit and sucks it until my muscles start contracting.

I explode in a terrific rush. As I climax, he moves me again and fills my pussy with his tongue and I come hard on it.

‘Oh my God,’ I breathe, as he carries on slurping at my dripping pussy.

He wraps his hands around my ribcage and starts to move my body down his. I realize that he is about to lower me onto his cock.  

‘We need a condom,’ I whisper urgently.

He stills, his expression unreadable, then nods and, putting me aside, goes to get one. When he comes back he rolls it onto his shaft and looks at me.

‘Open your legs and show me again,’ he says.

I obey and he inserts a finger into it. Instantly, my muscles clench around it. He takes his finger out and holds it in front of my mouth.

‘Suck it,’ he says.

I open my mouth and suck his fingers, tasting the musky sweetness of my own juices. He sits down and, putting his hands around my waist, lifts me onto his lap. He lets my body hover over his cock. I hold it steady and he lowers me onto it. Slowly he travels deeper and deeper into my body.

‘You belong to me now,’ he says harshly. ‘I’m going so deep into your body that you’ll never even be able to think of another man inside you.’

And he does. He goes so deep I never thought anyone could go that far. My body breaks out in goose pimples and I move restlessly, lifting myself away from the relentless impaling, but he tightens his hold on my body and, keeping me tightly in place, carries on pushing me down onto his massive shaft.

‘That’s enough now,’ I groan.

‘No, you can take more,’ he insists. ‘Suck me in.’

So I let him go deeper and deeper into me until I can bear it no more and I cry out.

‘You’re mine,’ he says, and pushes that last tiny bit deeper into me. And at that moment I feel him tense, his nostrils flaring as he climaxes hard, so hard he leaves fingerprints on my waist.