You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (13 page)

Dahlia Fury

O
ver the rim of his glass he watches as I remove the straws and sip the fragrant cocktail. It is like a liquid dessert.

‘Good?’

‘Poetry in a glass.’

A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. ‘That good?’

‘This is Oh-My-God good.’

The waitress comes back to check if we have decided what we want to eat.

‘What’s good to eat here?’ I ask Zane.

‘Do you like prawns?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then the flaming prawns dish is exceptional.’

‘OK,’ I agree. ‘I’ll have that. Any suggestions for the main course?’

‘I’m having pork with broken rice.’

‘Sounds suitably exotic. Why not?’ I say.

Zane gives our order to the girl.

A young woman with a long luxurious plait down her back comes and puts prawn crackers on the table. She gives a lingering sideways look at Zane and I feel a tightening in my belly. I can’t be jealous! It’s the last thing I need. I shift my gaze to Zane and realize that he doesn’t even notice her, and I feel an enormous sense of relief, and my body relaxes.
Oh boy, you’re in so much trouble.

‘By the way,’ I throw in casually. ‘I need to go to work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll just be an hour.’

Zane nods. ‘Sure. Let Noah drive you there.’

‘Uh. No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll be quicker if I just take the tube.’

‘I’m afraid you can’t take public transport while you are with me.’

‘Why not?’

‘There is always the risk of kidnap and harm.’

‘Surely no one with half a brain is going to kidnap the new toy of the great Russian Mafia boss.’ My voice is heavily laced with sarcasm.

‘This is true, but there are people with less than half a brain and I have to be very wary of them. They will be unbelievably sorry afterwards, but the damage would have been done. While you are my property you are my responsibility.’

I raise my palm up. ‘OK, you’ve made your point, but I don’t want Noah to take me. Can’t I just take a taxi? They’ll send someone to come right to the front door, wait at the destination, and bring me back.’

His eyes narrow. ‘Are there men in your agency?’

‘Men? No, there are no men there except for Mr. Hawthorne, the bookkeeper who comes in on Tuesdays, but he’s at least a hundred and twenty years old.’

‘Then why don’t you want Noah to take you? Has he done something to upset you?’

‘No,’ I deny immediately, ‘of course not.’ I sigh. ‘It’s not him. It’s just that I have not told anyone at work about our … arrangement and I don’t want to arrive in a blacked out Mercedes.’

He finishes his drink in a single gulp. ‘Then Noah will take you and park in the next street and walk up the road with you.’

‘What? No way. Noah looks so dangerous.’

‘He can wait across the road,’ he says haughtily.

I sigh again. ‘Fine. But he can’t be seen with me.’

‘I will tell him.’

‘Good. Thank you. I appreciate that.’

A waiter arrives to escort us to our table and we follow him to a round table spread with a snowy white tablecloth and, unusually, set with two pure white serving plates. There is no pattern or the restaurant’s monogram on it. Once we are settled in and glasses of champagne have been placed in front of us, Zane resumes our conversation.

‘So what is it that you do at this literary agency of yours?’

I take a mouth full of bubbles. ‘Well, it’s my job to help read the massive pile of manuscripts that come in the post every day and try to find raw talent that our agency would like to represent.’

‘Do you find many?’

‘No. Unfortunately, everybody thinks that just because they can craft a sentence they can write a book.’

He leans forward. ‘How many have you found since you have been at the agency?’

‘I’ve found three, but two were vetoed out by the other girls as not good enough. So I guess I found one, but she was a really good one. Fey, the owner of the agency, put her book to auction with the big four publishers and she got a £250,000 advance.’ I grin. ‘And that’s just for her UK rights. She got a similar amount for her American rights. Cool stuff, huh?’

He nods slowly. ‘Not bad. How many manuscripts did you have to read to find this gem?’

‘I don’t know, sometimes it feels like a million. But to give you an idea of the statistics we deal with, the agency gets in the region of 200 to 250 submissions per week, but we only signed up four authors last year.’

He leans back in his chair, surprised. ‘That’s almost like winning the lottery.’

‘Exactly what I say,’ I agreed.

He drags a finger down the condensation on the flute glass thoughtfully. ‘Have you never wanted to write a book yourself?’

‘I don’t consider myself a writer. I guess I never have. I do scribble down my thoughts when my mind gets so overwhelmed that I feel I have to empty the box. Since they are all random often they make no sense at all, but occasionally I sound like a wizard or Einstein. Those pieces I’ve stashed away and maybe one day I’ll read them to my kids. Something for them to remember their mom by when I am gone.’

Zane stares at me as if he is seeing a ghost.

‘What?’ I ask defensively.

‘Nothing,’ he says quickly.  

Embarrassed that I carelessly shared something so personal with him, I pick up a prawn cracker, nibble on it as if I don’t have a care in the world and say, ‘So tell me about your job.’

He smiles. ‘Are you asking me to incriminate myself?’

‘I won’t tell a soul. Girl Scout’s honor.’

He takes a sip of champagne. ‘Maybe you won’t, but the walls have ears.’

I put the remainder of the prawn cracker into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. ‘Someone told me your real name is Aleksandr Malenkov.’

‘Is he the one who told you I ate my own heart?’

I pierce him with my eyes. ‘Actually, he told me you are a very dangerous man.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’

I lick my dry lips. ‘He told me you’re a killer.’

His face remains watchful, but he is now also guarded. ‘You have a wonderful amendment in your country’s constitution that I’m rather fond of. The Fourth, I believe.’

‘You’re very casual about it,’ I murmur.

‘Is it cruel when a cheetah outruns an impala and kills it?’

‘The cheetah does it because it’s hungry.’

‘There are many kinds of hunger,’

My senses flash like the warning light on a car’s dashboard. Not dazzling. Just insistent.
Beware, your little heart. Beware, your little heart.
‘So you feel nothing for your victims. Not even a tiny twinge of guilt.’

‘Be assured, little fox, anyone who
might have
perished at my hands will have richly deserved it. I don’t knock on the doors of ordinary people. Everyone in my world understands the rules on the day they enter it.’

‘Why did you enter this world?’

‘Because I knew it was the fastest way to get everything I wanted, and I knew I could be more ferocious than anyone else.’

‘And it never occurred to you to do something legitimate?’

‘I have legitimate businesses. You are sitting in one.’

‘Is it really worth it to have to guard yourself day and night?’

‘I never think about it. You have greenish-gold eyes. I have bodyguards.’ He shrugs lightly.

‘Will you ever walk away from it?’ I realize I am holding my breath.

‘The chances are I will be gunned down long before I get a chance to leave it.’

My mouth opens in a gasp. ‘Knowing that you still stay?’

‘If I die in the gutter so be it, but I will not live in it like a rat.’

‘Are you trying to say that my life equates to living in the gutter like a rat?’

He smiles lopsidedly. ‘My choices were slightly more … stark than yours.’

‘What about the people who love you? Don’t you care that they must be worried sick all the time?’

His eyes flicker. ‘There is not a single person on this earth who cares if I live or die, and that is exactly how I like it.’

I open my mouth to reply to such an epic statement and, to my shock, I see a tiny hole about two inches in diameter suddenly appear on the tablecloth close to my plate. I blink in astonishment. Hell, how much champagne have I had? Out of that tiny hole a little chef, the size of Thumbelina, emerges and bows to me as if he is about to start a performance. Other than his size he is completely lifelike.

Oh my God! Have I been drugged? Or am I just hallucinating because I’m going crazy?

‘What the hell?’ I exclaim.

The little chef is now opening a bag. I reach out a hand and try to touch him, but only catch thin air. The chef goes on about his business opening the bag and taking out a tiny fishing net.

I look up at Zane. ‘What’s going on?’

He grins like a schoolboy. The seriousness of our earlier conversation feels as if it belongs in a different lifetime.

‘It’s a hologram.’ He points to the ceiling and I look up. Two projectors are mounted over the table. ‘It’s called 3D projection mapping. Le Petit Chef is preparing your dinner for you.’

A hologram! So this is the new fangled thing Molly was talking about. The illusion is so real I had to try and catch the digital chef with my fingers. Completely awed by the technology, I watch the tiny Chef use an electric saw to cut a hole into the tablecloth and start fishing for my prawns in the water below. As he catches them he flings the giant prawns still wriggling and struggling onto the tablecloth. They land twitching and twisting realistically.

The little chef then reaches under my plate and starts cranking a lever. It causes my plate to become a sliding surface. A metal dish shaped like champagne coupes rises from beneath. 

With comic difficulty he drags the prawns one by one onto a spoon, and expertly slings them so they end up curled over the lip of a metal dish. He starts up his chainsaw again and cuts down a red chili from a chili tree. Cursing and swearing to himself like a real chef, he pulls the other ingredients out of the tablecloth and catapults them all into the metal dish.

He then finds a bottle of alcohol and squirts it in an arc; like water from the hosepipe onto the prawns. Muttering to himself he conjures up a firecracker and directs it to the prawns. The prawns start flaming, he falls backwards, a spark catches on his clothes, and he runs, hands flapping back into the hole he originally emerged from.

I laugh, delighted by the little show. As if rehearsed, the waitresses arrive with our flaming prawns. The dish looks exactly like the one the little chef had so amusingly prepared.

‘How am I going to eat this?’ I ask looking at the marvelous creation.

‘When the flames die down, with your hands.’

I follow his lead, peeling the skins and biting into the succulent flesh. They are absolutely delicious and so juicy I have to constantly lick and suck my fingers. OK, I’ll admit I might have overdone it, but how am I supposed to help it when I catch his eyes on me, attentive, mysterious, and full of lust every time I do it? It is only a little revenge compared to what he did to me in the back of his car.

Then I eat the last prawn and lick the last drop of juice from my fingers, and suddenly my idea of revenge doesn’t seem so sweet anymore.

Dahlia Fury

‘C
ome,’ he says, standing suddenly.

I am still staring at him in surprise when he takes my wrist in his hand and tugs me upright. Conscious that my fingers are still stained with prawn juices, I quickly grab a linen napkin just as he pulls me away. I lengthen my stride to match his. The reaction of the other diners to us moving quickly through the restaurant is standard. They stare openly at him.

Why wouldn’t they? Tall, built, menacing.

He shoves me into the Ladies, quickly checks the toilet stalls, and when he finds them all empty, he jams the door with a fancy pink chair. He turns around and fixes his gaze on me. His eyes scorching.

‘What happened to that wild, lustful look in your eyes, my little cocktease?’

‘I …’ The napkin falls from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

He starts advancing on me. ‘You enjoyed tormenting me, didn’t you? Sending all the blood from my brain into my dick?’ he glowers.

I batten down the hatches, cross my arms over my chest, and do what my mother says is one of my greatest talents since I was two years old. I lie with a straight and brazen face.

‘I assure you,’ I say imperiously. ‘It wasn’t intentional. What am I supposed to do if a perfectly ordinary action like eating turns you on?’

‘Either one of the toilets is badly blocked or that statement is a steaming pile of
bullshit.
’ He shoots the word bullshit at me like a bullet.

My eyes dart to his crotch. There is definitely ‘bulge’ going on. A very big one at that.

‘Do you know how hard I am?’ he growls. Grasping my left wrist, he pulls my arm out of its crossed position and places my hand on his crotch.

Oh yeah, hard as a damn rock.

‘Oops,’ I say softly.

‘Oops? You think you should be able to tease me like that and not get punished?’ he purrs.

‘Well, you started it first. You left me high and dry in the car.’

‘I’m allowed. You’re not,’ he mutters. Before I can query the hell out of that lordly statement he goes off on a totally different tangent. ‘What shampoo are you using?’ he asks hoarsely.

‘I don’t know. I found it in the bathroom compliments of your housekeeping staff.’

‘It’s fucking epic,’ he breathes in my ear and I can’t stop a smug smile happening.

He rubs my hand along his thick shaft as he moves his face in front of mine and stares into my eyes. Then he takes my stained right hand and brings it up until it’s between our faces and starts licking and sucking my fingers one by one, slowly, deeply.

I find myself holding my breath. My mouth opens as he grabs a fistful of my hair. I claw at his jacket as a pathetic animal-like moan escapes my lips. Bending his head he takes my lower lip between his teeth and nips it.

‘Ouch.’

‘Awww … did that hurt baby?’ he growls.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ I gasp, running my tongue over my lower lip. It stings but I can’t taste blood.

‘I’m frustrated,’ he replies.

‘Do you want me to suck you off?’ I offer, my hand moving over his trouser-clad erection.

He takes my hand away from his crotch. ‘Yes, but not here.’

I scrunch my eyebrows. ‘Then what?’

‘I want you to feel what I feel.’

‘Don’t forget I was frustrated too.’

He licks my earlobe. ‘Not like me.’

‘What’s the difference between your frustration and mine?’ I ask.

He sucks the fleshiest part of my ear. ‘You want to know?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper, my hips inching closer to his body until his hardness digs into my belly. The sensation is downright erotic and I feel my pussy start to cream.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

I nod and grind my mound against the muscles of his thighs.

He places his hands under my ass cheeks and hefts me up to the polished granite countertop where there is a selection of perfume bottles and some glass containers of hand lotion. He spreads my legs and looks down at my dripping sex, then brings his gaze back to my eyes.

‘I told you, you’re not the only one who’s gagging for it,’ I say shakily.

Someone knocks on the door and I jump and close my legs in a rush.

‘It’s occupied,’ Zane snarls without breaking eye contact with me.

‘You can’t take over the whole Ladies. I’m going to complain to the staff,’ a woman yells back.

‘They’ll be here soon,’ I warn.

‘They won’t if they know what’s good for them,’ he says brutally.

‘Wow, all this macho shit is turning me on,’ I tease.

‘Then you’ll fucking love this,’ he says. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he fetches out something that looks like bits of straps attached to a blue jelly-like object.

‘What the hell is that?’ I ask curiously.

‘You’re going to wear this for the rest of the night,’ he says untangling the straps. ‘It’s a butterfly vibrator.’

‘What happens if I come while I’m eating my pork and broken rice?’

‘That dish will achieve a cult status,’ he says, unconcerned.

I giggle as he slips the larger strap around both my feet and the smaller straps around each foot. He pulls them up until the larger strap is around the widest part of my hips, and the other two snugly circle each thigh. The butterfly, complete with little wings, is made from some sort of pliable material, maybe rubber or silicone. It fits over my sex and even has a little curving tail that juts inside me.

‘Now what?’ I ask.

He takes a little blue gadget out of his other pocket. ‘There are nine settings and three speeds and we’ll find out what you like best.’

Someone pounds at the door. ‘Excuse me, Sir, but you can’t jam these doors. Open them immediately, or I’ll have to call the police,’ a man shouts.

I grin at Zane. ‘I’m ready if you are!’

The man bangs on the door again and rattles the handle. ‘Open it right now,’ he demands.

I jump off the counter and we walk towards the door. Zane opens it and the man who was shouting insults so aggressively deflates in the most spectacular manner possible. His eyes widen, he gulps audibly, and actually takes a long step back.

‘Oh! Sorry, Sir. I … I had no idea it was you,’ he stammers.

‘Good job,’ Zane says coolly and palms some money into the man’s surprised hand.  As he escorts me to our table, the thought that I have given total control of my sexual pleasure to him is actually much hotter than I would ever have dreamed.

Hmmm … the butterfly vibrator.

Well, it starts off with a gentle hum that causes havoc to my ability to enjoy my pork and broken rice. Then it goes up a notch and does such a splendid job of totally turning me on. Desperate to come, I start to think that really it is only fair that I should share the blessing.

I lick my lips lasciviously and tell Zane that even though I’m sitting there with a vibrator strapped to my clit, I can’t think of anything else but wrapping my lips around his big dirty cock.

When his eyes widen with surprise I get even more filthy.

‘Just thinking about having your dick in my mouth is making me sooooo fucking wet. God, I want to be on my knees for you right now.’  I rub my neck suggestively and croon, ‘I’m all yours, baby. You’ve just got to come and get it.’

He retaliates by taking the butterfly from level one to four in a vicious rush. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. More vibrations race through me than I have ever thought possible. They cause fireworks of sensations. A very familiar pressure starts to mount, and I become terrified I’m going to climax and scream out right here in front of all these snooty people.

‘Oh My God! I can’t take it anymore. You have to stop it,’ I hiss at Zane.

‘Relax, you’re not there yet,
rybka
. Take a deep breath. I’m just building up the tension,’ he says unconcerned, but he does dial down the intensity to almost nothing.

Needless to say I refuse dessert.

The car journey is, as Stella would call it, a bit fraught. I just about make it out of the car and walk calmly up the steps. In the hallway Zane grabs me and pulls me to his study.

‘A whole mansion and you bring me here?’ I ask.

‘My biggest fantasy is of taking you here.’

‘Oh yeah? What was I doing in your fantasy?’

‘Lying across my table.’

I put a finger on his mouth. ‘Say no more.’

His eyes gleam.

I turn around and present my back to him. ‘Unzip me, please?’

I feel the warmth of his fingers down my back. The dress pools around my fabulous shoes. I step out of it and turn around. I am naked but for the butterfly vibrator that is barely humming. My thighs are glistening, my nipples are like little pebbles. His hand reaches out to grasp my naked flesh and I evade it easily.

‘Tsk, tsk,’ I tut, shaking my head sternly.

He grabs my chin. ‘I want to fuck your mouth.’ Still holding me he starts unbuckling his belt. I use both my hands to stop him. He is at the edge.  His hold tenuous.

Feeling a bit like a porn star, I whisper huskily, ‘Let me.’

He stands there all golden and fiercely sexy while I unzip his trousers and out pops his thick, hard length. I get on my knees in front of his cock, and holding the smooth base, look at i
t
. It is a warm, silky, beautiful thing. It could be a work of art
.
Pale as a cobweb, straight, and perfectly unblemished. Like a Dorian Gray portrait in reverse. The more he sins the more beautiful his cock becomes.

Then his hand is in my hair, and he forces my mouth to swallow all that beauty.

‘Take it, memorize it, the taste, the feel, the smell, because it’s going to be keeping your mouth busy daily now,’ he promises.

Looking up into his eyes I begin to suck him earnestly. I feel drunk off his taste. 

‘Fuck, what a great mouth,’ he grunts.

He has no idea that I got dragged off by Stella to a Blowjob Attitude class where a woman with frizzy red hair started the class off by saying, ‘There are only two things you need for a mind-blowing blowjob.’ She ticked off her fingers. ‘’One: a mouth in working condition. Two: enthusiasm in spades. Of the two, enthusiasm in spades is by far more important. All the other little tricks of the trade I will provide.’

I unleash blowjob trade secret number one on Zane. I grab his hips and, leaving only about three inches of him in my mouth, simply roll my tongue. Round and round his cock, as if it is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

I don’t want him to ejaculate just yet, so I slow things down a bit and start super-slowly licking the whole shaft from base right to the tip, always paying a bit more attention to the rim and slit at the tip. When he is least expecting it: I unleash secret number three. I impale my mouth on his shaft all the way into my throat until my nose is in that dark nest of hair. I stare up at him hungrily.

He looks down at me with such possessiveness that it makes his face look dark and wild. ‘You clearly love sucking cock,’ he growls. ‘Let’s see how good you really are. Lie on the desk and hang your head over the edge so I have full access to your throat.’

He pulls me to my feet and guides me to his desk. I quickly position myself across it and hang my neck and head off the edge.

‘Open your legs,’ he instructs in a super-crazy hot voice.

I do as I’m told, aware of just how obscene I must look, but reveling in his total dominance. Looking down at my nakedness, his face full of lust, he takes his jacket off and from one of its pockets removes the remote to my vibrator. He throws it on the desk. 

‘Open your mouth,’ he orders, and when I do he grasps my breasts and pumps his cock directly into my throat.

‘Look at you,’ he says almost proudly. ‘My cock is balls deep in your mouth.’ He pushes his hips in and starts fucking my mouth in earnest.

‘Suck me. I’m going to fill your stomach with my cum.’

His hands leave my breasts. Suddenly the vibrator goes on full.