You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (8 page)

It seems like an eternity passes before Daisy is back home. The reunion is odd. My mother and I cry buckets of tears and young Daisy comforts us as if we are the ones who have been through an abduction ordeal. Later we sit on the porch just staring at her. She gazes back serenely, one hand absently stroking Suzie’s head.

‘So you never saw the men who took you?’

‘Never. Like I said we were walking back from the restaurant to the little hotel when a dusty white van pulled up, two men got out, grabbed us, and bundled us into the van. There were four of them, but they wore Disney character masks. They immediately blindfolded, gagged and tied us up.’

‘Didn’t you and Marie struggle?’

‘No. One of the men had a gun which he pointed at Marie’s head. We were so shocked and they were extremely efficient and professional. All the while they never spoke a word, and when we arrived at that house they kept their interaction with us at an absolute minimum. We knew there were girls in the other rooms because we heard them crying in the night. Once we tried to talk to them, but the men banged on the wall and we shut up and so did the girls.’

‘Did they ever … hurt you?’ my mom asks cautiously.

Daisy shakes her head so vigorously her brown curls bounce about like something in a shampoo advert. ‘No, never. In fact, they treated us quite well considering. We had food to eat, bottled water to drink, and when it was really hot they switched on some kind of fan that blew air through slats at the top of the walls.’

‘So how were you rescued?’ I ask.

‘Well, one day the men started scurrying around and talking urgently in whispers. Then they came in, blindfolded us, tied our hands, and put us into a van. Then they drove us to the edge of a little aboriginal town, dropped us off at the side of the road and drove off in a rush. We could see a town not far off so we just walked to it.’

‘Were you very scared?’ I ask.

She grins cheerfully. ‘Actually I wasn’t.’

That baffles me. I stare at her face, clean of all make up except for a good spray from some homemade aromatherapy concoction from a plastic spritzer bottle.

‘Why not? I would have been terrified,’ I tell her.

She looks at me calmly. ‘It’s called the universal law of action and reaction. When you live a life never hurting another being, you cannot be hurt yourself.’

My mom squeezes Daisy’s hand and tells her how brave she is, but I just sit back in the chair and shake my head in wonder at my sister. Here we were sick with worry and frightened half to death about what had happened to her, and there she was abducted, held prisoner by human traffickers, and merrily floating about in fairyland.

For a moment I wonder what would have happened if Zane had not intervened, then just as quickly I shove the loathsome thought away. May my sister always remain so innocent and blissfully ignorant of all the horrible things that can and do happen to millions of blameless creatures every single day. Her action and reaction universal law sucks big time, but she doesn’t need to know it.

I smile at her. ‘A fairy was sitting on your shoulder, Daisy.’

She smiles back. ‘A fairy truly was. That fairy’s name is Dahlia. Mom told me that you asked a friend to help. It was because of him that they got scared and dropped us off, isn’t it?’

I nod slowly. Yes, the law of action and reaction was truly at play. If only she knew how it all really worked in this big bad world.

‘What’s his name?’

‘His name is Aleksandr Malenkov.’

‘Thank him for me,’ she says with the biggest, sweetest, most adorable smile.

That night an email arrives from Aleksandr Malenkov’s solicitors. The attachment is a twelve page Non Disclosure Agreement. I sign it without reading it and the next day a courier comes to pick it up. That afternoon I keep my appointment at the clinic for the necessary blood tests, and since my period came early thanks to all the stress I also go on the pill.

The test results arrive in a week and I send them on to Zane. The next day I say a tearful goodbye to Mom and Daisy and catch a flight back to England.

Stella is happy to see me. She sits on the bed and provides me with a bossy but entertaining running commentary as I pack a small suitcase to take to Zane’s.

‘No, don’t take that. That makes your legs look like sausages. You have to take the red dress. That makes your boobs look twice the size they really are. Oh God, not that. It looks like you stole a tablecloth from a French bistro and stuck a belt on it. I was hoping you’d leave that behind for me, but all right, take that and the black ankle boots to go with it, etc. etc. etc.’

When the appointed time comes for me to leave, she kisses me on both cheeks. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving me to go live with a boy,’ she wails in a baby voice, but her eyes are actually wretched.

‘One month will fly by in no time,’ I tell her.

‘It will for you. It won’t for me,’ she replies.

Dahlia Fury

I
t is not Noah, but Yuri who opens the door for me. ‘I’ll take your bags up to your room,’ he says wearing a funeral director’s expression.

‘Thanks.’ I hand them over to him.

‘The boss is on the lowest floor, minus 3. You can take the stairs.’ He jerks his head towards the stairs, ‘Or the lift down that corridor.’ He nods in the direction of the study where I met Zane the last time.

‘I’ll take the stairs,’ I say.

‘Keep going down until you reach the bottom.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

A hefty, florid-faced woman in a black skirt and white blouse passes us on her way to the kitchen. She smiles politely at me and I smile back.

I take the stairs and start walking down into the lower floors. I go past the two flights of stairs I descended the last time to go to the massage room and down the last one. It opens up to another black and white chequered landing with a plinth holding an antique headless  and armless statue, and under it a large arrangement of white flowers. Beyond it is a grand set of white and black doors. I grasp the intricately carved metal handles, push them open, and gasp with surprise.

The whole floor is a fabulous open plan, mosaic-covered, steamy bathhouse held up by a forest of pillars. Steam rising from a large raised pool mists the space, making it seem magical or from a different time. A time when powerful rulers of great empires lay in similar pools and scantily clad slave girls came to wash them. I breathe in the fragrance that has been poured into the water. Jasmine. Deliciously Oriental and exotic.

I walk towards the pool and stop when I am about twenty feet away from it. Inside the marble tub capable of fitting at least ten people, Zane is lying back facing me. His powerful shoulders and arms are out of the bubbling water and resting along the edge of the tub. His skin gleams like polished metal in the humid air.

His eyes are open and he is gazing at me. There is something very relaxed about his pose, but something frighteningly alert about his eyes. I think about that time when I looked into his eyes and saw that cold, pitiless universe they held within them. I let my gaze slide away from that barren wasteland.

I don’t want to be afraid of him. He has done me a great favor. I want to show him my appreciation, my deep gratitude. I watch the ink on his body. Somehow it seems even more beautiful in this setting. I want to stand here a little while longer and simply soak in the decadent sight of this marvelous man in his luxurious pool.

‘Won’t you join me?’ His voice is silky and caressing. Still, it is clearly not an invitation, but an order.

I lean against a pillar and take my shoes off. Then I unbuckle my watch and leave it next to my shoes. Barefoot, I advance on the smooth damp marble. I stand at the edge of the pool, my blood hot and thirsty for him.

‘Is a sexual slave expected to wash her master?’ I ask softly.

He remains very still. ‘Take your clothes off.’

My heart starts pumping faster. I unzip my dress and let it slip down. I take off my bra, and though the expression on his face doesn’t change in the slightest, his eyes flash when my breasts pop out. Letting the bra fall from my hand, I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties and pull them down my legs. He doesn’t say anything, just watches me expressionlessly as if I am an art exhibit that he is not sure he actually likes. I straighten, completely naked but for the layer of mist on my skin.

‘Thank you for finding my sister,’ I say, my voice a hoarse whisper.

His eyes gleam through the rising steam, black pupils fixed on me. ‘Good. Show me how grateful you are,’ he says.

There is a black lacquer container by the edge of the pool. It has loofahs, sponges, cloths, and soaps in it.  I walk to it, pick up a cloth and a bar of soap, and go behind him. Getting on my knees I take his hand between mine and turning it palm up begin to meticulously wash his fingers. One by one. They are long and elegant, the pads firm and fleshy, the nails beautifully manicured. A pianist’s hand, full of hidden strength. Like a sleek racehorse.

He turns his head and watches me, but I don’t look at him. I keep my head bowed as I raise his hand. He smells of something wild, storm rain perhaps. With infinite gentleness I kiss the inside of his wrist, right on the tip of that cobra tattoo. His body freezes. My heart jumps sideways. My gaze flies to his face. Locks on his eyes.

Both of us are startled, me by the sudden shift in him, and him by something I cannot know. A shadow passes in his eyes. For a shocking microsecond he reminds me of a wounded animal, of the way Suzie looked at Mom and me when we went to pick her up from the animal shelter. Fear, pain, distrust, hope and a profound longing for love. But like a trick of light it is gone, and whatever scary secrets he hides remain in the dark. I am reminded of a little used word I learned a long time ago: bloodthirsty. He yanks his hand out of my grasp suddenly and curls it around my wrist in a steely grip.

‘Squat.’ The word is like a gunshot. It slams against the hard surfaces in that space, reverberates up my spine, and hurts my teeth.

I stare at him in horror. I can’t breathe. He wants me to assume the most demeaning position possible! I draw in the thick, humid air in a rush and it escapes in a hiss through my clenched teeth.

‘No.’ My tongue glides pleadingly over my lips. ‘Please.’

His eyes watch my tongue. ‘I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,’ he says coldly.

My stomach twists dangerously, but I force myself not to react with anger. I won’t give him the satisfaction. It is an ordeal but I shall triumph. I recognize what he is doing. He is establishing the terms of our arrangement. There is to be no tenderness, no kindness … not even the simplest loving gesture is to be allowed. It is going to be just sex. The kind of impersonal interaction men have with prostitutes. A transaction between two uninvolved parties. He mistook me for a prostitute once, and he has been determined ever since to treat me as one.

‘Fuck you,’ I whisper, my flesh sweaty.

His eyes glitter like ice chips on a freezing morning.

As I look into those cold, electric eyes, a strange sensation of invincibility overtakes me. I feel like Cleopatra or Delilah. A temptress full of rage and lust. Then too, the men thought they were the ones with the power. Little did they know. I will show him. I’ll show him I can be naked and proud and fierce even in this wet heat. The air between us is syrupy, flecked with water drops. These are the last few moments before the battle.

I sit back into a squat and expose my slick and ready entrance. He reaches out a hand, drags his fingers along my slit, and watches me shudder violently. I force myself not to avert my eyes from his taunting ones even though I can hardly bear for him to see the flush of lust on my face.

Still staring into my defiant eyes, he parts the wet folds and spreads the moisture pouring from within. With deliberate carelessness he inserts a long finger into me. Goddamn, it feels like it’s molten hot. I want to scream. My muscles contract helplessly around the intrusion. There is nothing I can do but take it. Take his finger. Take his cock. Take his dominance.

‘Having fun, Dahlia?’ he mocks.

‘Gloating, Zane?’ I retort, but my voice is choked and unsteady.

He chuckles. ‘I’m going to enjoy taming you, little spitfire,’ he says, moving his finger in and out of me.

With a great deal of effort, I pass the words through my lips. ‘You are despicable.’

‘I know,’ the son of a bitch agrees arrogantly, as he puts his thumbs where my thighs join my body and curves his large hands around my buttocks. With a smirk on his wicked lips he eases his head between my legs and begins to lap at my swollen sex. With each little movement of his tongue, I suppress the desire to whine and whimper with pleasure.

I have been on edge for this for so freaking long. Pushing back the lips of my pussy, Zane plunges his tongue into me, and suddenly it is no longer possible to hold back. No longer possible to pretend to be fierce or proud. I grasp his shoulders and cry out with abandon and ecstasy.

His hands dig into my flesh as he holds me in place while the torrent of pleasure makes my world erupt into hot white light. My muscles spasm and I arch my back, my spine jerking uncontrollably. I am only vaguely aware of screaming. The orgasm is long and strong, and I think I lose track of time.

When he lets go of me I slowly lean forward, and lay curled on my side, panting and utterly drained. My muscles quiver as if I have run a long race. I turn my face in his direction and I see a dark predatory glint in his eyes. He is hungry for me! Instantly my body responds to the hunger with an insistent aching between my legs.

I watch him place his palms on the edge of the pool, haul himself up into a crouched position and stand. Again, as I thought the first time I saw him move, I have the definite impression he is trained in stealthy combat maneuvers. Water sluices off his tightly muscled, naked body.  Angled out from his sleek body, his cock is red, thick and massive. Underneath it hangs a heavy sack with purple and green veins. I look up at him almost in awe.

He is truly splendid.

He takes a step towards me, slips his hands under my neck and my knees and lifts me up into his arms. I make a small mewling sound. I have never heard that sound come from me before. When I am with him I don’t recognize myself. My hands curl around his neck.

He carries me past the forest of pillars towards a large round green divan covered with many pillows, and throws me onto it as if I am no more than a rag doll. He stands over the bed and watches my breasts jiggling as I bounce. I stare up at him as he crouches down and spreads my supine body out. Pulling my legs apart he impales me, his hard shaft ramming into me so suddenly that there isn’t time for me to adjust to his size. It shocks me into a long whimper of submission.

That drags a rumbling animal growl from his throat.

Every inch of me feels like I am on fire. My hips thrash upwards as my hands grab the firm, strong buttocks and shove him towards me, our bodies crash together and he is in, balls deep. I scratch my nails down his spine like a wildcat and wrap him so tightly to me it feels as if we are melded together. I know exactly what I want. I want every last inch of him inside me. I need to feel him in the depths of my belly.

‘Make yourself come,’ he orders.

His voice fucks my ear. I stare up at him angrily. His cock swells and jerks inside me.

‘Do it,’ he growls.

I arch my back, press into him, and grind myself against him until I feel a knot forming in my stomach. At that moment he slips his hands under me, lifts me up and, for his pleasure begins to slam into me. He fucks me like a feral beast, the veins in his throat bulging. The burn inside me turns into raging flames.

‘Zane,’ I cry lustily, my whole body jerking under his.

I claw at the sheets, the cushions, his skin. It feels as if my body is shattering into a million pieces. I thrash. I cry. I scream. His hot seed spills deep inside me.

I watch his face, contorted and transformed, his eyes darkened. For the first time since I have known him he is reachable. He catches me watching him and the switch back to the cold, unreadable man totally in control of himself is instantaneous and effortless. 

Breathing hard I stare up at him. He is still lodged inside me. There is a whole frozen world hidden behind those eyes. Another woman might have thought she could thaw that world and live in it. I don’t.

‘Come to my study in an hour’s time. I will require you again then,’ he says and withdraws from my body.

My heart goes cold. I watch him stand, his cock still half erect and shining with our juices. He turns from me and begins to walk away. He stops at a low stool and picks up a dressing gown. He shrugs into it and leaves without ever looking back.