You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  Every time I think I have reached the edge, this must be it, there cannot be more, Noah carries on jackhammering the entire length of his cock deep into my body, and it begins all over again, the next climax slamming into me like a brick wall. Until my brain feels fried, my mouth is screaming noiselessly, and my limbs shake and convulse uncontrollably. Nothing I have ever done, not by myself, or with any other guy compares to this mind-blowing sensation.

  When it is finally over, my body feels as heavy as lead and I am so completely drained my upper body collapses on the bed. His hands don’t let go of my hips. He keeps us joined while my pussy carries on convulsing and gushing around his cock. Only when all the tremors are gone does he pull out of me.

  He falls to the bed, his head appearing next to my eyes. I turn to look at him with awe. ‘Is it always like that with you?’

  He shakes his head, his eyes mysterious.

  My hand reaches out to touch the masculine lines of his face. ‘You really are so beautiful,’ I whisper.

  A ghost of a smile crosses his face. It’s an oddly bleak smile. It makes me want to hold him close to my heart and never let go. To my surprise, my eyes fill with tears. I’m not normally a crybaby.

  His eyes narrow. ‘What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?’

  I bite my lip to stop the sniffles. ‘No. It’s just the emotion you released, I guess.’

  He nods.

  ‘You don’t say much, do you?’

  Six

  Noah Abramovich

  She is nothing like I’d imagined. In my mind, I deliberately painted her as a spoilt Princess. Rude, uncaring, cold, shallow, carelessly whiling away her time the way the daughters of very rich men do, an army of trailing servants to pick up after her. Even so, I wanted her badly, but now that I have drunk her sweet nectar, I crave her the way a man dying of thirst craves a glass of cool water.

  ‘You don’t want to talk to me?’ she asks, her eyes clouding over with hurt.

  Fuck. How can a grown woman be so innocent, so fucking clueless about what a man wants? Can a woman like this ever fit into my fucked up life?

  What the fuck? Did I actually entertain that crazy thought in my head? Goddamn you, Noah, you’re just screwing with yourself. You can never have Tasha Evanoff. Her father would rather boil me alive than let the likes of me have her. Hell, he’d have boiled me alive if he knew I even touched her. I feel a twitch start up in my jaw. The rage of being so close to something you are dying for and knowing you can never have it.

  ‘What do you want me to say, Tasha?’ I ask harshly.

  Her eyes widen with shock at my bitter tone.

  ‘In a few hours you’ll be gone forever. What should I say? That was great. Thanks. Or better still, want me to say I’ll fight for you? I’ll kill your father, the man you’re supposed to marry, and anyone else who stands in my fucking way.’

  Her lower lip starts trembling. She presses her mouth into a straight line, turns away from me, and stares up at the ceiling.

  ‘You don’t have to be so horrible. We are just ships passing in the night. You are a man. Surely you must have had many such nights as this. Were you this horrible to all of them too?’ Her voice breaks on the last question. She blinks hard and fast, but a tear slides out from the corner of her eyes and runs down her temple into her hair.

  The sight makes my chest hurt. Something inside me feels like it is breaking. I cannot understand how she can so easily get under my skin. I am the tough guy. No one gets to me. Ever. Yet, I am like putty in her hands. I get up onto my elbow and very gently lick the salty stream.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She fixes her gaze on me, her beautiful, beautiful eyes piercing my soul. ‘It’s okay. I forgive you. I never want to fight with you,’ she murmurs.

  Her quick acceptance of my apology is child-like and endearing. With every second that passes she entwines herself more and more tightly around my heart. I touch her belly and her hand runs down my body and cups my still half-hard cock. It starts to swell and she smiles, feeling powerful, knowing she is the cause.

  She lifts off the bed and I watch as she drops to the floor and, bending her head, fills her mouth with the broad mushroom head of my cock. Her mouth is heaven, soft, warm and velvety. Slowly, she slides her lips just over halfway down my cock, and my long shaft is already at the back of her throat. She begins a smooth cock-sucking rhythm. A nun with a toothache could have done better, but her inexperience and inability to take the whole of me excites me so much I feel my climax already building. I sit up, pull out of her mouth, and enjoy the exquisite sensation of sliding my cock along her tongue.

  ‘Get on your knees,’ I tell her.

  I stand and angle her head so that her neck is arched back. Then, with my fingers tangled in her hair, I guide her head so I slide back in. I push my cock all the way to the back of her throat, slightly further than before. Her eyes widen with panic, but I hold her head there, and obediently she remains. I enjoy the moment of total control. Of having Tasha Evanoff’s mouth at the end of my cock.

  Pre-cum must have touched her throat because she swallows. I pull out, and I watch her take a deep breath and I know I can’t last much longer. I want my sperm in her throat and in her belly. I pull her face against my throbbing cock as it clenches and tightens. Then I am gone, spurting hot cum down her throat. Spurting and spurting and watching her swallow it all. Every last fiery drop.

  I made Tasha Evanoff drink my cum.

  I look down at her, her eyes wide, her succulent mouth gently sucking the last drops of cum from my dick. The tension leaves my body. I made her submit to me. A woman who will continue to suck your cock after you have come inside her mouth is a woman who belongs to you.

  I pull out of her and, grasping her by the upper arms, pull her onto the bed. She stares up at me while I start worshiping her body the way I have never done another woman. She is pure woman. Pure ecstasy. Her taste and the strong sweet smell of her arousal make my mouth water. I lick and suck, nibble, bite and stroke every inch of her. I suck her pink nipples until they swell to almost twice their size. The more she begs me to enter her, the more I torment her.

  ‘Take me,’ she begs lewdly, spreading her legs and showing me her engorged, shining pussy. I lift my head to enjoy the sight. Her whole body spasmodically jerking, hot, wet, and surrounded by her halo of gorgeous hair.

  ‘Please,’ she begs pitifully.

  ‘Fuck me, Noah. Fuck me.’ Her hips thrust helplessly at thin air. It gives me a cheap thrill to hear her use the word fuck.

  ‘Say fuck my cunt,’ I order.

  She doesn’t hesitate. She is too far gone. ‘Fuck my cunt,’ she cries.

  ‘Please ... Noah … please.’

  But I carry on tormenting her until her hips are jerking and her thighs trembling uncontrollably. Then I stop.

  ‘Now you may have your release, but you’ll have to work for it yourself,’ I tell her as I lie on my back. I let my eyes roam her body. Covered in saliva and aching to be filled with my cock, she crawls towards me and swings one leg over me.

  ‘Stop,’ I demand, and she freezes, her pussy garishly gaping open and glistening, her face contorted with frustration.

  I commit to memory the dirty image of Tasha, no longer a Princess, but horny, slutty, her leg cocked over my dick, and out-of-control sexy.

  ‘What?’ she groans.

  ‘Now,’ I tell her.

  She immediately impales herself on my meat until I’m completely buried in her tight pussy. Mewling and squirming with relief and pure sensuality, she rotates her hips and grinds her pussy on my pubes. Her eyes are closed and I see the bliss on her face.

  When she starts rocking back and forth, I gather her close to me and suck on her puffy, reddened nipples. When she utters a low cry of pain and pleasure, I begin to suck voraciously at the enlarged tips. As I bite down on one, I thrust the fingers of my other hand between her lips, forcing her to suck her own juices.

  ‘Bounce on my cock
,’ I growl.

  She tightens her pussy muscles and lifts herself upwards two or three inches, but my hands on her hips pulls all but my cockhead clear out of her, followed immediately by my cock slamming back inside her.

  ‘Talk dirty to me.’

  She licks her lips and looks at me with half-hooded eyes. ‘I’m a dirty slut. Give it to me hard and fast!’

  ‘Fuck yeah.’

  ‘I want you to put your big cock in my mouth and let me suck it until you fill my belly with your cum.’

  Of course, she would have to be a fucking natural at this too.

  ‘Not just my mouth. I can’t wait for you to fill every hole in my body with your hot cum.’

  She keeps at it, and I start to slam harder and harder into her sweet cunt until we slam right into the hurricane of our climaxes.

  Seven

  Tasha Evanoff

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks.

  I grin at him. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  He grins back and I stare at the beauty of the man. I have never seen him smile with his teeth showing before. He is spellbindingly handsome.

  Unaware of my appreciation of him, he jackknives upright and, naked, walks to the dressing room. He comes back wearing track bottoms and holding a shirt in his hand.

  ‘Wear this,’ he says, holding it out to me.

  I slip into it and fold the sleeves up.

  He gazes at me.

  ‘What? What are you thinking?’ I ask.

  ‘How fuckable you look.’

  I blush and he laughs.

  ‘Come on,’ he says leading the way. We go downstairs in our bare feet.

  ‘What’s there to eat?’ I ask, sliding onto one of the creamy yellow stools. His kitchen looks like it is hardly ever used. Every surface is gleaming with newness.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says opening the fridge.

  ‘You don’t know. Who does the shopping for you?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘I have a woman who stocks my fridge and my cupboards.’

  I get up and join him in front of the fridge. We study the contents together. His fridge is well stocked with unopened packets of food. Fresh vegetables, salad in a plastic bag, cheeses, meat, fish, jars of condiments and containers of cooked food.

  ‘You’ve got Khachapuri,’ I exclaim, my stomach rumbling at the thought of the crusty bread shaped to look like a boat, the middle filled with different types of melted cheese and baked with an egg thrown on top of all that cheese. Mmmm …

  ‘Shall we have one?’ he asks.

  ‘One? I’m not sharing my Khachapuri. Get your own.’

  He grins down at me and for a second there is something soft in his eyes, then it is gone and replaced by something slightly distant and unreadable.

  ‘Fine, we’ll have two. I was just thinking you might want to save some space for the Morozhenoe,’ he explains in an amused voice.

  ‘Morozhenoe?’ I echo, my eyes bright. I love creamy Russian ice cream.

  ‘Uh … huh,’ he says, taking two portions of half-baked crusty bread filled with cheese and putting it on the granite counter top.

  ‘Oh my. A midnight feast with Morozhenoe. I used to have it direct from the carts whenever I went to Moscow. Now that I know you have it, I’ll have to come here more often,’ I say with a laugh, and suddenly realize what I have said.

  There is no expression on his face as he unpacks the bread. ‘Do you want yours with an egg on top?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say softly, walking back to my stool. Somehow the mood has been ruined.

  I watch him crack two eggs on top of the bread boats and put them into the oven. He has big powerful hands. There are stars tattooed on them. I think of those strong, tanned hands on my body and the thought arouses me, makes me want him inside me all over again.

  ‘You don’t cook often, do you?’ I ask.

  ‘Almost never.’

  ‘So what happens to all the food if you don’t eat it?’

  He shrugs carelessly. ‘I think Irina takes it home.’

  I nod, my body going cold. When I asked him for one night it never even crossed my mind that he might have a girlfriend. Just because I saw him alone all the time I just naively assumed that he didn’t have one. Have I just had sex with someone’s boyfriend?

  ‘So who’s Irina?’ I ask as casually as I can.

  He frowns. ‘Sort of my housekeeper.’

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Complicated as in girlfriend?’

  He looks surprised. ‘No, I’m not with anyone,’ he says.

  Getting information from him is like squeezing blood from a stone, but it is a strange relief to know there isn’t a girlfriend lurking somewhere. He pulls open the freezer and takes out a bottle of Tovaritch vodka. My father’s favorite. Putting my elbows on the smooth cold surface and supporting my jaw in my palms, I watch him pour us a couple of shots.

  He brings them to me.

  ‘I don’t want to get drunk,’ I say.

  ‘Want a raw egg?’

  It is a Russian tradition. If you don’t want to get drunk have a raw egg before you start drinking. I shake my head.

  ‘Drink it in one go and don’t exhale through your mouth,’ he advises.

  ‘Got it,’ I say and take the glass.

  ‘Vsego khoroshego!’ he says.

  For a second I hesitate. That phrase can mean all the best or goodbye.

  As if he has understood the reason for my hesitancy. ‘All the best,’ he says in English.

  ‘All the best,’ I echo. It had not felt right. The thought that he might have been saying goodbye. I down the drink. It slides smoothly down my throat.

  He opens the oven and the delicious smell of bread baking fills the kitchen. We sit and eat. He seems to watch me eat more than he eats.

  ‘Are you not hungry?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m hungry, but not for food.’

  When I finish, he scoops ice cream into bowls. ‘If only we had some chocolate pieces to sprinkle on top,’ I say as I stuff my face with soft creamy ice cream. He gets up and opens a cupboard, rummages around and finds chocolate sprinkles. ‘Will these do?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  When I lay down my spoon, he comes over to me. He grasps my waist as if I weigh no more than a child, and puts me on the granite top. The stone is cold under my thighs.

  ‘My turn to eat ice cream,’ he says.

  The ice cream is cold and I do giggle to start with, but not for long. He ruins ice cream for me forever.

  Eight

  Tasha Evanoff

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask.

  He swivels his head at the alarm clock by the bedside. ‘Nearly four.’

  So the night is all gone and it is almost time to leave. I sigh.

  ‘Can I use your shower before I go?’ I ask softly. I reek of sex.

  ‘Sure,’ he agrees. ‘There’s a clean bathrobe hanging behind the door.’

  He watches me get out of bed. I walk away feeling sore between my legs. The bathroom carries the same décor as the rest of the house. There is a pale pistachio wall with a massive mirror encased in an ornate creamy lemon frame. I use the bathroom, ooh, sore, and get into the shower. I switch it on and adjust the temperature setting before I step into the rush.

  I close my eyes and turn my face up to the water cascade. I try not to think. It cannot be over. Our time together flew by too quickly. How could something so wonderful be over? Suddenly, I become aware that the shower door is open. I twist around and Noah steps into the cubicle.

  I watch the water pouring down his face.

  He doesn’t say anything, but simply puts his hand to the back of my head and swoops down on my mouth. Unresisting, I flow into his arms, my body yielding to the hard planes of his. His insistent mouth parts my shaking lips and sends wild tremors through my body. The rest of the world falls silent and becomes nothing while I cling to him as the only solid thing in my shifting world.
/>   The whole night he has avoided kissing me and I thought it was because he didn’t want to, but this kiss is hot and full of a kind of wild desperation. Like a condemned man who decides to gamble his life on a game of Russian roulette.

  His tongue invades my mouth and I suck on it.

  He pulls away from me and we stare at each other. His eyes are blazing and his jaw is clenched so tight I feel a spark of fear. Before I can ask him what is wrong, he turns away and walks out of the shower cubicle.

  Wrapped in his bathrobe I venture cautiously into the bedroom. He is not there, but he has brought my clothes up and laid them on a throne-like red velvet armchair. I dress quickly. He has also put a hairdryer out and I use it. I pick his hairbrush and run it through my hair. It feels strange. I have never used anyone else’s brush in my hair before. Probably because I’ve never been allowed to stay at a friend’s for a sleepover, or pajama party.

  Stepping in my shoes I go downstairs. He is in the living room, holding a glass of something amber.

  ‘Thanks for bringing my clothes up,’ I say shyly.

  He lifts the glass in my direction in acknowledgment of my words.

  ‘I guess I should be going.’

  ‘I’ve called someone to take you back,’ he says quietly.

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I really should call a taxi.’

  ‘You’re either leaving with my guy or you’re not leaving at all. Take your pick.’ His voice is hard and unyielding.

  ‘Look, if I happen to meet someone I know, it is better if I am in a taxi. I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Sam will be driving a taxi.’

  ‘Oh, is he a taxi driver?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  I shake my head. ‘I want to keep my wits about me.’

  He nods. ‘Good idea.’

  ‘I’ve had a … really good time. Thank you.’

  He drains his glass and pours himself another. He downs that one too and stares at me as he does it.

  ‘What time is Sam coming?’ I ask, fidgeting nervously.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll have a glass with you.’